Chapter 15
15
M y grandfather's face stares back at me from my phone screen. I'd snapped a picture of the framed photograph and rushed out of the church like my hair was on fire.
My background . I snort. Is this what Doctor Yusef referred to? The fact that my grandfather had been a student here, Choir Master in the very choir I just joined? Moreover, if the plaque is accurate, he was a distinguished donor to the All Souls Music Department until he passed away.
I try to wrap my mind around it as I hurry along the streets and through the quad to the library. My grandfather had been a farmer, with an interest in breeding thoroughbred racehorses. I’d have known if he led a choir for All Souls College, wouldn’t I? Why hadn’t he encouraged my choir in high school instead of discouraging it? We could have bonded over our love for it if I’d had a chance.
My whole life, I'd wondered why my grandfather hated Oxford specifically. Now? Well, I'm utterly confused. If my grandfather attended Oxford, why not use his influence to help me gain admission? What made him hate it? And why continue to donate money to a place you hate?
The big wooden doors of the library loom in front of me. Settle me. I imagine years and years of students approaching the same stone arches, seeking knowledge. Of course, they probably didn't have an eID that unlocked the door for them, but so much about the essence of the library seems unchanged by time. I skirt under the two story dome that runs down the center, and avoid looking at the paintings hanging underneath. I am truly afraid to discover my grandfather's portrait here, too.
A quick visit with a librarian has me headed to a secluded—abandoned?—section of the library. To reach it, I have to pass through two rooms filled with stacked chairs. This room has one gorgeous arched stone window, and several bookshelves filled with yearbooks, donor records, and news clippings about All Souls College. I hope that if my grandfather was notable enough to be in the chapel, that there's more information here.
My phone dings, and I silence it with a guilty look over my shoulder. The text is from a number I don't know.
Formal Sunday dinner is a requirement, not a suggestion.
I don't need to guess at which asshole is texting me. I recognize the arrogant tone of the words.
Silence is the best response, even though I had needed the reminder about the time of day. If I’m going to make the beginning prayer, I need to get back to my room and get changed into my ridiculous robes post haste. It's probably why the library is basically deserted.
On the heels of Kendall's text, Clara texts me.
Can I stop by your room on the way to dinner? We could walk together.
She probably wants to talk about Kendall, and I've never been so glad to have an excuse.
Sorry, I lost track of the time. I'm in the library. Why don't I just meet you there?
Don't be late.
Three dots bounce.
Don't leave me alone with them.
I don't have to ask who. I say a desperate plea that Clara and I both either make it or both get dropped at the same time. Imagining going to those meetings without a friend? Talk about terrifying.
My phone dings again, and I growl. I'm never going to get to look through records if I keep getting reminders about dinner.
I’ll walk you and Clara there. You have ten minutes.
I'm in the library, will meet you there.
I mash my fingers against the face of my phone as I respond to Kendall's text.
With that, I turn my phone off and address the stack of books in front of me. I have less than ten minutes to solve a decades old family mystery. No problem.
Thankfully, the records I'm looking for are labeled by year, and yes, there's my grandfather, graduating from Oxford University. Top of his class. Exemplary student. A black-and-white photograph shows him in a suit, hair slicked back. But it's not his familiar face that has me leaning in close. It's the pin on his lapel.
No.
Way.
No way it's possible.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“You really didn't know?”
Kendall's voice next to my ear makes me jump and squeak. I slam the book closed on my own hand.
“Ow, Jesus Christ,” I say, yanking my hand out and shaking it. I wiggle my fingers, hoping I haven't broken anything. And then I level my glare at my own personal stalker. “You.”
Kendall reclines against the dusty bookshelf as if he'd been born to it. As I turn, I catch his eyes taking a possessive once-over—down my form to my kitten heels and back up.
“Are you stalking me?” I'm unsettled that Kendall appeared at my side mere moments after texting me.
“I was in the library too,” he says, motioning to his stack of books and book bag. My eyes bore into his a long moment, because it seems like an awfully large coincidence that he’d find me this quickly, even if he’d been in the library. I remind myself to check my shoes and bag for an Airtag later. I wouldn’t put it past Kendall. Would he have access to the app? Are they tracking me that closely? “The librarian told me where you were,” he adds as if reading my mind.
“Great,” I mutter, going to open the book again. I want another look at what I'm pretty certain is the All Saints emblem pinned on my grandfather's suit. “I'm almost done. I said I'll meet you there.”
Kendall's hand reaches out and shuts the book again. “We're going to be late.”
With a glare, I re-open the book deliberately. “I'll risk it, thanks.” I start thumbing through the pages, but Kendall doesn't budge. I cast him a purposefully disinterested glance. “You can go. I'm sure your daddy wouldn't want you?—”
Kendall pulls the book from my hand.
“Kendall, I'm not playing around. Give me the book back.” I reach for it.
He squints at me, a slash of golden light hitting his face through the leaded pane of glass. "You never answered my question."
"We are not in kindergarten," I say, exasperated. "Give it back."
He holds it behind his back, and I nearly scream.
“Okay, fine. What question?” I cross my arms over my chest to keep myself from accosting him like a crazed ape at the zoo.
“You really never knew? About your grandfather?”
That pulls me up a bit. I blink. “ You know?” And then, in a flash, Kendall's words come back to me. I'd been so taken aback by the you're mine comment that until now I'd failed to pay attention to the other portion of his statement. The part about me not knowing who I am.
“You knew all along,” I say in wonder.
A quick nod from Kendall confirms it. He’s watching me. Waiting for me to put something together and I want to scream. All of this feels like a big fucking game. My grandpa never met Kendall. Our families weren't friends. How would Kendall know my grandfather attended Oxford when I did not? How does someone who hated me in high school know more about my own family than me?
“I never knew.” I say, weirdly close to tears. I feel betrayed by a person much-loved, and long-gone.
“I wondered. You didn’t seem to realize your legacy.” There’s that word again. It seems to keep coming up. He’s on the verge of telling me something, but I can’t deal with more games or half-truths.
I swipe at my eyes. It’s been a long day and I’m so tired, I’m emotional. “Let's just go to dinner.” I step forward and grab at the book. Kendall steps back, and I end up grabbing his elbow. “Kendall, it's fine. I know now.” I make another swipe for the book. Kendall pivots so that now I'm against the book shelf. And he's still between me and the book.
It's not funny anymore.
“Look here, asshole, just give me the book and let's go to dinner.”
“I think I’ll keep it for a bit. Until we can talk more.”
I narrow my eyes. Apparently, there's something in the book he doesn't want me to see. Like hell I'll let him keep me from understanding what is going on.
“Fine,” I say, pretending to relax my shoulders. “Whatever. I’m hungry.”
His own shoulders relax in response, sure he's won. That's when I launch my full offensive. Body to body, I slam into him—the Rugby Twins have nothing on me. We collide with the book shelf, me grappling with his arms, to get him to let go of the book. It presses my face against his chest, and I refuse to note the solid muscle under my cheek.
Kendall reels, and we tip backward, sliding down to the floor. I have no purchase in my kitten heels, and go down with him. We land in a pile and tangle of limbs. Pencil skirts are not meant for straddling opponent's bodies, and the moment we come to rest, it registers that my skirt is nearly up around my hips, my bare legs on either side of Kendall's tweed trousers, his suspenders gripped in my hands.
The book lands near my knee and I lean over, sliding it across the floor toward my bag. I've won. Even if that victory technically came with the price of being halfway undressed in the Oxford Library.
My fascinator is askew, and my hair tumbles down over my right shoulder. Both our chests heave from the effort of the brief struggle. I attempt to get up but fail, and end up laying halfway on top of Kendall’s chest as my heels slip on the floor. I wriggle, trying to gain purchase. Kendall stops trying to reach the book and freezes under me.
Annnnnd that’s when I realize we're in an extremely compromising position. One I'm growing more and more aware of as the...er...landscape between us begins to harden and change. On the one hand, I've spent very little time with men, and it's fascinating to feel. On the other hand, I'm now acutely and mortifyingly aware that nothing lays between Kendall and me but my very thin panties and his zipper.
I double my efforts to rise, eliciting a hiss of pain from Kendall.
Shit. "Did I hurt you?" I ask, taking in his pensive face, eyes half shut.
“Yes,” he grinds out. And he shifts beneath me. I refuse to gasp as the material of his pants slide against me. It does not feel good. This is pure biology. It's just a sensation. It's normal. But something must register on my face—he stops moving immediately, waiting for me to get up first.
There’s a moment of sheer satisfaction that for once I’m in the power seat. I lean forward, because I just can't help myself. My face hovers just above his. "Good," I purr. And I shift again to push myself up off him, intending to walk out of this library a victor. His hands come up behind me, gripping my ass like he's a dying man grabbing a life raft.
“Careful,” he breathes. Fire races up from my middle, starting where his hands hold my hips in a vice hold against him, and up to my chest. He makes a move like he’s going to try to sit up, but all it does is slide me down his body. We both freeze again, but this time…there’s this sense of something else. Of potential energy, of an addicting high that we could chase if we were insane.
My breath rate increases, despite my desperation to remain unaffected. I should knee him in the crotch, grab the book and run. I should roll off of him, smack him in the face for grabbing my ass and report him to his father. I should…I shake my head, because somehow my gaze has dropped to his lips. Then to how he’s looking at me. His pupils have blown wide. He’s staring with such open hunger, it holds me transfixed.
It’s biology, it’s biology . I chant in my head. But really, at this point, one of us should have disengaged and ended this biology lesson. Neither one of us moves.
Slowly his hands relax on my hips, smoothing down over my ass in a, dare I call it a caress? What started as a compromising position has now morphed into something even weirder. As a counterpoint to my entire life with Kendall, making me feel singularly and particularly loathed, his gaze now makes me feel…singularly inevitable. Like he's been waiting his whole life to wind up in a pile with me on the floor of this library. What would it be like to just…give in? To see if kissing him feels the same as the night we kissed in the quad?
“Helena,” he rasps. I know it’s a warning. But I swear I hear a man surrendering. I win this round.
That insane notion is fuel to my lizard brain. The feeling building in my center wins out. I rock my body forward, trying to alleviate the sensation in my own center. His fingers flex, then smooth on my hips, slowly dragging me backward. It's the distance of a micrometer. An inch at most, but the friction undoes me.
“The contract,” Kendall breathes. But he doesn't stop me when I give into the building inferno and rock forward again. The friction of his tweed pants and his rock hard body beneath me are delicious. I swallow a moan as his fingers flex on my hips, pressing me further into him as I slide back down the inch to my starting point.
“We’re not breaking any rules. We fell.”
Beneath my hands, his chest rises and falls. We're both gasping like we're running. His eyes keep flicking from my face to my chest, so tantalizingly close to his mouth and back up. The want for him to kiss my breasts is so strong I have to stop myself from leaning myself into him.
His hands press me back up, and the head of his cock presses into my clit. At least, I assume from reading romance novels that this is what happens, because an electric zing rips through my body, traveling to my fingers and toes. This time, I can't stop the moan that escapes me. He twitches beneath me at the sound, and it's...God, it's beyond sexy. And it’s a revelation, how much I don’t know about men in general.
My eyes go wide, and I meet his gaze. “It can move? Like that?” My voice is breathy, I sound like I’m auditioning to read erotica. The looks he gives me makes it clear he’d be a willing teacher for all that I don’t know.
“We should stop.” And for a second I think he's going to toss me off of him, but his hands flex, and he grabs my ass through my skirt and writhes beneath me as I slide back down. “Fuck,” he growls, apparently unable to stop this train, either. “I can’t—I have never felt—” his eyes come up to meet mine in heated surprise. It fuels my fire to know that he’s as taken aback by this as I am.
Now there's no denying what is happening. We're grinding into each other in a building, blinding rhythm, and I have never, ever been so physically turned on in my life. Despite how we started, this is definitely against the “no sexual contact” rules, and at the moment, I do not care one iota.
I shift with his balance, my body intuiting more than I can comprehend as I wring another groan from him. It’s like we literally cannot help ourselves. I’ve fully given over to my body’s instinct to chase this high. We stare at each other in startled mutual amazement. I'm panting and beneath my drenched panties, the friction starts to hurt. To be too much.
Kendall's voice, saying “you are mine,” slams into my mental memory. And God, in this moment, I almost believe it. Is it somehow true that cosmically I'm destined for my enemy? The person trying to destroy my life? The man playing games I don't understand? We’ve thrown pretense aside. We’re greedy now, fully locked into acceptance of seeing…whatever this is…through. I rock side to side now as he pushes me up and down, trying desperately for a fullness I'm lacking. I want another sensation, another motion. “I want…” I pant, not even sure what I’m trying to say.
He sits up, yanking me to his chest, and buries his head into my shirt between my breasts as I look up at the ceiling, relishing the feeling of more of him. The additional pressure brings me closer to the precipice looming in front of me. Tossing all caution to the wind, I yank his hair, urging his face up to mine.
Our eyes meet, clouded with lust, and on his side, something wild and defiant. I don't understand it, but I assume I'm wearing a similar "fuck it" look, because his hands come up and grab my chest between us. His hands feel so good . I’m tipping over some proverbial edge…
And then the world ends. Or at least, my cell phone timer goes off with the sound of a thousand trumpets, right next to us on the floor. We freeze. Him with his head and hands between my breasts, me pressed onto his lap like my very existence depends on what he does with what his tweed trousers cover.
We both stare at the phone.
Distantly, I hear footfalls. Shit. Someone is going to come yell at me for having my cell phone on in the library. That’s enough to dash cold water all over us.
I clear my throat. "We're going to be late for dinner."
He looks like he’s in physical pain and I concur. My whole body burns and thrums, screaming to finish what we started. We study each other one moment longer before he presses his back against the bookshelf and leverages both of us up to standing.
My legs won't hold me at first, but I take a step back to lean on a table. Kendall straightens his clothes, making a pained face as he adjusts his trousers. His arousal is clear for anyone to see. I almost feel bad. Almost. He swings his messenger bag down over his crotch.
With one last look at me, Kendall mutters something and then walks toward the exit.
“What?” I ask him, grabbing for my own things.
“I said,” he growls, “that I'm not going to survive what’s coming.”
I blink, expecting some quippy acerbic remark aimed at wounding me. But I don't understand his statement any more than I understand what just transpired here. He leaves and I finally silence the phone.
It's another moment before I realize it. "Goddamn it," I say to no one in particular as I climb the wooden stairs out of this room.
He took the book with him. Strike two for me. But I can’t help to think about his words as I shove through the door of the library and into the blessedly chilly drizzle. If Kendall doesn’t think he’s going to survive what’s coming, what makes me think I have any hope?