Chapter 25 Avalynne #2
He grabs my hand and tugs me along with him. He leads us to an outcropping of rock jutting up from the ground. They create a natural shelter, and we duck inside the shallow cave as the rain intensifies, hammering hard around us.
Ocean brine lingers in the air as drops of rain fall in a million tiny crystals outside of the cave, each one catching the light and creating a kaleidoscope of refracted colors.
The longer we stand there, though, the colder I get until I shiver, my wet clothes clinging to my skin and sapping what little warmth I have left. My teeth begin to chatter, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying in vain to stop shivering.
I am so cold, so very, very cold.
I shuffle backward as rain hits the ground and splatters my shoes with mud. Thatcher looks over at me, his brows drawn together. Then, without a word, he lifts one hand to reach around to the nape of his neck and pulls off his shirt.
What is he doing?
I freeze.
His tan skin contrasts starkly with the black lip of his joggers, and I can't stop looking at his chest. Each muscle is defined, rising slightly with his breath.
Dark hair dusts his sternum and continues lower, disappearing beneath the hint of his boxers peeking above his pants.
Against the backdrop of the storm and in only his black running pants, he looks almost … feral.
That thing that binds us together knots around my belly.
Breathing is impossible.
"Here." His voice is almost gentle as he presses his shirt against my belly. My cold hands hover over his warm ones. "It's quick dry fabric. It'll keep you warm."
I hesitate, holding his hands tighter, pressing his shirt closer.
"W … what about you?" I ask, my teeth chattering.
"I'll be fine." A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he's amused I thought of him first.
My hands linger on his as his fingers curl ever-so-slightly into my camisole. The movement is gentle, almost nonexistent, but his touch scalds my skin just the same.
"Take it, Avalynne." His breath fogs with mine in the space between us. He doesn't blink as he watches me, and in the dark of the cave, his pupils bleed into his irises, turning his eyes pitch black.
We stand there a second longer before the moment is broken.
He swallows and steps away quickly, turning away from me and leaving the shirt in my hands.
It's still warm, and the fabric is surprisingly soft as I pull it on, grateful for the small measure of heat it provides.
It smells faintly of him, sweat, bourbon, and old paper, igniting an entirely different heat within me.
"Thank you," I murmur to his profile.
He nods as he continues to stare out at the rain.
Is he breathing?
Am I?
"Don't look at me like that," he says on a swallow, the words low, almost pained.
"Like what?" I whisper, but he's still not looking at me.
His jaw clenches, the bone protruding outward, before he turns to me, his lips parting as our gazes lock. Everything is diamond rain and his darkness.
"Like you're not a good girl, and I'm not your professor."
I.
Can't.
Breathe.
"Who says I'm good?"
He sucks his teeth and goes utterly still.
In a heartbeat, he's in front of me, raindrops saturating his black hair and slipping down the planes of his face and the column of his throat.
His chest, sculpted tawny muscle and a dusting of dark hair, heaves with his breath, and I'm paralyzed by his magnetism.
We stand there in a cocoon of a million raindrops meeting forest floor and the salty churn of an angry sea.
A vise squeezes inside my chest, and my lungs seize.
He raises his hand slowly, his fingers skimming the outer side of my thigh and up to my hipbone above the lip of my skirt.
His thumb catches on a sliver of flesh, and he walks me back.
One step. Two steps. Three.
My spine meets hard rock, and I'm trapped between him and the cave wall. Heat crackles across my skin and spreads from the spot where his hand lingers, peppering my flesh with goosebumps. Our breath heats the cool air and fogs as his shadowed gaze searches mine.
"What are you doing to me?" The question rumbles under his breath.
A raindrop slips off the end of his nose and lands on my chest.
He shifts even closer, his thigh slipping between my legs and parting them.
His hands skim my sides, continuing upward, and the heat pops through my belly and fizzes inside my chest. The position is closer than we've ever been—intimate—and everything in me wants him even closer.
His mouth hovers above mine as he stares down at me.
"Stop. It." His command ghosts my lips.
"Stop what, Professor?"
His hands continue upward, over my sides and across my ribs.
"Tempting me." His hands climb up my neck to cradle either side of my face. His thumbs massage tiny circles at my temples.
"I … I don't know what you mean."
"Even you aren't that innocent, Ms. Immorier."
"What happened to Avalynne?"
God, I want him to kiss me. I want him more than I want to exist.
"Using your last name is good for us," he tells me.
"Why's that?"
"Because it reminds me who you are." Abruptly, he releases me and steps away. My body screams for his return.
The weight of his words drops an anvil on top of my lungs. I shiver as we stand there, the storm raging around us. His rejection stings more than the pelting rain.
"I don't understand you," I admit, looking out into the forest, my cheeks flaring.
"Everything I do has a reason," he says, shrugging. "Mostly."
I clear my throat. "And what's the reason for this morning's torture session?"
"Your grandfather has high expectations for you, Avalynne. I'm trying to help you meet those expectations."
"By making me run until I die?"
He rolls his eyes and laughs, but it's more disbelief than amusement. "You did not die, Avalynne." Our gazes lock as his laughter fades. "You're capable of more than you think."
"You're the only one at this convent that believes that."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"I've heard the nuns." My words are as cold as the rain. "They say something's wrong with me, that I'm bad just like she was."
"Like who?"
"My distant aunt. She was sent here when the convent originally opened."
"I see." His brows pull together.
I avert my gaze again, examining the craggy, pitted surface of the rock.
"Who we are isn't dictated by our DNA," he tells me. "If we were, we'd all be royally fucked."
"Do you know why she was here? My aunt?"
"I don't." He shakes his head. "But I'll see what I can find out."
"Thank you."
"Anything for you, Avalynne."
"Anything?"
He cuts his eyes at me. "Within reason. It's a figurative anything."
The rain begins to let up, the downpour reducing to drizzle. We stand beneath the rock for a while longer, though, before we step out into the cool, damp air. The sky is clearing, patches of blue peeking between the clouds. Rain-soaked earth and sea salt linger in the air.
"Ready to head back?" he asks as the last raindrops hit his naked shoulders and roll over his pectorals and between the indents of the muscles of his abdomen.
I look away quickly and nod.
We start back to the convent in silence.