Chapter 12
Piper
After the assembly, I head straight to my first class of the semester.
The morning has barely begun, and already I want it to be over so I can change into my skating clothes and disappear to the rink.
Ice skating is what I live for.
It has been that way for as long as I can remember. The ice is the only place where I can breathe properly, where everything feels right.
I climb the staircase and walk through the corridor before stepping into the classroom.
Most of the seats are already taken.
I pause when I realise my usual place at the back has been occupied, along with nearly every seat around it, as if it was done on purpose to make sure I wouldn’t sit there.
I exhale heavily as I look at the only seats left available.
Reluctantly, I make my way to the second row and slip into one of them, setting my bag beside me.
I take out my notebook and pen, placing them on the desk before pulling out the smoothie and taking a slow sip.
Finally, I retrieve the book I have been reading and open it to the page where I left off.
The classroom hums with conversation around me, but I barely notice.
My official course of study is Strategic Security and Military Economics, a field my father chose for me the moment I entered St. Monarché Academy.
General Jonathan Ashthorne doesn’t believe in useless degrees.
Even if I will probably never follow in his footsteps—not in the military, nor in the business side of things—my father still expects me to have the degree.
At one point, which now feels like a lifetime ago, I was beyond grateful I only had one final year left before I could leave this academy behind for good.
Now, after everything, after the way my life changed, I find myself wanting to stay.
Forever, perhaps, irrational as that sounds.
Because as tedious as these classes may be, they still mean freedom.
I don’t even notice when the conversations around the room quieten, too lost in my own head.
But suddenly, the hairs along the back of my neck rise.
Someone walks past my desk, and the air changes with them, that scent hits me so suddenly it feels like being dragged straight back into that night.
Slowly, so, so slowly, I lift my eyes from the page.
They land on the man standing at the front of the classroom, dressed in a crisp shirt and dark trousers, his chocolate brown hair styled to perfection while a few days’ worth of stubble shadows the hard line of his jaw.
And then I meet his eyes.
Those same eyes that had me losing myself only a few nights ago are fixed entirely on me now.
My breath catches.
For a moment, my body refuses to respond, as if the weight of his stare has pinned me in place.
The way he watches me sends a shiver down my spine.
Memories from that night flood my mind, and I swallow hard.
No.
This was not supposed to happen.
What is he doing here?
He shouldn’t be here.
He can’t be here.
And all the while I am internally spiralling, he doesn’t break eye contact.
Not even for a second.
One corner of his mouth lifts into a slow, knowing smile, a single dimple appears in his cheek, and absurdly, the sight of it makes my pulse stumble.
Brilliant.
Just brilliant.
I barely recognise myself right now. Men don’t usually affect me like this.
If ever.
And yet somehow my mind, body, and apparently even my heart have decided to lose all sense since the twenty ninth of August, when I thought sleeping with a stranger from a rival academy and syndicate was a brilliant idea.
Not to mention losing my virginity to him. That being the rather important detail in all of this.
Slowly, I close my book and leave it resting on my lap.
Around us, the rest of the class watches the scene unfold, clearly confused, because he is not subtle about any of this.
Not in the slightest.
He looks at me as though the entire room has disappeared. As if I am the only person left in it.
And that is a problem.
A very big problem.
Because that man can’t be my professor.
But the moment he clears his throat, I already know.
“Good morning, everyone. I am Mr Wardgrave, and I will be teaching Weapons Trade and International Policy this semester.”
My stomach drops.
Something close to amusement appears on his face as he watches my reaction.
And he keeps looking at me even as he addresses the class. Not once since walking into this room has he broken eye contact for longer than a few seconds.
His eyes feel like they are stripping me bare.
The way he watches me feels too intimate for a room this full. He looks seconds away from telling everyone to get the fuck out, dragging me onto that desk, and fucking me senseless.
And the worst part?
The way my body keeps reacting to his mere presence tells me I would probably let him.
No.
Not probably.
Most definitely.
He gives instructions, yet the class continues staring at him instead of opening their books and getting on with the task.
Honestly, I can’t even blame them.
The man looks like every girl’s fantasy. He has this dark, dangerous aura about him, and the fact that he is a professor only makes him more appealing.
“Are my instructions unclear?” he booms.
The entire room snaps back to attention as notebooks open and the rustle of pages fills the classroom.
I am still staring at him.
His eyes meet mine again, narrowing slightly, though that same sly hint of amusement still lingers on his face.
Then his gaze drops to my mouth, and I realise I have been biting my lower lip while looking at him.
My cheeks flush and I quickly look away, opening my own notebook and turning my attention to the work in front of me.
The lecture passes slowly, mostly because I can feel his eyes on me through all of it.
Surely the man has something better to do than stare at me for an entire class.
That is what one would think.
Apparently not.
Even so, I keep my attention fixed firmly on the page in front of me. I don’t dare look up for the rest of the lecture.
I have some self-control left, and I should at least attempt to prove it.
If only to myself.
Yet again, as seems to be the story of my life, I find myself tangled in another mess.
Because he might not know, but I do.
As much as my body responds to his, we can’t do this. I can’t allow this to become anything more.
It really should have gone according to plan. One forbidden night, and then we would return to different corners of the world.
Him to Velmark Academy later on in London, or wherever it is he lives.
Me here on the island before eventually returning home to America.
As soon as the class ends, I stand abruptly, ready to disappear into the crowd, but a figure looms over me before I can even reach for my bag.
I look up… and up.
Even in my heeled boots, he towers over me. The man is easily six foot three, perhaps six foot four, and beside my five foot two frame, the difference is impossible to ignore.
“Miss Ashthorne. A word.”
A few heads turn in my direction and my hand tightens around the strap of my bag.
This is bad.
Very, very bad.
I can’t have attention like this on me. Even if nothing happened between us beyond that night, people gossip. And if rumours start spreading about me and my professor… I don’t know what he will do.
“I do have another lecture to get to.”
“You may have mistaken my tone for optional.”
My jaw tightens.
He narrows his eyes as if daring me to refuse, and I want to.
I really, really want to.
Yet I still find myself nodding.
He turns and walks back towards his desk, and I reluctantly follow after him.
Leaning against the edge of it, he folds his arms over his chest and looks at me.
Then his focus moves past me towards the back of the room.
“Did you forget something? Class is over. Leave.”
I hear hurried footsteps behind me, followed by the sound of the door closing.
Then his attention returns to me.
I clear my throat. “What exactly did you need me for… professor?”
His expression darkens slightly before that familiar sly smile appears again.
It is strange, really.
I wouldn’t exactly call it a smile. The man looks so serious… so impossibly stoic, yet there is that slight tilt of his mouth, the dimple that appears in his cheek.
So perhaps it is a smile after all. Just not one most people have.
I immediately cringe at my own wording because it sounds almost… flirtatious.
And I don’t flirt.
Well.
Apparently, I do.
“I want to know why, when I woke the next morning, you were no longer in my bed.”
“You don’t strike me as the clingy type, professor. It was a one night stand. I suggest you get over it.”
“And you hardly seem the mouthy type, Miss Ashthorne. Looks can be remarkably misleading.”
He straightens before taking a step into my space. The scent of his expensive cologne wraps around me and, for one humiliating second, I swear my knees weaken beneath me.
His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear as he bends slightly.
“I want a repeat. And something you should know about me, is that I always get what I want.”
“I suppose I shall have to prove you wrong.”
“You are welcome to try. But you will fail.”
He straightens before smoothing an invisible crease from the sleeve of his suit.
“1111,” he says simply.
“I fail to see why you are telling me that.”
“Be there at seven.”
I begin shaking my head, but he stops me before I can speak.
“And if you are not…” His eyes darken. “I may have to resort to other methods of ensuring your cooperation.”
I look at him, indignant. “What is your problem? Are you threatening me?”
He watches me, the expression on his face almost thoughtful. “You really do hide all that fire beneath your prim little persona. I like it.”
My jaw tightens.
“And yes, it would seem I am perfectly capable of resorting to threats when I want something.” His expression remains perfectly calm. “How dreadful.”
I summon every ounce of patience I have left.
“Look,” I begin, lowering my voice, “we slept together. Get over it. It’s not happening again. Ever.”
I gesture vaguely between us. “First of all, you are my professor, which I am fairly certain violates several policies regarding… this. And second, I just… can’t.”
“And why is that? Do tell.”
“Because,” I say, growing more exasperated, “I simply can’t. Nor do I want to.”
He takes another step towards me, so close that I feel his breath on my skin before he bends down and captures my lips in a hard, possessive kiss.
For a second, I am too stunned by the suddenness of it to react, but just as quickly, everything else disappears.
His tongue tangles with mine as his hand grips the back of my neck, holding me exactly where he wants me.
Then he pulls away just as abruptly, leaving me slightly dizzy.
“Liar,” he growls. “I would wager my entire fortune that, if I slipped my hand beneath that tiny dress of yours, I would find you dripping for me.”
He presses another kiss to my lips.
“Be there. Seven sharp.”
I stare at him for a moment longer, trying to read something, anything, from his face, but the man gives nothing away.
His expression remains impossibly blank.
What he wants from me, I have no idea. But whatever it is, I should steer clear of it.
Because he and I are impossible.
I turn abruptly, grab my bag from the desk, and leave the classroom.
The moment I step into the corridor, my phone vibrates with a new message.
Don’t forget. I always have my eyes on you.
I swallow around the knot in my throat, refusing to let the tears gathering in my eyes fall.
Straightening my spine, I shove my phone into my bag and remind myself why.
This.
This is exactly why I can’t entertain any of this. Why he and I were doomed before we ever had the chance to begin.
Losing my virginity to Hunter was a catastrophic lapse in judgement.
It doesn’t matter how right it felt in his arms, or the way he makes my body betray every sensible thought in my head.
It should never have been him.
Because now he is here, and for reasons I can’t begin to understand, he refuses to let go.
And my situation is messy enough without him adding to it.
He needs to leave me alone. We can’t be anything to each other.
My body… it’s no longer mine to give away.
I already sold my soul to the devil.