hail a cab. I am not a man of God, but from the age of twelve I was raised by one. Father O’Sullivan taught me many things, including the importance of an unswerving belief in my own strength.
I have conquered many things. The loss of my parents. The anger that swirled through my adolescent frame at their violent deaths. There were many torments to rise above and I have always done so.
But this, I fear, is something different altogether. I’m not so sure I can conquer this obsessive lust in a way that will save Olivia from losing everything she’s worked for. So much is at stake—I have to be strong. We must be careful.
As I slide into the back seat of a cab, I shoot one more look at her little house on the river. My gut twists with regret.
I would do almost anything to be back in her kitchen, with her in my arms...
BY TUESDAY I’M wishing I had stayed at her house. Not just for dinner but for the whole night. By Tuesday, my body is throbbing with needs only Olivia can satisfy. She’s sitting in the third row, writing notes as furiously as ever, but I feel the tension that throbs between us and I ache to dismiss the class and act on it. She avoids meeting my eyes.
Because I am attuned to every movement she makes, I see the instant she reaches into her bag and pulls her phone out. And, even though I’m not looking straight at her, I see the small frown that etches across her face. A curiosity to know what’s on her screen throws me for a moment. I look back at my notes to regroup and carry on.
She has all my attention, though.
* * *
I’m around the corner. Meet you in the foyer.
Why the hell is Pietro messaging me this? I told him I had a lecture from one to three today. The implication was reasonably clear, I would have thought—that I’d prefer not to be disturbed within that timeframe. Yet here we are, fifteen minutes before the end of class, and he’s messaging me?
I can’t ask him to hang around; that’s not fair. He’s doing me a massive favour by bringing me the laptop I left in his car on Sunday, when he dropped me home from my parents’ place. I curse my forgetfulness and I blame Connor for it.
I was thinking only of him. His body. His touch. His games. His kinky self.
And so I climbed out of Pietro’s Mercedes without most of my mind, and without the bag that has my computer, my course notes and various other can’t-live-without things.
I know you said you had a lecture, but I’ve got an appointment to get to. Sorry, bella. xxx
His follow-up message arrives as I’m dithering about what to say or do and it spurs me into action. I slip my notebook into my bag and put the cap on my pen. I try to catch Connor’s eye to mouth an apology but he is resolutely not looking in my direction. I was grateful for that up until a moment ago—grateful for the fact our eyes weren’t meeting. It didn’t change the fact that I felt as though my body was being burned alive, desire lashing at the heels of my feet, need throbbing low down in my abdomen.
I stand up and dip my head forward, moving to the side of the classroom and down towards the door. My hand is on the knob before I hear his voice.
‘Is there a problem, Miss Amorelli?’
I spin around to face him and my breath thickens in my body. Our eyes meet and the thunderstorm is back, vibrating in the room. How is it possible that everyone else doesn’t feel it?
Bloody hell.
I’ve slept with my lecturer.
Seeing him standing there in front of the class, so commanding, so confident, so hot, my insides clench with the easy recollection of how his body possessed mine. How we wrapped around each other and held on as pleasure and satiation robbed us of breath.
It’s as if this moment is the first time I’ve actually realised the enormity of what I’ve done.
‘Sorry, sir, I have to meet someone,’ I say, imbuing the words with as much clinical detachment as I can muster when my breasts are tingling for his touch.
‘I see.’ Concern flashes in his gaze—concern that makes my heart thump almost painfully.
‘Sorry,’ I mouth once more, pulling the door inward and slipping out of the classroom. I make my way quickly down the corridor to the enormous foyer that is the heart of the LLS building.
The campus was built some time in the seventies. It’s an uninspiring brick rectangle from the outside, but the inside is quite spectacular. The foyer is double height and features cream tiles the whole way across. At change of class times, it’s furiously loud, with students and teachers bustling one way or another.
Now, as I make my way to the middle and stare out of the sliding doors, it’s almost deserted. Just a couple of people walking through it, and a girl sitting on a bench listening to headphones.
I’m waiting at least ten minutes, which is flipping aggravating, to say the least. I could have avoided that whole early-departure scenario if only Pietro hadn’t got me out here prematurely.
‘Ciao!’ He strides into the foyer when I’m on the brink of shooting him an angry text message, his expression relaxed, his manner as charming as always. He is handsome, elegant and kind and yet I feel nothing for him, except the warmth of an easy friendship.
‘I thought you were here already.’ My response is short and I wince at it.
‘I was finding a parking space.’ He shrugs, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek.
I force a smile, reminding myself that he’s come out of his way because I was forgetful. He’s being kind. I’m not. His eyes roam my face with an intensity that leaves me cold, and guilt runs through me. Guilt that I don’t love him any more when I think he’s probably still in love with me.
‘What’s your appointment?’
‘A fashion shoot around the corner. I’m just scoping out the lighting today.’
Pietro is a great photographer. He’s very creative and that expresses itself in myriad ways, from his impeccable personal style and grooming to his apartment that is a work of art, to his photographs, that are poignant and breathtaking.
‘Anyone exciting?’ I ask.
‘Just supermodels.’ He grins and I laugh.
‘Nice. All in a day’s work, huh?’
‘You got it.’
Noise around us lifts as various classes come to an end and students begin to move to their next destination.
‘I’d better get back,’ I say, holding a hand out for the laptop. But he puts his hand in mine instead and then lifts my hand to his lips.
‘I really had fun with you on Sunday.’ His dark brown eyes are boring into mine and I fight the urge to pull my hand away.
‘Miss
