this, being here in his office, while incredibly sexy is also stupid as fuck. When euphoria subsides, I stand up on legs that are shaking in a wholly new way and reach for my underwear. The moment I bend down, there is a knock on his door.
‘You in there, Connor?’
His eyes meet mine and he swears under his breath. I am shaking, terrified. There is no escape. He lifts a finger to his lips and I freeze, deathly still, completely silent.
‘Connor?’ the disembodied voice persists.
Then another adds, ‘I thought I saw him go in there. Maybe he was just picking something up.’
‘Yeah. Okay, I’ll give him a call later.’
I’m jittery as anything. Even after it’s been silent for a full minute, I still feel like we’re hovering on the edge of a warzone, wearing fluorescent jackets, begging to be hit.
I stare at him and don’t move until he does. He stands, stalking across to me, taking my underwear from fingertips which are numb.
He crouches down then and holds my pants for me to step into. I do so, but I can’t believe how close we just came to being caught.
‘That was so stupid,’ I say and I’m angry again. Furious, but with myself now. ‘We can’t do this.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If we get caught, my God, Connor. If anyone found out...’ My whole life flashes before me. The work I put into being accepted into LLS. The support my parents have given me. Their expectations, their pride. My own desperate need to graduate and get an amazing training contract placement, to establish myself as a success in my own right.
I slept with Connor in part because I wanted to run from my ‘good girl’ instincts, but it turns out you can’t hide from yourself.
‘I don’t think I can do this.’
He stares at me and his expression runs the gamut from argumentative to acceptance in the space of three seconds. ‘You’re right.’ There’s resignation in his voice. ‘That was spectacularly stupid.’
* * *
After Thursday’s class I’m slow to pack up. I am, I suppose, waiting to see what happens. We haven’t spoken since I left his office, days earlier. Since I told him we can no longer do that... Every time I’ve thought of how we were in his office, though, need has hammered me from the inside out.
I stare at him from my seat without really realising that’s what I’m doing. He’s putting away his lecture notes, his iPad, and the room is slowly emptying of students. But I don’t move. I watch him, completely entranced by his economy of movement. I imagine him without the shirt. I see his chest, covered in swirling ink. Stories and mysteries in all those markings.
My stomach twists.
‘Miss Amorelli,’ he says without lifting his head. My heart surges. But we’re not yet alone, and now I desperately want to be.
When I don’t answer, he shifts his gaze to my face. Fire—invisible but no less potent for that—flashes between us.
‘Would you come here, please?’ he says, turning his attention back to the desk. There are other students still milling about, so I make sure to flatten any look of anticipation or desire from my features—aiming instead for nonchalant.
‘We need to have a meeting about your group assignment,’ he says, barely looking at me.
‘Oh. The one I handed in last week?’
Now his eyes briefly spark with mine. ‘Is there another group assignment for this class that I’m not aware of?’ It’s a joke, but it comes off as sarcastic. It hurts.
Perhaps that shows in my face because his expression softens and a tight smile passes across his face, and then I am aware of him sliding something across his desk. I look down at it curiously. It’s an envelope with my initials on the front.
‘Come to my office tomorrow morning,’ he says, continuing our earlier conversation with ease. In the periphery of my vision, I see one of my classmates begin to move towards us and I quickly slide my fingertips over the envelope, palming it subtly towards my hip.
His eyes glow when they meet mine and then he’s dismissing me with a curt nod, turning to face the other student.
I leave before I hear their conversation, moving down the corridor and turning into the first ladies’ room I reach. I lock myself in a cubicle and only then do I dare open the envelope. There’s a card inside, like a bank card. When I flip it over I see the branding:
SleepInn Holborn
I recognise the name—it’s a hotel only about a block from the law school. There’s another piece of paper in the envelope. It’s got Connor’s confident writing scrawled across it.
Room 1318. 4 p.m.
I ARRIVE JUST after four and the room is deserted. Which is good, because it’s a hot day and I’ve moved quickly to get here and I need a couple of minutes to cool down. I place my handbag by the door then step into the room. No, it’s more a suite, actually, large and extravagant, with a king-size bed, a crystal chandelier and several large mirrors on the walls. I catch my reflection in one and smile.
I look like a woman on the path to adventure. Maybe not such a good girl after all?
I push the curtains open, revealing the view. London swirls beneath me, a hive of activity as people begin their journeys home. I stare down at the street for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of Connor, and then move towards a door which I presume will lead to a bathroom.
It’s palatial. An enormous triangular spa bath sits in one corner, a window just above it showcasing an alternative view of town. There’s a shower, too, with two shower heads and a marble vanity unit below a large mirror with an ornate swirling gold frame.
I run some cold water from the tap and splash my neck and arms, refreshing myself and cooling down. I pat myself dry and then move back into the room just as I hear another card in the door’s locking mechanism.
I pause but every cell in my body is leaping with anticipation. My mouth is dry and my pulse is frantic. The door pushes inwards. I wait, my breath held.
Connor strides in and, despite the heat of the day, he looks perfect. His eyes meet mine and my stomach goes into free fall, like I’ve tumbled off the top of a cliff.
I can’t look away. I can only stare. He walks further into the room, shrugging out of his jacket as he does so, placing it over a chair-back to his side. I still don’t move, nor do I speak. I don’t know why I’m struck mute, only that this is the effect he has on me.
‘Hey.’ His voice is thick; my insides tremble.
‘Hey,’ I finally respond, forcing a smile to my lips. I stay where I am, even
