Page 137 of Ashen Souls

I stared up at him, my pulse jumping in my throat.

“You said you were trying to be responsible,” I whispered.

“To hell with being responsible.”

His hand moved from my wrist, trailing up my arm before his fingers anchored firmly in the hair at the nape of my neck. For a single suspended heartbeat, he gave me the chance to pull away.

I didn’t.

He leaned in, and his mouth met mine.

There was nothing tentative about it.

My hands found his chest, sliding up the rumpled fabric of his shirt to rest on his shoulders. The moment I leaned into his touch, I felt a shuddering breath escape him.

His free hand dropped to my waist, guiding me backward until my hips hit the edge of the wooden lectern.

My fingers tangled in his messy hair, and he kissed me harder, tasting like black coffee. I felt him everywhere: the solid pressure of his hands holding me in place, the rough friction of his shirt under my palms.

The double doors at the top of the stairs banged open, the crack of wood hitting the wall echoing through the empty hall.

“Aveline, if we don't leave right now, we're going to be late!” Harper’s voice rang out.

I jerked back from him, smoothing my shirt.

Ethan took a sharp step back, immediately turning his attention to the papers on his desk.

Harper froze in the doorway. Her eyes darted from my flushed face to Ethan, who was now staring blindly at his syllabus.

Her expression morphed rapidly from impatience to dawning comprehension and, finally, to intense, smug amusement.

“Oh,” she said. “Right. Mythology is clearly very engaging today.”

I shot her a lethal look and grabbed my bag from the floor, my fingers fumbling with the strap.

“I should go,” I said, my voice still slightly breathless.

Ethan cleared his throat. He tried for his usual authority, but his lips were visibly flushed and his hair was a mess where I had grabbed it.

“Miss Hart.”

I turned toward the door. Harper stepped aside with overstated politeness.

Before I crossed the threshold, I glanced back.

He was watching me. His hands were braced flat against the lectern, and there wasn't a single shred of regret in his eyes.

I allowed myself the smallest smile.

Then I walked out.

38

♫ FOALS—SPANISH SAHARA

The moment we stepped out of the lecture hall, Harper did not speak for precisely six seconds.

That alone was alarming.