Page 24 of Mercy in Betrayal

“The professor was very…hands on. She used to make us act out most of the reading.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Active reading has been shown to be instrumental in developing student appreciation for and understanding of difficult text.”

“Even the love scenes.”

My lips round on a little puff of air. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

I cover my mouth to hide a giggle. “I’m sure you did a very good job.”

He frowns and takes a step toward me. “Are you laughing at me, little bird?”

My mouth goes dry, and I ease back a step until the chalkboard is at my back. “N-no. What book did you have to act out?”

He takes another step, the movement almost primal. “Persuasion.”

“Jane Austen.”

His next step brings him to stand inches away, our chests separated only by the span of my arms folded between us, his coat a cushiony barrier. He lifts an eyebrow at it, then raises his arms and places them on the chalkboard behind my head, boxing me in.

“Wha—”

“‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever.’”

I forget to breathe. I know the words aren’t his. I know they’re not intended for me. I know Austen wrote them for another man, another woman—and yet they resonate. His gaze holds mine hostage as he speaks each one, low and laden with import, so deliberately.

“Enzo—”

He talks over me as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.’”

His eyes are sticky honey, holding me prisoner. “You—”

He moves one hand, sliding it purposefully around my jaw and into my hair. “‘Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.’” Holding me still, his face descends, and he kisses me.

His lips on mine are at once fierce and tender, soft and hard. His kiss is a confusion of contrasts, blasting through any defense I might have raised.

I don’t make a single protest, though. Why would I? I’ve dreamed of this, of far more than this. I’ve yearned for this stranger’s hands on me, his fingers against my most secret parts…skipped right over the intimate mystery of his mouth against mine.

This is magic.

My arms, folded in between us, go limp and then curl around his waist. His coat falls on the floor, but neither of us notices or cares. Taking it for the invitation it is, he presses in, the heat of his body enveloping me as he wraps himself around me in a full-bodied embrace.

It’s then I feel him, hard and thick and insistent through the thin material of my skirt. His hands travel down to my hips, pulling me in tight against him. The pressure of his fingertips turns bruising, and I turn away from his kiss on a gasp.

I want.

Dear God, do I want.

And that’s exactly why I have to leave. I don’t know this man. I don’t know anything about him.

With every ounce of strength I still possess, I push past him and break for the door. “I have to get back to work.” Scooping up Clem’s leash, I flee, leaving him leaning, palms flat, against the chalkboard.

Maybe he’ll look at his coffee cup before he throws it away.

Maybe he’ll message me.

Chapter 9

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