Page 31 of Wicked Scandal

But when I put my hand against the wall behind her, she steps in the opposite direction, away from me.

Her hands fly to her cheeks as she angles her body away from me. It’s obvious she’s ashamed, or maybe embarrassed about what almost happened. But I’m not, and I don’t regret it.

“This can’t happen.” She covers her face as if she is about to cry. “I’m so sorry, Wilder.”

I rush to her side, pulling her hands down and forcing her tearstained eyes to look at me. “Don’t be sorry.”

“But I’m your teacher…”

“Stop saying that.” I pull her into a hug before looking down at her. “Yes, you are my teacher, but you’re so much more than that.”

She shakes her head, likely disappointed in herself, which kills me. “I’m an idiot is what I am.”

“Hey.” I squeeze her closer, making sure she feels this moment when our hearts beat in sync. “You’re not an idiot. You’re smart, compassionate, beautiful…” I step back with one of her hands in mine as I look her body up and down, biting my bottom lip. “And sexy as hell.”

Her features soften. “That’s sweet of you to say, Wilder. But you’re forgetting, I’m also a married woman.”

I quirk a brow. “Happily married?” I’d bet my life the answer is no, even if she won’t admit it to me.

“It’s complicated. But I’m married nonetheless.”

I pull her hand and spin her body so that her back presses against the wall. The air whooshes out of her, making me smile as my hands move to her waist, and I say, “Then tell me to leave and never come back.”

CHAPTER 9

CATHERINE

The words linger on the tip of my tongue. I know exactly what I need to do, but need and want are two different things that come down to self-control.

I’ve been at war with myself my entire life, making choices that will always please others. For once, I want to do something for myself. Something that fills this void in my heart and satisfies the deep hunger for another man’s gentle touch—Wilder’s touch.

I’m drawn to him. I won’t deny it—at least, not to myself. I can’t explain the emotions I feel when we’re together. I have no doubt fate brought us together for more than just a lesson in literature, or help with an essay and an article.

Whatever this is between us is bigger than either of us could have ever imagined. It sounds crazy—hell, it feels crazy—but my gut tells me not to let him go. At least, not yet.

“Don’t go,” I whisper with bated breath. No regrets, no turning back. I want him to stay. “Just give me a couple minutes. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be back.”

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and my stomach does a somersault. “I’ll wait as long as you want me to,” he says, with a sweep of his fingers across my cheek. “But I need you to know, I didn’t come here to make this something more, or less, than what it is. I just want to spend time with you. Even if that means just drinking coffee and talking.”

I quirk a brow. “You drink coffee?”

“Of course I drink coffee. Doesn’t everyone?” He gives me this stunned look, as if it is normal for a high schooler to require caffeine to wake up in the mornings. A high schooler who has the energy to play a sport that requires you to work out twice a day.

I laugh. “I guess so. But you’re only eighteen.” I stop myself from saying any more, like how I’d take him to be a hot chocolate kind of person and how I didn’t drink coffee until I was in my twenties.

Part of me wants to overthink this again. Wilder is only eighteen. He’s so mature, though, and thoughtful, and tender. He’s more of a man than most men I know. And apparently he drinks coffee.

“You’re right. I am only eighteen, but I’ll be nineteen in July.”

“Oh really? My birthday is in July, too. I’ll be…” I let my words trail off, not wanting to divulge my age because it makes this situation feel all the more wrong. Once again, I won’t go there. I refuse to overthink this. Like Wilder said, this doesn’t have to be anything more or less than what it is. We’re friends. There is nothing wrong with that.

“You’ll be thirty,” he finishes for me. “On July third. And I’ll be nineteen on July sixth. Age is just a number, Mrs. J. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

I’m actually surprised he even knows my birthday. I must have mentioned it in class at one time. It makes my heart beat a little faster knowing he remembered that.

I look down, shaking my head while smiling, before lifting my eyes to his. “Who the hell are you and what planet did you come from?”

He extends his hand and I lay mine in it. “Wilder Christian Cromwell,” he says confidently. “I have no idea who I am because I’m still trying to figure that out myself. I’m from Willow Creek, Colorado, and I’ll probably live here for the rest of my life. I enjoy the simple things in life and I’ve found that second-guessing myself is a waste of time.”

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