Page 188 of Forbidden Lessons

Neither am I.

“Stay and enjoy the party,” she says, then cuts her eyes to Bastian. “I’m sure Professor Rooke will protect you against all the baddies.”

I refuse to crane my head back to look up at him as I take his arm.

“Catch you later,” Melissa says, and I turn to scowl at her over my shoulder. She shrugs, holding up her hands, like she’s implying she did me a favor.

If she only knew.

“Never a dull moment with you, Miss Lee,” he murmurs, nodding his head to a guy in a white tux as we turn the corner into the main ballroom area. “But I really wouldn’t recommend getting on the dean’s bad side.”

“Yeah, I heard.” I try to pull my arm out of his, but he tightens it against his side, trapping me like he did back at the boutique. “Apparently she hunts people for sport.”

He laughs, and I throw him a suspicious glare despite promising myself not to get drawn in by his charm.

I assumed he was heading for one of the cocktail tables spaced around the edges of the ballroom where we could stand and talk amidst the bustle of talking, laughing, dancing guests.

But I got it wrong.

A new song starts up, something with intense violin chords and just a hint of a familiar tune.

“I want to apologize for earlier today,” he says, turning, his hand sliding down my arm until he’s grabbing my wrist. “I was an idiot.”

I open my mouth to confirm, indeed, what an idiot he had been, but then he bows over my hand.

“May I have this dance?”

“Wh—”

My protest is cut off as he tugs my hand, closing the distance between us. In that same fluid motion, he gets his other arm under mine, using it to guide my hand up to his shoulder. He grasps my hand in his, tightens his grip, and whirls, spinning us into a loose cluster of dancers in the middle of the ballroom.

What fucking sorcery is this?

I hold on to his shoulder, cling to his hand, and do my best to ignore the way he holds onto my waist, but it’s all too much. My face is hot, my feet are a tangled mess, and I guess this is the right time to tell him?—

“I can’t dance!” I whisper-shout.

“Then we’ll stick to a waltz.”

He starts turning, and it’s follow or be dragged.

“I’ve got no idea how this shit works, Bastian!”

He frowns, drawing me a little closer so he can duck his head and whisper in my ear. “Never?”

“Never!”

People around us are starting to notice. And I guess Professor Rooke hadn’t thought this through, because we’re almost dead center in the middle of the dance floor, couples surrounding us on all sides.

“Please! Just stop.” My hand grips his. “I’ve already embarrassed myself enough tonight.”

He stops dancing, and we stare at each other for a moment, my neck aching how I crane it back to make eye contact.

His gaze darts left. Right. Then right back at me.

There’s a wicked curl to the side of his mouth as he grabs me around the waist with both hands.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says.

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