Page 80 of Cross My Heart

“Why?” I demand. The idea of her staying with me makes perfect sense. I can look out for her, take care of her. And more than that, it feelsright.

But Tessa laughs, like she’s not even taking it seriously. “Umm, because we’ve barely been dating a couple of weeks—if that’s even what you can call this. Trust me, you’re going to come to your senses in about five minutes and be seriously relieved that I’m the one thinking straight. Bruises heal. I’ll be fine.”

“But if you stayed with me, we would have more time together…” I draw her closer, more gently this time, and tilt her chin up to me for a slow, deep kiss. Tessa sighs, melting into my arms. “More time for me to ravish you,” I whisper, sliding my hands over the curve of her hips. “To lay you down and make you come, over and over again…”

Tessa neatly ducks out of my embrace. “Using sex to manipulate me, professor?” she gives me a knowing smirk. “Tempting, but that’s not going to work on me. I know all your tricks. Now, I need to get to class.”

Dammit.

I stifle my frustration, watching her collect her books. Tessa is stubborn and independent, acting like the attack was no big deal, but I can tell, she’s shaken; her usual bold spark dimmed.

Why can’t she see, she doesn’t have to deal with this alone?

“Will you at least let me set this place up with groceries and supplies while you're in class?” I ask, getting a new idea. “You need to be resting and taking it easy. Mineral salt baths for the bruising. Chicken soup. Ridiculously expensive gelato and chocolates…”

Tessa finally smiles. “That sounds lovely,” she says, exhaling. “And maybe you could come over later, watch a movie or something?” she adds, tentatively. “I know it sounds stupid but… I don’t want to be alone.”

Dammit.

“It’s not stupid at all.” I reassure her, even more certain she shouldn’t be in this flat on her own.

“Thank you,” she says with a pale smile. “Spare key’s on the table.”

“I’ll call you later,” I tell her, seeing her off with another kiss.

The door slams behind her, and I stand there a moment in the well-worn living room, looking around at the cheap furniture—and the pathetic excuse for a lock on the door.

She’s scared.

The knowledge shakes me to my core—and fills me with determination. I don’t know if it’s just the after-effects of her attack, or something more, but it makes no fucking difference to me. Tessa thinks she has to be brave, and handle this alone, but she’s wrong.

I’m going to take care of her, and keep her safe, no matter what.

Even if she hates me for it.

Chapter21

Tessa

Ihate lying to Saint. Especially about this. But what could I tell him?‘Yeah, the creep in the mask was sent to warn me off my secret investigation into all your friends?’So, I just told him the same story I told to the police and Ashford porter: that it was just a random attempted mugging, and he got scared off when he heard people coming.

But if they hadn’t…

I shiver. I’ve been telling everyone I’m fine, but the truth is, I’m not. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, and even now, I flinch at every unexpected noise and passerby walking too close as I leave the apartment building and catch a bus across town. I’m still shaken up—from the blow that still hurts my ribs every time I make a sudden move, and the real reason behind the attack.

It wasn’t so random. A stranger stalked me across the city and hunted me down to deliver his message.

Back off. Stop digging into the Blackthorn Society.

They know who I am, and what I’m doing, and they’re willing to go to violent lengths to stop me.

Which only means one thing: I’m getting close to the truth.

“Jamie Richmond?”

I loiter in the classroom doorway as a horde of teenagers charge past me, joking and jostling. I have to step back fast to avoid being pushed over. I’ve tracked the author of the newspaper article to a high school on the outskirts of the city, and it couldn’t be further away from the peaceful, ivy-clad walls of Ashford and the other Oxford colleges. Here, a nondescript concrete block building looks out over a parking lot, and the scuffed linoleum floors sit, dusty under strip neon lights.

“That’s me.” The guy wiping down the whiteboard looks over. He’s in his mid-twenties, with tortoise-shell spectacles and a rumpled button-down that has an ink stain on the collar. “How can I help?” he asks, looking tired but cheerful. “If you’re looking for the staff room, it’s out of operation. Some kid trapped a skunk in there over the weekend, and, well, you can imagine the smell.”

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