Page 4 of The Rival Kiss

Harry clicks the screen off and slides the phone back into his pocket as we walk. “AndI hear that the house on the other side of Justin’s is as good as sold. The same girl who’s buying the newspaper. Word is that she’s young, pretty, and single.”

Does Harry’s tone indicate interest? Some weird emotion stabs me in the chest. Best not look at that too closely. I turn the corner into the last corridor before the exit. “You are a raging gossip.”

“Justin could use something to focus on right now.” Ah. His interest is on Justin’s behalf. The tightness in my chest eases, even as something in Harry’s tone made me pause. What’s going on with Justin? His mother returned to her native Australia some months ago when her own mother died—but estates take a while to deal with. Nothing more is going on. Right?

I open my mouth to ask Harry when a loud crash makes us both jump. A muffled laugh. And a voice we know too well.

Principal Norman Lester. Doing who-knows-what in the school late on a Saturday night. And we’ve left the light on in my classroom, with Harry’s trade academy drawings all over the whiteboard.

I stare at Harry, wide-eyed. He stares right back. We both take off on the quietest run in history since the Antwerp Diamond Heist.

The principal’s voice grows closer as we sneak through the shadows back toward the classroom. Why oh why do those fluorescent lights have to be so bright? I register a second voice in the principal’s conversation—higher pitched, female. Laughing.

This isn’t some kind of romantic tryst, is it? I shudder. Oh, the horror.

Harry must’ve clocked it too, because he goes from a soft-footed jog to a flat-out sprint and slaps the lights off as he slides into the doorway. I run past him and to the whiteboard, dropping my laptop on a desk.

I scrub at the drawing with an eraser in one hand, the other cupping my phone light. But the drawing doesn’t wipe away. I scrub again. Nothing. My eyes fall to the marker that lays on the shelf beneath the board, one word clearly visible.Permanent.

Harry hustles to my side. I use the marker to jab him in the arm and hiss, “Permanent.” He jolts, and his bulky frame bumps the desk. Something metallic scrapes.

I suck in a breath. “Quiet—” The unmistakableCLANGof a metal water bottle hitting the solid concrete floor echoes throughout the building.

We both freeze. Principal Lester’s voice sounds from down the hall. “What in tarnation—?”

Quick footsteps. I break out in a cold sweat.Southeast Washington Trade Academyis still emblazoned on the white board.

“Who’s there?”

Mrs. Blackmore’s voice. Gross. I shudder at the implication. A warm hand grips my forearm. Harry. What does the light squeeze mean?Sorry I got you into this?Or perhaps,Do you think I’d fit under the desk?

No. Neither option is acceptable. I have worked too hard, for too long, to let Harry Latu’s schemes disrupt my career. I grip his hand and squeeze back. I have no idea what he meant, but my squeeze has one definite meaning.Sorry for what’s about to happen.

Then I slide both hands up his chest, lock them behind his neck, and kiss him.

Chapter Three

Mostmen,whenunexpectedlykissed in the dark, would be prone to an unfortunate bout of over-enthusiasm. At least, that’s what I’ve braced myself for.

But as our boss mutters curses, apparently struggling to find the light switch in the dark, Harry holds perfectly still, no hands on my body, closed lips pressed chastely against mine. I unlink my fingers and grip his collar as his beard tickles my face. This… this is starting to feel ridiculous. Maybe it’s better to let Norman see the school plans and get fired alongside Harry. Though I’ll have my mother’s disappointed face to contend with, and as much as Harry mocked, that is something to fear. The last time I let my mother down, I was fourteen, and Mom didn’t speak to me for three days. The thought of explaining a derailed career is enough to keep my lips against Harry’s for another long second.

Then one slow hand slides around my waist, then up my back, and his other hand gently grips my jaw. Each nerve ending lights like a series of sparklers at his touch. He returns the pressure on my lips, tipping me off-balance enough that if he let go, I’d fall.

And I let him. Harry Latu is many things, but someone who would drop me? Never.

As he presses a series of small kisses to my mouth, the reasons why we’re here fade from the edge of my consciousness. Kissing Harry is… unexpectedly sweet. His cologne smells woodsy and rich, like a lazy Sunday picnic, and those large hands are warm, solid, and gentle.

Then he pulls back, just a fraction, his lips barely brushing mine. At some point my hand crept up to his face, so I feel, rather than see, his smile. For a moment, I do nothing but inhale the minty taste of his breath. When his lips move to my ear, I shiver again, his beard tickling me. His hands tighten.

“Trust me?”

I nod without thinking and thenwhoosh,the floor falls away. Solid arms swoop me up to Harry’s level, and he nudges my face back to his. This time, he kisses me soundly.

Light floods the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

I barely register the words, and jolt with surprise when Harry raises his face from mine.

---