Laughing softly, I cupped the back of her head and gently drew it toward mine and kissed her again, angling my lips differently, searching her, consuming her, drawing pleasure from her lips as if it was my life goal to discover every single secret she owned.
Her arms wrapped around my neck. She was shy; she didn’t push against me, didn’t wrap her legs around me or moan into my mouth like I was having sex with her rather than kissing her.
My hands moved down her corset to her hips, and I lifted her into the air and walked her backward toward the brick wall. The whole time, our masks collided. In frustration, I ripped hers off, then mine. The shadows of moonlight hid our faces as I kissed her harder, losing myself in her.
Her nails dug at the back of my neck as she jerked my head harder. Groaning, I let her fall to the ground as I placed my hands on the brick wall to keep myself from ripping the dress from her body.
Shouting started from the ballroom.
“Ten, nine…!”
“Eight,” I whispered against her mouth. “Seven.”
“Six.” She sighed, her breathing labored as her tongue found mine again. “Five.”
“Four, three.” I pulled back and trailed kisses down her neck.
“Two.”
We broke apart, both breathing heavy. “One.”
People burst out onto the balcony as the fireworks started, lighting up the sky. And our faces.
And the only thing I could say as she gasped in horror was “Oh, shit.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The pain completely stopped that night. I remember falling to the ground. I was smiling like a damn fool, and she was sobbing. I kept whispering, “Your fault, your fault…” when really I knew I was the one who’d taken the pills. But I also knew if she ever left me? I was as good as dead anyway. I needed to keep her with me at all costs. Even if it meant hurting her. See? I really did have to protect her from me¸ but in the end, I didn’t really want that. I was too selfish to want that. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I COVERED MY mouth with my hands and almost passed out on the spot. Mystery man was my professor; professor was my mystery man.
The very same person.
Mr. Blake.
Or Mr. Freaking Blake.
Holy crap. I needed professional help. The one guy I was able to kiss in over two years without wanting to puke, and it’s my professor? REALLY?
The one who hates me. Oh no, I even told him my professor was a prick.
Tristan’s eyes turned murderous as he whispered, “Oh shit,” then looked down at the ground, then back up at me.
My mouth was still hanging open, and lucky me, my lips were still swollen and tingling from our kisses.
Could I get kicked out of school? Could he lose his job?
“I should…” He shook his head. “…go. I should go.”
He looked like he wanted to stay, like he wanted to say something, but when he opened his mouth again, all that came out were more curses. Funny, the mask had protected me, given me one night as the innocent princess who could have a kiss with a prince.
The minute the mask was pulled off...
He saw me for what I was.
Lisa, the notorious model, Melanie, who’d fallen off the face of the planet, changed her name, and couldn’t be on time to save her life.
I felt dirty, shameful, almost like he knew all my secrets, knew my past, even though I knew it was impossible.
With tears clouding my vision, I rushed past him and into the ballroom. The more I thought about the rejection, his horror-stricken face, the faster I walked, until I was full-on running. Wes and Gabe were on the far side of the room, glancing around, probably for me. I ducked through the nearest door I could find and caught my breath in the hallway.
“Well, well,” a deep voice said from behind me. “Has the slut finally discovered her prince?”
I turned around so fast my heel broke.
A leather-gloved hand covered my mouth. The man’s face was concealed with a full black mask, only there was no place for his lips, and where eyes should be, he had them covered in black material. His suit was black as well.
I tried to scream, but the leather glove muffled things.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his voice grainy as if the mask was keeping it from coming fully through. “And I’m going to make you pay for what you did. You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
I fought against him and screamed again. My legs kicked, but he just laughed. My entire body seized with fear. The laugh was mocking, psychotic. I scrambled against him, at the same time fighting for air as the leather bit into my mouth and pushed against my nose.
The door to the ballroom burst open. “Lisa?” Professor Blake caught sight of me then started running in our direction.
“This isn’t over.” The man pushed me onto the ground. Air rushed out of my lungs at the impact. I coughed, my lungs burning from the combination of terror and not being able to breathe very well. The guy was already down the stairs and out of sight by the time I looked along the hall.
Professor Blake reached me and pulled me into his arms. I started sobbing hysterically against his chest, unable to control myself. In all the time I’d received those letters, I never thought that would happen. Who would do that? Who even KNEW?
“Shh,” he whispered into my hair. “It’s alright.” With his arms still around me, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and barked orders into it. “He just left the ballroom floor, took the west stairs. Find the bastard.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent. I knew it wouldn’t last long. After all, I was crying in the arms of a guy who didn’t really like me that much. To top that all off with the fact that he was my professor? Yeah, talk about pointless. But still, his smell was comforting, his embrace familiar, strong.
“Do you think you can stand?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Yeah,” my voice rasped. “I broke my heel though.”
With a nod, he helped me to my feet then lifted me off the floor and into his arms like I weighed a feather, which, with my height, I knew wasn’t exactly true. He leaned against the door and pulled it open then returned his hand to my legs as he carried me into the ballroom.
“Tristan?” Gabe yelled over the music. “What happened?” Gabe charged toward us. A look of pure rage crossed his features as he took in my face and then Professor Blake’s — Tristan’s. The name was nice, better than Professor Blake, less forbidden.
“She was attacked,” Tristan answered.