Fog rolls in, thick and ominous, swallowing the coastline while the moon breaks free every now and again, casting everything in silver before disappearing behind the gloom. The pine trees that ring the island seem to grow taller in the darkness, their branches reaching toward us like gnarled fingers as we wind through the narrow roads.
Of all the people I could have asked for a ride to Marshall’s house, Michelle Miller was definitely not my first choice. Or my second. Or anywhere in my top fifty, honestly. But the second she heard that I needed to see Marshall,stat, she practically threw her apron at Logan and announced she wasn’t feeling well enough to finish her shift.
That’s because she was suddenly feeling frisky for a Sexy Sector.
“Funny how your mysterious illness coincided perfectly with my need for transportation,” I say as her car hugs another curve. Michelle drives as if the road personally offended her and she’s getting revenge one squealing tire at a time. Or more to the point, she’s afraid Marshall will actually start grading papers instead of taking off his shirt—which I’ll admit, would be a tragedy.
Michelle glances at me with a smile that’s equal parts innocence and ulterior motives. “What can I say? I’m a helpful person. Besides, it’s been ages since I’ve had a reason to visit Mr. Dudley’s mansion.”
“You were there yesterday.” And most likely this morning, but I leave that part out.
“Plus, Dudley texted me something about extra credit, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t about math.”
I guess Michelle Miller does have a brain. Sort of.
And I hate the way she says, “Mr. Dudley.” It makes it sound like she’s auditioning for a role in some very inappropriate teacher-student fantasy. By the way, she won that role, and so have countless other girls and faculty members from West. I find it ironic that the scholastic powers that be would frown on those kinds of shenanigans, and yet the Decision Council seems to look the other way.
“I’m sureDudleywill be thrilled to see you,” I say dryly.
“Oh, he will be.” Michelle’s confidence is both impressive and slightly terrifying. “We have a connection. He just doesn’t know it yet because of professional boundaries or whatever.”
“Right. Professional boundaries. Also known asnot going to jail.”
“Age is just a number,” she says, taking another corner like we’re fleeing a crime scene.
“So is a prison sentence.”
We pull up to Marshall’s estate, which looms against the dark sky like something out of a Gothic romance novel. The mansion’s windows glow with warm light that should be welcoming but somehow manages to look vaguely sinister. Michelle parks in his carport with the kind of casual familiarity that suggests this isn’t her first uninvited visit.
And let’s face it, the fact that she knows exactly which spotdoesn’t trigger the motion sensor lights tells me everything I need to know about Michelle’s extracurricular activities.
“Ready?” she asks, already climbing out of the car.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Michelle waltzes through Marshall’s front door without knocking because apparently boundaries are just a cute suggestion when you’re stalking your math teacher. The scent of expensive cologne and something delicious cooking drifts from the kitchen, mixing with the faint smell of leather and old money that seems permanently embedded in the walls.
Marshall emerges from the kitchen looking like temptation ordered a body and decided to become a math teacher for fun. His dark hair defies physics in the best way possible, and his black button-down is committing crimes against every female in a five-mile radius. The smirk playing on his lips says he’s absolutely not surprised to find us standing uninvited in his foyer—which, knowing Marshall, he probably isn’t.
“Well, well,” he says, that slight transatlantic accent making even casual words sound like an invitation to make bad decisions. “Two of my favorite kittens showing up unexpectedly? To what do I owe this delightful pleasure?”
Michelle practically purrs, “Skyla needed a ride, and I needed an excuse to see you.”
“How wonderfully transparent of you, Ms. Miller.”
“I prefer honest,” Michelle counters with a smile that could peel the clothes right off of a weaker man.
“I need to talk to you alone,” I interrupt before this verbal foreplay can escalate any further, and I end up having to shout at him from the other side of his bedroom door. It’s happened before. “It will just take a second.”
Michelle’s smile turns predatory. “Great. I’ll wait for you upstairs, Mr. Dudley. In your chambers, and I’ll arrange myself just the way you like.”
And with that completely inappropriate announcement, shesaunters toward the staircase like she’s the randy lady of the manor, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.
“She’s going toarrangeherself just the way you like?” I ask as my mind boggles trying not to imagine the sex-rated details.
Marshall tips his head at the thought. “Ms. Miller is quite the force of nature.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
