Page 148 of Twisting Beauty

Across the hall, Aoife’s face twisted, her two minions breaking into whispers with their heads together.

Beside me, Nuala had gone still, her hands resting flat on her notebook as she glanced between Finn, Lorcan, and me. The look she shot me told me that I’d better explain everything to her later.

Fuck. My escape window was gone. There was no way I was slipping out away from him now.

Lorcan’s hand found my thigh under the desk, just brushing up my hem.

I stiffened even as heat surged through my body at his touch, at the reminder that I was bare under my skirt and that he had my ruined panties in his pocket.

His shoulders angled toward the front of the room without quite facing it, his eyes tracking the doors. Every time someone walked in, his gaze cut to them.

“I wonder who’s taking Powell’s place,” Rafe said from behind us, referring to our usual professor.

“Where’s Powell?” Nuala asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Finn settled an arm casually along the back of her chair. “Powell’s out. Indefinitely.”

“Taken ill,” Rafe added, tapping his pen against the desk.

“Ill? Nah, lads.” Breezy leaned forward between us, eyes gleaming. “Mary told Jonny who told me that Sinead saw yer man Powell being carted off in a straitjacket, roaring about feckin’ phantoms.”

Lorcan’s thumb traced the inside of my thigh.

I bit back a gasp.

“I heard he was vomiting black bile,” Rafe said. “Speaking in tongues.”

“Nah, lads.” Finn shook his head. “They found him balancing on his window ledge, ready to jump, muttering about how the devil had found him.”

“Regardless, he’s gone cuckoo.” Breezy circled a finger near his temple. “Off to the loony bin.”

My blood went cold.

Powell was fine yesterday. Now he was on a window ledge, raving about something coming for him?

Like Bridgit.

My eyes cut to Nuala. Hers found mine at the same moment. We didn’t need to speak.

A deep voice lashed through the lecture hall.

“Eyes on me.”

Heads turned to the front. Pens stilled. Conversation died in the air. The hum of the morning fell out from under me as my scalp prickled at his voice, too familiar.

Eyes on me.

My breathing dropped low as images flickered rapidly in my mind, too fast for me to catch anything. My muscles locked as need surged through me, my thighs pressing together, that exact phrase firing up this unwanted reaction, in a lecture hall in front of everyone, with Lorcan’s hand on my thigh and his voice already vibrating inside me.

I looked up.

He stood at the front of the class.

“I am Dr. Bron Deargán,” he said, his gaze finding mine in the room as if he’d walked in knowing exactly where I’d be. “I’ll be taking over.”

43

LORCAN