# Resisting Him

## Leslie Johnson

#### Atrevida Publishing

### Contents

Free Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Also By Leslie Johnson

About the Author

# Free Book

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# Chapter 1

The deep bass pounded in my ears as I weaved through the crowd. The seniors of West Newton School were partying at one of the boarding houses. Normally, this would be grounds for suspension, but not today – the students had finished their final exams, and tonight was the night to let off some steam.

A warm hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back. "I've been looking for you," a male voice slurred, and before I had time to respond, he leaned down and drunkenly forced his tongue down my throat.

"Ugh, get off me, Will!" I pushed him away, but he just laughed and gathered me in a bear hug.

This brute who forced himself on me was, unfortunately, my boyfriend.

William Wentworth and I had dated for about a year. Mostly, we hung out at the library because we were studying for our HSC, and also because he wanted to get into Law at Sydney University. He was blond and pink-faced, and there were signs of a pot belly protruding from his waistline.

Yup, he was already beginning to look like a sleazy politician.

And yet he was one of the most popular boys in our school. Probably because of his family name. Apparently, his ancestor was one of the explorers who had successfully crossed the Blue Mountains. Will thought that made him sound impressive, and repeatedly reminded me of his family history whenever I showed disinterest.

"We're free! Our exams are over, we don't have classes anymore, and we have the summer ahead of us!" He leered at my chest. "They look positively yummy. Mind if I have a wee taste?"

Who in the world _talked_ like that? What next? Was he going to start calling me "mummy" and ask me to spank him? I jerked back when it became apparent that he was about to bury his sweaty face in my breasts.

"Not here, damn it!"

Will would not be deterred. He looked like a blond monkey the way he was pawing at my shirt. "Come on! I thought American girls were easy. Don't they love baring their tits for all to see?"

What the hell?

"No, we do not." I spat out, indignant. "I know you're drunk, but don't be a jerk." After shaking him off, I hurried away to get some much-needed fresh air.

Once I was outside, I sat on the grass with a heavy sigh. I had come to a decision. It was time to ditch the pig once and for all.

Mom was _not_ going to be pleased.

My mom, who preferred "Mother" to "Mom," was a socialite who grew up in New York. She didn't have a real job, but she had plenty of money, and basically, all she did was wear fashionable outfits, go out to fancy restaurants, and get snapped up by the paparazzi.

She adored all the attention.

Then one day, she met a dashing Australian photographer. She modeled for him a bit, they fell in love, and she came to Sydney to be with him. I was just extra baggage among the rest of her Louis Vuitton luggage.

Their relationship lasted a mere three months.

By then, "Mother" decided to stay in Sydney, because how could she go back to New York with her tail between her legs? The shame! So she sent me to boarding school, and West Newton School became my home for the next four years. The loneliness would have killed me, if it weren't for my best friend.

Marcus Johnson.

He was another one who was wildly popular, but it was a different sort of popularity. While the male students joked around with Will and slapped his back, most of them didn't venture too close to Marcus. It was as if they feared him. They respected him and his space.

He was definitely the hottest guy here, though. By a mile. All the girls agreed on that. But of course, I would never say that to him.

Speak of the devil. Soft footsteps trod my way, and I glanced up to find Marcus looming over me.

"Why are you out here alone?" he demanded.

"Yes, hello to you, too," I said irritably. I stood up and made my way to the library.

He walked beside me, snorting. "The library's closed."

"I have a key. I haven't returned it yet."

"But of course. You have a _key_. You were, after all, one of the house prefects who volunteered at the library."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"What do you think?"

I glared at him, but my anger soon melted as my gaze met his hazel eyes. He was so gorgeous, so delicious. Before I knew what I was doing, I ran a thumb across his jaw, listening to the bristling sound of his stubble.

"You didn't shave today?" I murmured.

"No." His eyes were intense, as if they were looking right inside me.

Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I quickly took my hand away and went up to the door. After unlocking it, I waved Marcus over and shut the door behind us.

"I've never been in here after hours," he said, rummaging around in the dark.

"I have, obviously. Loads of times." I went over to switch on a lamp. Dull yellowish light washed over us. "Will and I sometimes came in to –"

Marcus slammed a book shut. "You came here with him after hours?"

I knew what he was thinking. "To study. You didn't let me finish!"

"Bullshit. No one sneaks into the library after hours to _study_ with their boyfriend."

"Well, it's true." I turned away and began climbing up the stairs. "We were busy studying for the HSC. There was no time for anything else."

We reached the third floor, but I didn't turn on the lamps. There was enough moonlight filtering in from the windows. I hurried to the last window desk at the end, my study spot for the last two years. This small part of the world had been mine, a safe haven whenever I needed time to think. My heart lurched at the thought of never seeing it again.

"Did you leave something behind?" Marcus asked, watching as I crawled beneath the desk.

"Ow!" I banged my head, but continued searching. "Yeah, kind of. Aha! Found it."

It was a silver bracelet that Marcus had given me for my seventeenth birthday last year. A couple of weeks back, Will and I had been here at night, studying, when all the stress got the better of us. We fucked and then went back to studying. In the midst of it, I had lost my bracelet. I hadn't known that at the time, though. I searched everywhere, but couldn't find it. Seeing Marcus looming over me had jogged my memory.

He stilled when he saw the glint of silver in my hand. "You left that behind?"

I shook my head. "No, I didn't leave it behind. I kind of . . . lost it."

"How?"

"It slipped off," I said helplessly.

Heavy silence fell between us. Marcus' jaw tightened, his eyes blazing.

"It slipped off when Will fucked you, right?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Then anger consumed me. Who was he to ask these questions? What about all the things he had done?

"Don't patronize me," I said angrily. "You have no right. What about that time when I caught Milly Watson giving you a blowjob in the changing room?"

That had happened three months ago. I had locked up the library and was heading toward my boarding house when a naughty thought came over me. We weren't allowed in the swimming pool after hours, but a quick dip was just the thing before returning to my room to study some more. As I made my way to the changing room, a flirtatious giggle stopped me cold. I stood on a bench and peered over the lockers, biting down on my lip to stop myself from gasping out loud. Marcus was slouching on a bench, wearing only a pair of unzippered jeans. Milly was bending over him, her head bobbing up and down like a drinking bird toy.

That was when our eyes met.

Marcus glanced up and saw me staring at them. But he didn't flinch. Instead, he grabbed Milly's hair and pulled her closer, all the while holding me captive with his intense gaze. I could see that he was about to come, and when he finally did with a groan, his eyes never left mine.

Flustered, I hurried out of the changing room as a strange feeling came over me. It felt as if my presence there had brought him to orgasm. Which was weird. After that, we pretended as if nothing had happened. Or at least, I did. It was just too awkward.

"No one forced you to stay and watch the show." He shot back, and I snapped back to the present.

"I was shocked," I said, clasping the bracelet over my wrist. "How was I supposed to react?"

"You could have put us both in detention," he said, a small grin tugging at his mouth.

That was true. As a house prefect, I had the authority to do so, but that would have been hypocritical, given that I'd also had my own fun in the library.

I returned his smile and turned to look at my desk one last time. "I'm going to miss this place," I said sadly, running my fingers along the rough wood. Previous students had carved their initials into the desk, and others had carved crude words. Before, I had found them annoying. Now, I realized their purpose. It was like a rite of passage before leaving the school, as if to say to incoming students, "Hey, I was once here too, like you."

"We should carve our names here," Marcus muttered over my shoulder.

"Good idea."

We found a metal compass and, using the pointy tip, began carving our initials into my desk. After admiring our handiwork, Marcus leaned over and carved "fucked" over our names.

"Real mature," I said, rolling my eyes.

The carving now read: M.J. fucked C.H.

Marcus Johnson fucked Charlotte Hall.

"You know, people are going to start wondering," I complained. "I mean, they'll know for sure that M.J. stands for your name. And they'll know that this desk was mine. They're going to put two and two together and start spreading rumors."

"So what? We'll be long gone by then." He moved over to the shelves of old books. Nothing ever fazed the guy.

I sighed. "I guess you're right. Anyway, we should head back. It's getting late."

He didn't reply, but remained in the shadows.

I glanced up. "Marcus?"

After a long stretch of silence, he said softly, "You look incredible under that moonlight, Charlie."

I was speechless.

He emerged from the shadows, his hazel eyes glittering and hard. "Is this what Will saw every time he used you in the library?"

"Not that again." I groaned. "Please, just let it go. It's in the past, okay?"

He was too close, and I could feel his body heat. I tried shifting away, but he pressed me against the desk.

"Did you enjoy watching me in the changing room?" he murmured into my ear. "When I came in Milly's mouth?"

My lips felt numb. I couldn't speak.

He began nibbling on my neck, grabbing a fistful of my hair. "I love your red hair," he said, pulling my head back so he would have better access to my neck.

I couldn't help it; a soft moan escaped from my lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His mouth crashed on mine, devouring me, his hot tongue demanding. I had never been kissed like this, not by anyone. It left me reeling.

He leaned back to pull off my sweater. I didn't stop him. "You just had to wear a chest-hugging sweater and a bloody tennis skirt tonight, didn't you?" he said, sounding almost angry about it. He reached behind my back, flicking my bra open and tossing it on the floor.

I was stunned by how easily he had done that.

His gaze fell on my exposed breasts, his breathing ragged. Time seemed to stand still. Slowly, he reached over and palmed them.

"You're so beautiful," he said quietly. "You're all grown up, Charlie."

Dazed and aroused, I replied, "So are you, Marc." I moaned again and leaned back when he began rubbing my nipples with his thumbs. I could feel them harden under his touch. "Please, please . . ."

"Please, what?"

He knew what I wanted, but he was holding back. In frustration, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in. With a chuckle, he relented and bent down to suck a nipple into his mouth.

Pleasure shot down my body, making me arch toward him. He sucked hungrily, squeezing the other nipple with his thumb and finger. I cried out and pressed him even closer to me, wrapping a leg around him.

"Make – make . . ." I stopped, swallowing my words painfully. I had been about to say, _make love to me_.

Which was ridiculous. Marcus wasn't the sort to make love. He fucked. That was all.

The end.

"Make me come." I finished lamely.

He paused to peer up at me. "I can't fuck you tonight. I didn't bring a condom. But I'll make you come, all right?" He ran his hand under my skirt. "Promise."

A second later, he snorted when he saw what was underneath. "My dear, does grandma know you stole her undies from the clothes line?"

Damn. I had forgotten about those. I had run out of clean panties this morning, and had to settle for the "good girl" underwear – white, chaste, high-waisted, and with a prim blue ribbon near the belly button. It was comfortable. It was nice.

But not so good when you want the guy to go down on you.

I turned around and wriggled my ass, taunting him. "Do they scare you?"

Marcus laughed, his fingers skimming along the edge of my panties. "You could be wearing long johns, for all I care. You'd still be very fuckable in them." When I tried to shift around, his hands held me still. "Just stay like that."

"I want to see you."

"I know, but not tonight. Right now, I seriously need to check out this fine arse of yours."

And he pushed me against the window.

I gasped as my bare breasts pushed up against the cold glass pane. My eyes fluttered down, then widened as I saw several students a short distance away. Could they see me? Marcus kneeled behind me and slowly pulled my panties down, trailing kisses along my right hip. I reached behind me and thumped him on the head.

"Okay, there are students below. They can see me."

"No, they can't."

"Yes, they can!"

"Just relax. Spread your legs for me, Charlie." And before I could voice any more protests, his hot tongue ran over my sensitive folds.

I cried out, throwing my head back as my hands slapped at the glass pane.

Students? What students? And who cared about them?

His fingers found my clit and began rubbing in slow, sensuous circles. I started trembling, pushing against his hand. Marcus groaned behind me.

"You're so wet, babe. And you taste so good." He licked and sucked me, and my muscles tightened as pleasure mounted. He was making love to me with his mouth.

Correction: he was fucking me with his mouth, urging me toward that precipice.

Intense pleasure exploded, and I cried out loudly as my body rocked with an orgasm that almost bordered on pain. By now, I was leaning on the window for support. Marcus was still licking and tasting me, his fingers teasing my swollen flesh. The dark library was quiet, save for the soft sucking sounds below me. When I was finally able to lift my head, he planted a lingering kiss on my bare ass and stood up.

On shaky legs, I turned around. Immediately, he leaned down to kiss my breasts.

"Now it's my turn," I said hoarsely, running my trembling fingers through his thick brown hair. I could tell he needed it badly.

"No," he said. "Tonight's about you." He lifted his eyes, shooting me a sly grin. "It's my graduation gift to you."

A gift. But I was already addicted. I had never done anything like this. Sex with Will had been sufficient, a little exciting because of the taboo of having sex in a fancy boarding school library.

But this experience with Marcus? My gaze fell on the carving we'd done earlier. Marcus Johnson fucked Charlotte Hall.

He certainly did.

My best friend, Marcus.

That thought brought me back to earth. I watched as he sauntered to the bathroom to take care of his erection.

My best friend, Marcus.

What did this mean now? I had always loved him. But if I were honest with myself, I had always loved him more than just a friend. But he had never seemed interested. There had been far too many girls throwing themselves at him, beautiful girls from all walks of life.

And I was just the daughter of an American socialite, a woman who did nothing but sought the paparazzi to stay relevant on tabloid pages.

Marcus stepped out a few minutes later, snapping me back to attention. He smiled and picked up my bra, sweater, and underwear strewn across the floor.

"Put them on. I'll walk you to your room," he said, his gaze a lot softer than it had been when we'd first walked through the library door.

I nodded, silent as I quickly clasped my bra on and pulled the sweater over my head. I stuffed the granny underwear under a bookshelf, thinking, _I won't be needing these again_. Marcus laughed softly, and we walked down the stairs together.

Before we stepped out the door, I grabbed his hand.

"What does this mean?" I asked carefully. "Does it . . . change things between us? Are we still best mates?"

He seemed bewildered by my question. "Of course we are. Why would that change?"

The truth was, Marcus Johnson was everything to me. He was more family to me than my own mom. But I was also well aware of his reputation. I didn't want to be another notch in his bedpost. Surely I meant more to him than that!

His eyes narrowed, as if he could read my mind. "Don't overthink it, Charlie. But you should know one thing." He leaned down, his face mere inches from my face. "You are never going to let Will touch you ever again. Because you're with me now."

# Chapter 2

Graduation day flew by in a blur. There were lots of hugs, photos being taken, and general excitement around me. Parents in expensive suits and pearl necklaces stood on pristine lawns, chatting about their latest business trips and which university they thought had the best law and medicine programs.

"Mother, stop fussing," I said as she fiddled with my lace collar. I was wearing a white sheer blouse with a camisole underneath, and a beige-colored skirt.

Earlier in the day, Marcus had called me "goody two shoes" after seeing me in my prim outfit. To which I had responded in a low voice as I walked past him, "But not when we were in the library."

The poor sod had started panting behind me, and I'd bitten my bottom lip to stop from laughing out loud.

"It's such a shame you and William broke up," Mom said, looking wistfully over at the Wentworth family standing a short distance away. She'd heartily approved of our relationship because of the Wentworths' power and place in society. They were frequently in the news, and not just some trashy tabloid page. I had a sneaking suspicion that she'd hoped Will and I would marry someday so that _her_ place would be cemented in society.

_Sorry, Mom. Not going to happen_.

The breakup hadn't been difficult. If anything, Will's flippant response had only confirmed what I'd known deep down – he'd been itching to do the same for some time. In fact, a little birdie told me that he'd hooked up with Milly Watson a few times in the gym changing room during our HSC exams.

That girl _really_ loved to do it in changing rooms. Maybe she found the odors of stale sweat and dirty socks arousing. Weird. But we all had our quirks, some worse than others.

Just then, Marcus walked up to us with his dad. He looked so hot that I felt a flush creep up my neck. "We're ready when you are," he said, looking annoyed as he loosened his tie and yanked it off. His dad, on the other hand, smiled at my mom and me, and once again, I was bowled over by the striking resemblance between father and son.

Like Marcus, Dane Johnson had hazel eyes, and was tall, dark, and handsome. His dark hair was streaked with a bit of gray, which only added to his allure. Though he was an archeologist, he wasn't the type of stuffy academic who holed up in libraries poring over dusty old manuscripts. His focus was fieldwork, which took him to far and exciting places. Documentarians often approached him for interviews or professional advice on camera, which in turn made him somewhat of a celebrity among history buffs.

_The Johnson men age well_ , I thought. If Marcus took after his dad, he would still be deliciously hot at age fifty.

"We've made reservations at Bennelong restaurant," Dane said, his gaze lingering on my mom. He extended his elbow toward her. "Shall we?"

Turning an attractive shade of pink, Mom linked her arm through his, and the two made their way down the steps, heading in the direction of his BMW.

I frowned at them. _That's odd_.

"What's odd?" Marcus asked, coming up behind me, and I started when I realized that I had spoken my thoughts aloud.

"I didn't know our parents knew each other well," I answered, still staring at them. They had reached the car and were now chatting. Several seconds later, Mom threw her head back, laughing at something Dane had just said.

"They don't," Marcus said in a disinterested voice. "Dad's only being polite, Charlie." He stood right behind me, using his body to hide the fact that his hand had slipped past my waist and was now firmly cupping my ass.

My breath hitched. "What are you doing?"

His touch grew more insistent. "I've missed you," he said, letting out a deep sigh. "I've been going crazy ever since that night in the library."

The feeling was mutual. After the exams, most of the Year 12 students had returned home, Marcus and I included. I went back to the eastern suburbs, but Marcus went back to the west. _Way_ out west.

We had a strange friendship. Though we were best friends in school, we never really spent time with each other during the summer holidays. One reason was the distance, but a bigger reason was that Marcus wanted to spend time with his mates from his old public school, and especially with his dad. For Marcus, summer holidays equaled boys' time.

I had been totally fine with this arrangement all these years. Well, at least until now.

As soon as I returned home, Mom had grabbed my hand and taken me shopping for new clothes and shoes. After that, we'd zipped off to get our hair done, and then she'd taken me to see a musical playing at the Capitol Theatre. I knew she was happy that I was home, but all I could think about as I sat there in the dark listening to the Phantom sing "Music of the Night" was Marcus' mouth on my breasts and his hand between my legs. It was a good thing the music was so loud; thinking about that night in the library caused a few moans to rise out of me.

"Stop that," I whispered, swatting his hand away. "People will see."

"Maybe we should let Will see what I'm doing," he said with a chuckle, but he removed his hand and straightened, ushering me toward his dad's car. "Anyway, got plans tonight?"

"Maybe." I hid a grin when I felt him stiffen next to me. Was he jealous?

"I have plans, too," he said casually. "You want to hear what I'll be doing, who I'll be seeing?"

Something about the way he said it made my hackles rise. My steps slowed as I stared up at him.

"At around midnight, I'm going to drive to this girl's house," he continued, not waiting for my response. "Then I'm going to climb through her window and crawl into her bed. And the first thing I'm going to do is bury my face between her legs."

By now, I had stopped walking completely. He walked on ahead of me, then paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"So don't fall asleep too early, yeah? Because I'm coming for you tonight." And with a cocky grin, he sauntered off, soon reaching our parents who were patiently waiting beside the car.

My heart thudded against my chest as I followed after Marcus and slid into the backseat where he was sitting. As Dane drove out of the school grounds, Marcus surreptitiously reached over and ran his fingers along the exposed part of my thigh. I held my breath, afraid of making a sound.

His gaze burned hot as his eyes locked with mine, and I knew what I was in for tonight.

I had no idea how I was going to sit still in the restaurant and make it through lunch.

# Chapter 3

A plate of crab ravioli and enoki mushrooms sat before me. It was delicious, but I couldn't eat properly when Marcus kept staring at me from across the table. He had ordered a grass-fed beef tenderloin, but unlike me, he had mastered the art of eating and staring at the same time. His eyes never left mine even when he was cutting up his meat and lifting the fork to his sensuous mouth.

I was worried that our parents would call us out on our behavior, but they didn't seem to notice. In fact, it soon became apparent to me that they only had eyes for each other. Alarm bells went off in my head.

What the hell was going on here? I watched them carefully, my attention now fully on the little details of their every movement. The way Dane looked at Mom. The way Mom blushed and sipped daintily at her wine. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners whenever he smiled. Their hands resting on the table, not touching but close enough.

My fork clattered on the table. "Is something going on?" I blurted out loudly.

Mom jumped like a guilty school girl, and my heart sank.

_She doesn't even need to answer. It's written all over her face_.

Marcus snapped his head up, shaking off the fog of lust that had settled over him for the past hour or so. He narrowed his eyes as Dane cleared his throat and smiled at us.

"Well, today is about you two. Graduating from high school is a really big deal, and it's cause for a celebration. But since you asked . . ." He trailed off, his gaze tender as he reached over to clasp Mom's hand. "We have some news to tell you."

Marcus and I froze, watching the scene unfold before us. My horrified eyes landed on their hands. They had threaded their fingers together. Like a fucking couple.

"Abigail and I were somewhat acquainted because of you two, but a few months ago, we ran into each other at the university museum," Dane explained. "We talked for hours and realized that we had a lot in common – we both have a love for ancient artifacts and a deep appreciation for conservation. But more important, we found that we really enjoyed spending time together. We've been seeing each other ever since."

Mom? Love ancient artifacts? She didn't even like carrying around luxury bags that were over two years old because they were no longer "in fashion." She preferred the new to the old.

"So what are you saying?" Marcus growled, cutting to the chase.

Mom and Dane exchanged a nervous but excited glance, and then she turned to give me a huge smile.

"Oh, darling, Dane and I are getting married next month!" Her eyes shimmered with happy tears. "You and Marcus are going to be siblings. Isn't that wonderful?"

When Marcus and I didn't react as they'd hoped, Dane's smile slowly faded. "Is something the matter? Is there a problem?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but Marcus beat me to it.

"There's no problem here." After a pause, he added curtly, "Congratulations, Dad."

All eyes were now on me, waiting for my response. I couldn't believe what was happening. How could they dump this on us without even so much as a warning? I shot my mom a sharp look, only to find her looking back at me hopefully.

"C-congratulations," I managed to choke out. It felt like there was a chunk of ravioli stuck in my throat. I blindly reached for my wine glass and gulped the remaining contents down in one painful swallow.

A handsome smile spread across Dane's face. "Isn't this nice? We're going to be one big, happy family, all living under the same roof." He winked at Marcus and me. "I hope it won't drive you kids too crazy."

I could feel Marcus' intense gaze on me, but I ignored it, choosing to stare out at the harbor instead.

_Marcus, my stepbrother_.

It was my worst nightmare come to life.

I lay in bed, snuggled under my thin blanket, but I couldn't sleep. Marcus had promised to be here by midnight, but that was before our parents dropped that massive bomb during lunch. On the way home, I could barely look my mom in the eye. Not that it mattered. She'd been lost in her own little world, probably imagining what her wedding day would look like.

Frustrated, I tossed and turned in my bed, fluffing up my pillow with exaggerated force. How could I possibly live under the same roof with Marcus? Knowing that he was just a couple of doors down, sleeping, showering, doing whatever it is guys do in their bedrooms? And what if he brought girls over? What if I could hear them through the thin walls? If our night in the library was any indication, then I was certain the women would not stay quiet. I planted my face into the pillow as my eyes grew warm with unshed tears.

There was a rustling noise near the window, then a stream of muffled curses. So Marcus had come, after all. I ignored him and burrowed deeper into my blanket.

He knocked on the glass pane. When I still remained in my bed, he began rattling the window like one demon-possessed.

"Stop that!" I seethed, flinging the blanket away from me as I rushed over to unlock the window. "You're going to wake the neighbors."

He glared at me before climbing in. "Then why did you lock the damn thing?"

"I didn't think you'd come."

"I said I would, didn't I?"

I stood there with my arms crossed over my chest. "Let me rephrase. I locked the window because I didn't think it was a good idea to let you in."

We stood there, staring at each other. Marcus was wearing jeans and an old gray-colored T-shirt, his biceps bulging from the sleeves. He looked so good that I felt my eyes watering. How in the world was I supposed to call him stepbrother and treat him like one?

He moved toward me, then halted, as if changing his mind. He chose to lean against the wall instead.

"We need to talk."

I sighed heavily. "Yes, I suppose we do."

"Can I come closer?"

Marcus, my best friend, had never asked me that question. Marcus, my lover, hadn't, either. But Marcus, my soon-to-be stepbrother, just had . . .

This could only mean one thing. He had already drawn up boundaries. I was beginning to lose him.

I broke down and began crying.

Marcus immediately rushed over to me, pulling me against his chest. "Hey, don't cry. It'll be all right. We'll sort this out."

"How could you give up so quickly?" I asked, my tone filled with accusation. "You sat there and just accepted what they said. No questions asked."

His jaw tightened as he stared down at me. "You know my mum died in a car accident, right? When I was eight?"

I nodded. He had told me about his mom several years ago.

"Dad's been single ever since then. He didn't date, didn't meet women, just raised me and threw himself into his work. This is the first time that he's announced anything like this. I haven't seen him this happy in a long time." His gaze hardened. "So tell me – should I have taken that away from him?"

I'd always known that Marcus adored his dad. And he had every right to. Dane Johnson was not only handsome and dedicated to his work, but he was a devoted father. If Dane had gotten a whiff of Marcus' and my relationship, he would have ended his engagement to my mom on the spot, once again putting his son before his own needs.

And that was exactly what Marcus did _not_ want. In his eyes, his dad deserved happiness, too.

But where did that leave us?

"So what do we do?" I whispered. "Just pretend that nothing happened between us? Are we going to be brother and sister, then?"

His grip on my shoulders tightened, almost possessive-like. "We don't have to be here. Let them get married and be happy. It has _nothing_ to do with us." He leaned in when I began shaking my head. "We're not related in any way, Charlie. We're both eighteen. We can move to a different state – Melbourne, or even Adelaide – and stay together." He buried his face in my neck. "We'll rent a small bungalow, get part-time jobs, and apply to the schools there. Just you and me."

I shut my eyes as he cupped my ass and pulled me closer to him. "Marcus, we can't do this. Not here."

His lips trailed down to my left shoulder. "We don't have to have sex. Just . . . just let me touch you?"

I couldn't refuse him, not when my own body yearned for his touch as well. When I gave a small nod, he pulled my tank top up, exposing my breasts. After lowering me on the bed, he began to suck hungrily at my nipple, then moved to the other one to give it the same treatment. I bit back a moan and arched into him, giving him better access to my breasts. His stubble scratched my skin, but I didn't care. I just wanted to feel him.

He leaned back and yanked my shorts and panties off in one swift movement, staring down at me the whole time. Then his hands ran up my sides and palmed my breasts, slowly massaging them.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered as I lay beneath him. "I love the way your red hair curls against your pale skin." Then he reached down and threw my leg over his right shoulder, opening my pussy to him.

"Beautiful." He repeated, running his thumb over my clit. My hips rose with anticipation, begging for more. He ran his thumb over the swollen nub again and again, his fingers slick with my desire. Then he bent down and sucked my clit into his mouth.

This time, I cried out, my body practically jumping off the bed. He held me down by pressing my stomach with his hand, his tongue ruthlessly lapping and sucking.

Just as he had promised, he had parked his face right between my legs, with no plans to move anytime soon.

Marcus brought me to orgasm twice. When my fumbling fingers tried to unbutton his fly, he pushed my hands away with a strained laugh.

"I can't let you do that, Charlie," he said, somewhat breathless. "The moment my cock comes anywhere near you, I'm done for. I won't be able to hold back."

I wanted to tell him that I didn't care, that I wanted him to take me hard and fast on this bed. But he was right. This wasn't the place. For now, we had to be discreet.

He went into the bathroom to take care of his massive hard-on as I lay on the bed, thinking. We weren't doing anything wrong. And no matter what our parents thought, Marcus and I weren't brother and sister. Never was, never would be.

_He's right. We need to get out of here and find our own place_.

When he came out minutes later, he lay beside me and planted a kiss on my forehead.

"I should go." He murmured. "I told Dad I was popping over to see my mate Damian for a bit."

I frowned at him. "Doesn't he live in your suburb?"

Marcus laughed. "Exactly. It took me fifty minutes to drive all the way out here. It's going to take me another fifty to get home."

Smiling, I ran a hand along his arm. "You'd better hurry, then."

"I'll call you tomorrow, all right?"

I nodded and joined him at the window. "Okay. Drive safely."

After sharing a goodnight kiss, he climbed out and drove away from my street. With a happy sigh, I went into the bathroom to have a quick shower, but there weren't any fresh towels. I decided to pop outside quickly to grab one from the linen wardrobe.

When I pulled open my bedroom door, I let out a breathless scream.

Mom was standing a few steps away, her pretty face ashen as she stared back at me in horror.

# Chapter 4

She grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the room, her frantic gaze studying my tousled hair and bruised lips. I winced inwardly, knowing how I must look.

_Like a woman well sated, obviously_.

"What was Marcus doing here?" Mom asked, even though I was sure she knew. She'd probably heard everything. I felt faint at the thought that she'd heard me moaning and crying behind closed doors as Marcus used his tongue to bring my writhing body to climax.

I lowered my eyes. "You know why he was here," I whispered.

She raised a shaking hand to her forehead. "Yes," she said, sounding resigned. "I suppose I do."

We stood there as silence fell between us. I was wracking my brain, trying to think of a way to convince Mom that what Marcus and I had was special when her eyes suddenly narrowed.

"I want you to go back home."

"This is my home," I replied, but dread came over me.

"You know what I mean."

I held my palms up, trying to reason with her. "Sydney is where I live now, Mom. And I'm eighteen. You can't just pack me up and ship me off whenever I become an inconvenience to you."

Mom shook her head, her eyes moist. "You've never been an inconvenience, honey. You're my daughter."

"Then don't try to send me away."

She hesitated, then moved forward to sit on my study chair, wringing her hands as she did so.

"I haven't been the greatest Mom to you, Charlotte. I'm well aware of that. I fell pregnant with you when I was still a college student. And when you were born, you had to bear the brunt of my immaturity." She paused, a faraway expression settling on her face.

"I haven't had the greatest luck with men as well. For some reason, Prince Charming always became a toad at the end of my story, not the other way around. I honestly thought I would never find a good man. I was resigned to my fate. That is, until I met Dane Johnson."

This time, her gaze became pleading. "You're young, Charlotte. You've got the whole world before you. You'll go to college, go on many dates, meet new and better friends . . . there's nothing stopping you. Marcus will just be a distant memory, someone you once had a crush on." She grabbed my hands, squeezing hard when I took a step back. "Yes! It's true. What the two of you have won't last. You _know_ that." Her eyes narrowed, locking with mine. "You're both too young for serious relationships."

When I didn't reply, Mom abruptly released me and padded to the window. "You'll have many chances," she whispered, gazing out into the dark street, "but Dane Johnson could very well be my last chance at happiness. It's possible that I will never meet a man like him in my lifetime ever again."

And there it was – the crux of her impassioned speech. _You're young and can meet plenty of guys, I'm old now and can't_. Once again, my desires and needs would be sacrificed so Mother could get what she wanted.

An emotion surged in me, and I soon realized it was pity. Pity for a woman who grew up wealthy and pampered, whose sole focus was on outward appearances and being arm candy to some of society's most eligible men. But her good looks were fading, in spite of her diligent visits to the cosmetic clinic. To her, it was now or never.

I plopped down on the bed. "I'll have to think about it," I said, trying to avoid her gaze. "But Marcus won't like it. I don't think he'll let me go that easily."

"That's why you have to leave," Mom replied quickly, coming over to sit beside me. She ran a hand over my hair in soothing strokes. "You know, your father has been asking about you lately, more than he usually does. I think he misses you." A slight pause, and then she spoke again, her tone careful. "I haven't mentioned this to you, darling, because I didn't want to cause any alarm. But . . ." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"What is it?" I asked, suddenly nervous. I didn't like the change in her voice.

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," she said, waving her hand. "I mean, your father said not to worry. But I spoke to him on Skype a few weeks ago, and he looked a bit sickly. He kept talking about you, how you don't answer his calls and emails . . . that sort of thing."

That part was true. Like Mom, Dad had only been twenty when he'd had me. Unlike her, he had managed to graduate from college, but his grudge at being saddled with a baby at such a young age had shown in his everyday interactions with me. A week after my fifth birthday, he packed up his bags and left home, and two months after that, he and Mom got a divorce. Oh, he sent me birthday and Christmas presents every year, but even that stopped once Mom forcibly brought me to Australia. It was only recently that he tried to establish contact with me, but by the time I entered Year 12, I pretty much stopped caring about him.

So it made no sense why the next words spilled out of my mouth.

"I suppose I could visit him for a couple of weeks," I said slowly, watching as Mom's face brightened.

"Oh, darling, your father will love that. I'll let him know you're coming first thing in the morning." Mom paused, thinking. "Actually, why don't I call him now? It's probably one in the afternoon over there." She rose to her feet and hurried out of my bedroom. Seconds later, I could hear her muffled voice in her bedroom, chatting with Dad on the phone.

_Well, that escalated quickly. What was I thinking?_

The answer, of course, was that I had never stopped caring about Dad. I had simply trained myself to suppress the hurt by the time I was eighteen.

I got off my bed, desperate to speak with Marcus. He should have reached home by now. Just as I grabbed my phone off the bedside table, Mom sashayed back into my room, her silk robe swishing around her legs.

"I've taken care of everything! Oh, Charlotte, you should have heard your father on the phone. He was practically crying with joy. I've booked you a plane ticket for tomorrow evening –"

"What! You're kidding me, right?" I interrupted, fisting my hands. "Mom, I'm not going tomorrow. It's too soon. I need time to _think_!"

"Think about what?" she said airily, but there was a strange tightness beneath that light response. "We shouldn't delay your trip, darling. After all, you have to get back in time for the wedding."

Well, that was true. It would look really weird if I weren't there for my own mom's wedding. People would talk. But more important, I didn't want Marcus to have to deal with this charade all by himself. We had to support each other.

"Fine," I muttered, ushering her out the door. "It's late, Mom. I need to sleep. Like, right now."

She planted a soft kiss on my cheek. "You can pack in the morning," she whispered. "See you bright and early, darling." And she swished back into her room like some gorgeous, super villain who had done her bad deed for the day.

I clicked the door shut, then locked it in case Mom decided to return. I snuggled under the blanket and grabbed my phone again. Marcus and I needed to talk. Then I noticed that he had texted me.

— _So tired. Going to bed. Talk 2 U 2morrow_.

The last thing I wanted to do was wake him up. I smiled, picturing him in bed. I wondered what he was wearing. Probably nothing.

And with that tantalizing image in my head, I closed my eyes and dreamed of him.

# Chapter 5

The angry silence over the phone was deafening. "You're not going." Marcus finally growled. "If this is your mum's way of keeping us apart –"

"No, it's not like that," I said quickly, although it was _exactly_ like that. I had just told him what had happened right after he'd left to go home. Unlike me, he seemed completely unfazed that Mom had heard us behind the door. "It's just for two weeks, Marcus. Dad isn't well, and he wants to see me before I start uni, that's all."

He wasn't convinced. "You're so naïve, Charlie. Don't you get it? She's doing it again – putting herself first, as always. She's making sure you won't get in the way in the weeks before she walks down the aisle." He paused, then muttered, "I bet she thinks you'll meet all these American jocks and start to forget me. Fuck, she's not sending you to that spring break festival in Florida, is she?"

I smiled, glad that he couldn't see me. "First of all, American spring break is in April. And I'm not even going to Florida, so stop fretting." Before he could make a snappish comeback, I quickly changed the subject. "You know, I've been thinking. Since Mom already knows about us, maybe your dad should know as well."

Marcus was pissed. "Damn it, Charlie, I already told you –"

I rolled my eyes. "I meant later, not now. We'll tell him after they get married. It's not like he's going to divorce Mom when he finds out, right?" I chuckled, thinking about it. "That would be really over the top."

There was silence on the other end. Confused, I stared at the screen, wondering if we had been disconnected. We hadn't. So why wasn't Marcus saying anything?

I brought the phone to my ear again when it finally dawned on me. The realization hit me hard. He had no plans to tell his dad about us, _ever_. After I came back from the States and right after the wedding, his plan was to whisk me off to Melbourne or Adelaide, rent a bungalow like he'd said, go to classes, and fuck me every night until he got sick of me. And if he wasn't sick of me yet, he would marry someone else while keeping me on the side as his mistress. I would be his dirty little secret.

I was such a fool. Maybe Mom had it right all along.

"I'm guessing from your deathly silence that you have no plans to let Dane know about us," I said coldly. His continued silence only confirmed my words. I barked out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. "You're right; I'm so naïve. I actually thought you cared about me."

"I _do_ care about you." Marcus gritted out at last, and I gave a sarcastic whoop of delight.

"He speaks. It's a bloody miracle!" I tried to contain the trembling in my voice. "Don't you dare insult me, Marc. Don't you dare treat me like one of your past floozies."

"You're not a floozy, and you mean a lot to me," he said quietly. "But it's only been a few weeks, Charlie. Let's slow down a bit, yeah?"

I couldn't believe it. He wanted to "slow down"? Did he think I was getting too clingy, that I thought we were "soul mates" or something?

"I have to start packing," I said, rubbing my eyes wearily. "My plane leaves in four hours."

"I'll come over and help."

_Definitely not_. "That's okay. It's faster if I do it myself."

"Then I'll drive you to the airport."

"Thanks, but Mom's offered to drive me." My voice softened. "I'll see you in two weeks. Try to stay out of trouble."

He snorted, but I could tell he was smiling. "I'm going to miss you." After a brief pause, he added, "Hey, we'll talk about this when you come back in two weeks' time. By then, we should have figured something out."

Figured something out. Like a scheme, instead of choosing the honest route with his dad. Hot tears stung my eyes as I realized I felt more strongly about us than he did. I was a fool in love, and he . . . well, who knew what he was feeling.

I said my goodbyes and hung up. I didn't pack too much – after all, I would only be gone for two weeks. As I tossed a pair of jeans, several blouses, a warm jacket, ankle boots, and underwear into my suitcase, I reassured myself that everything would work out. I had to trust Marcus . . . no, I _did_ trust him. He was my best friend; he would never use me and discard me like some used toy. We would work things out in a way that would be satisfactory to all of us. I smiled to myself as I pictured us living together, attending classes, cooking dinner together, sharing a bedroom, lying naked beside a fireplace. I couldn't wait to move out and begin our life together.

"Darling, are you almost ready?" Mom called out. "If you are, maybe we could drop by at the Opera Bar before heading to the airport. I know you love their swordfish steaks."

"Sounds great, Mom. I'll be down in a minute." As I lugged my suitcase down the stairs, I suddenly felt nervous about seeing Dad. It had been years since we'd seen each other, and I wondered just how ill he was. Maybe it was the side effects of a minor operation? Or a bad back? Whatever it was, I hoped it wasn't serious, and that I could leave in two weeks without being guilt-tripped into staying longer.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have known that my dad was suffering from colon cancer, and that Mom had actually told him I was moving permanently to the States to be with him. I would not be here for her wedding. Which had been her plan all along. Seven years would pass – nursing Dad, attending college, nursing Dad, working as a sales assistant, attending grad school, taking care of Dad's funeral – before I would finally return to Sydney.

In all that time, contact between Marcus and me would stop completely. And the next time we set eyes on each other, it would be as if two strangers were meeting for the very first time.

But since I was ignorant of the future that lay before me, I happily made my way to the Opera Bar with Mom to enjoy a late alfresco lunch. As I ate rock oysters and grilled steak and listened to the fog horns of passing ferries, I noticed that Mom was barely touching her plate, her sad gaze carefully trained on me. Still, I remained none the wiser despite her odd behavior. I merely stuffed chunks of swordfish into my open mouth, glad that I was having a decent meal before boarding a sixteen-hour, non-stop flight to New York's JFK. Reheated plane food, ugh. Suffering from jet lag for several days. Double ugh. That was all I could think about as I sat across from Mom.

I really should have known better.

# Chapter 6

**_Seven years later_**

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will shortly be landing at Sydney Airport. Local time is . . ."

I closed my eyes and tuned out the captain's monotonous voice. My heart began to beat faster as I thought about returning home in seven years.

_Seven long and painful years_.

It still amazed me how fast the years had flown by. I had not seen Mom in all that time. Or Marcus. I grudgingly kept in touch with Mom, although there were regular long stretches when I didn't respond to her messages, but Marcus and I had stopped speaking the moment I told him over the phone that I wasn't – no, _couldn't_ – return to Sydney.

_"You've met someone else, haven't you?" He sounded livid, as if he wanted to reach through the phone and shake my shoulders._

_"It's not like that," I said quickly, glancing over at my dad. He was sleeping on the sofa, exhausted after a day of chemotherapy._

_"Then why aren't you coming back?"_

_"I didn't realize how sick my dad was," I whispered, tearing up. Mom had said that dad looked "a bit sickly," which had turned out to be the understatement of the year. The poor man was suffering from stage three colon cancer_. _And to make things worse, Mom had accidentally-on-purpose told him that I was moving to the States to take care of him. Seeing the immense joy on his tired face, I realized that I was trapped. I simply didn't have the inner strength to correct him, even as my world crashed all around me._

_Mom's plan had succeeded._

_"Can't he hire a nurse or something? I thought he had money?" Marcus insisted_.

_"It's not like that," I said softly. "He wants to spend time with me, before . . ." I trailed off, biting my lip. "He just wants to make up for lost time, that's all."_

_Marcus' laugh was brittle. "Is that what he called it? Making up for lost time?" His voice hardened. "He was selfish then, and he's being selfish now. For fuck's sake, you're only eighteen. You need to live your life, not put your life on hold to take care of a dying man."_

_"He's not dying, and I'm not putting my life on hold!" I seethed._

_"Meanwhile, your mum has you conveniently out of the way," he continued on, as if he hadn't heard me. "She doesn't have to worry about me fucking you every night. She's going to marry my dad, and –"_

_"Charlotte," Dad groaned, struggling on the sofa. "Sweetie, can you help me up? I need to use the bathroom."_

_"I have to go," I said breathlessly into the phone_. _"I'll call back."_

_"Don't hang up on me," Marcus said. He was quiet, but there was a strangeness in his tone. "You hang up now, Charlie, and this is it. We're through."_

_I didn't take him seriously. That was a huge mistake. "I have to go," I pleaded. "I promise to call later, okay? Love you." And I hung up on him before he could say anything else_.

Marcus stayed true to his word. He never answered my calls again.

I jolted back to the present as the plane landed on the runway and sped forward before crawling to a stop. As the excited passengers stood up and began shuffling around to open the overhead compartments, I sat in my seat, staring out the window. I was finally back in Sydney. After all these years.

I had returned home.

But there was no family waiting for me.

"Well, what do you think?" The young brunette swung her bedroom door open, revealing two twin beds and large French windows. The room was clean, if somewhat sparse, but that was fine. I didn't really have a preference.

"It's great," I replied, smiling at my soon-to-be roommate. I lugged my bags inside and eyed the beds. "So, which one's mine?"

My roommate, whose name was Becky, pointed at the bed near the window. "I hope you don't mind," she said with a sheepish grin. "I can't sleep beside huge windows. It makes me feel vulnerable, like someone could be standing outside staring at my sleeping form."

"I don't mind," I replied, only because I hadn't thought about that before. As I dropped my bags beside the bed, my gaze immediately went to the pristine lawns outside.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Becky said, coming up behind me.

I nodded. "It is. It's one of the best and prettiest private schools in Sydney."

I was back in West Newton School. But this time, I was here as a music teacher.

While I was living with Dad, I had majored in musical theater writing at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts. The program had been pricey, but Dad had paid for all my fees. Six months after his death, I'd been offered a chance to co-write a new musical with one of my instructors, but another offer soon came along: to teach at West Newton School. My previous applications to the school had finally been accepted. The timing could not be worse. In the end, the call of Sydney consumed me, and I decided to return home. The problem was, once I landed on Sydney soil, the place no longer felt like home.

And now here I was, living on campus and boarding at Kent Cottage with Becky Green, the new art teacher for Years 7 and 8. They were going to eat her alive.

Come to think of it, I was probably in the same predicament. What had I gotten myself into?

After I unpacked all my belongings, Becky dragged me to the Art Gallery, going on and on about some new exhibit that I just had to see. But first, we decided to eat lunch at the Opera Bar, my favorite place to eat in Sydney.

It was also the place where I'd had my last meal with Mom.

Shaking my head to clear those thoughts away, I leaned forward to peruse the menu. To my surprise and disappointment, the swordfish was no longer there. I was debating between the rack of lamb and the lobster salad when Becky nudged me under the table.

"Hey, that guy over there's checking you out. Three tables to the right." She let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Wow, he's really hot."

Sighing, I lifted my eyes to see what all the fuss was about. Then froze as a pair of intense eyes pinned me to my seat.

The hot guy wasn't alone. A stunning blonde stood before him, a small smile on her full lips as he gently placed her jacket over her shoulders. When the woman tilted her head up to say something, he snapped back to attention and led her away from the table, toward the exit door.

He didn't glance back at me. Not once.

Shaken, I placed the menu down and reached for the glass of water. When I spilled water on my blouse, Becky shot me a strange look as she grabbed a couple of napkins.

"You're trembling," she muttered, swiping the napkin down my chest. "Are you all right? You look like you just saw a ghost."

I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "I . . . I'm fine." I finally forced out. I suppose I _had_ seen a ghost. A ghost from my past.

In all my wild daydreams, I had never expected to run into Marcus Johnson my first day out in Sydney.

# Chapter 7

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Marcus' intense eyes haunted my thoughts; every time I closed my eyes, he was right there, hazel eyes on me with that hungry gaze I was all too familiar with.

He looked different now, taller and broader in the shoulders. In fact, he looked to be pushing six-four. I pressed my face into the pillow, groaning softly at the throbbing between my legs. I hadn't been with a man in over a year. In NYU, I'd had a couple of short-term boyfriends, but nothing too serious. I bit down on my bottom lip as my hand crept under my thin cotton shirt and pushed away a bra cup. As my fingers teased my sensitive nipple, my other hand slipped into my panties to find my aching spot. I arched my back as I rubbed my clit, then moved my fingers down to open the folds. I pretended that it was Marcus' hand, his gaze on me as intense as the night when he'd snuck into my bedroom to fuck me with his mouth.

The memory alone nearly made me climax, but that image was soon doused by the beautiful blonde who had accompanied Marcus at the restaurant. My eyes snapped open, my breathing labored. Who was she? A co-worker? A girlfriend? Or . . . maybe his wife?

I reluctantly removed my hand and rolled to the side, curling into the fetal position. I didn't want to think about her and what she meant to Marcus. Not knowing what else to do, I reached for my smartphone. There were two unread messages and five missed calls. I knew they were all from Mom, but I still wasn't ready to talk to her.

Recently, I'd found out that she and Dane were estranged. Naturally, Mom had been vague about the ugly details, but there were other ways of finding out. I had been keeping up with the Aussie tabloids even in the States, and the little that I'd read told me everything I needed to know.

_Mom had cheated on Dane with Arnold Wentworth, the father of William Wentworth_.

William Wentworth, who had been my boyfriend in Year 12.

That piece of news had infuriated me. She had gotten what she wanted, which was to marry Dane Johnson, only to cheat on him years later with some balding, pink-faced scumbag. Said scumbag probably treated her like dirt, nothing more than a cheap lay.

_I bet this is why Marcus was staring at me like that today. He probably hates me now_.

And it didn't help that my coloring – hair, skin, eyes – was so similar to Mom's.

Tears seeped at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away. I had a new life now. And a teaching career. It was time to move on and leave past things in the past. Marcus Johnson was no longer part of my present. That much was certain.

I shut my eyes again, and this time, I mulled over a song that I had co-written with my Tisch instructor, Troy Mullen. He had been so disappointed when I'd decided to leave for Sydney.

_"It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Charlotte," he said, grabbing my hands. "Teaching is something you can always do, but this chance to co-write a new musical, to see it live on Broadway . . . there are grad students who would give up their firstborns for this."_

_Smiling sadly, I removed my hands from his grasp. "I'm sorry, Troy, but I have to go back. I miss my home." I knew that Troy had feelings for me, and probably the reason why he'd offered me this amazing opportunity. But the last thing I wanted was to be given an unfair advantage, especially when I could think of a few grad students who were more deserving than me_.

Thinking about music and my years at Tisch calmed my troubled mind, and I soon found myself drifting off to sleep.

My first day as a music teacher flew by in a blur. A blur of faces, to be exact. There were so many students that I could barely remember their faces.

No, that was wrong. I could remember _one_ face, at least. A tall, good-looking Year 12 male who sat in the back of the room, his blue eyes following my every move. The female students tittered in his presence and flirted with him. He was probably the Marcus Johnson of his year.

Just my luck. It would be wise to keep him at a safe distance.

In the evening, Becky and I cooked spaghetti and turkey meatballs in the shared kitchen of Kent Cottage. There were four other teachers in the house with us, but they'd been teaching at the school for years, and there was something a little snooty about them. Maybe they didn't like young and inexperienced teachers. Whatever. That was fine by us. Becky and I got along, and that was all that mattered. We weren't interested in being chummy with pretentious pricks, anyway.

"Wow, this is good," I exclaimed, piercing my fork into a plump meatball. We were sitting in our bedroom, with our meals laid out on a small, round table. "You keep cooking like this, and I'll have to roll myself out to class every day."

Becky laughed. "Thanks, I guess." She twirled a strand of spaghetti around her fork, trying to appear casual. "So, I was wondering. Ah . . . do you remember that hot guy we saw about a week ago? When we went out for lunch?"

I nearly choked on my meatball, but I stayed calm and took a sip of my wine instead.

"I remember. What about him?"

Becky stalled for a bit, her eyes on her plate. "Well, I think I saw him today. He was in the principal's office."

My fork clattered on the table. "Why? I mean, why was he here?" My heart started racing. From the little I'd gleaned from Mom, Marcus was now an archeologist, just like his dad, with a major in prehistoric archeology. But his fieldwork had nothing to do with West Newton School. Or did it?

"Who knows?" Becky replied, shrugging. "I'll tell you one thing, though – that guy is even hotter up close. You should have seen the female students milling around outside the office, trying to catch a glimpse of him."

They were young, horny, and curious, so I couldn't really blame them. Still, I soon found myself losing my appetite, and I picked at my meal for the rest of the evening.

Later at night, I headed to the library to hunt down a copy of Piston's book on harmony. I had my own dog-eared copy somewhere, but it was on the verge of falling apart. Pulling my jacket tighter across my chest, I power walked across the campus, pausing to do a little jig now and then because no one was around. Or so I thought. When I reached the library entrance and pulled out my keys, there was a soft cough behind me.

I yelped, my hands flying to my face.

"Sorry, Miss!" The tall boy knelt down and picked up my keys. Then he lifted his head, revealing his handsome features.

Bloody hell. It was that Year 12 boy who had eye-fucked me in music class. What was he doing out here? Wasn't there a curfew or something?

He must have read my mind. Rising slowly, he loomed over me, his blue eyes dark and mysterious under the moonlight. He was standing way too close.

"I'm a prefect," he explained softly. "I'm outside to make sure there aren't any students wandering around."

"I see." For the life of me, I couldn't remember his name. "Can I have my keys back, er . . . young man?"

There was a merry glint in his eyes. "Of course, Miss. Here you go."

When I opened the door and went in, Hot Boy followed in after me. Before I could say anything, he switched on a lamp and then turned to face me, smiling.

"What was that dance you did just now?"

"I didn't dance," I said, flushing.

"I saw you, Miss."

"I tripped. That's probably what you saw."

Hot Boy snorted softly. "Right. Do you kick your legs and twirl when you trip?"

Letting out a fake cough, I walked toward the music section. Hot Boy insisted on trailing after me. It was time to send him back to his boarding house.

"Listen, I'm going to be here for a while. Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

He smiled and ran a hand over his thick brown hair. "No, Miss. I just saw you and wanted to say hi."

"All right, then. I'll see you in class tomorrow, er . . ."

"Nicholas Spencer," he helpfully offered with a knowing grin.

"Of course, yes. See you tomorrow, Nicholas." And I practically shooed the tall boy out of the library.

Once he was gone, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and went to find my book on the first floor. Minutes later, I photocopied the pages on chord triads. To my dismay, I had discovered that over half of the Year 7 students were oblivious to the basic elements of music theory. It was time to change all that.

When everything was finished, I found myself stalling near the stairs. It was late, and I really had to go. But before I could make sense of what I was doing, my feet began climbing up the stairs. And they continued climbing until they reached the third floor.

I stood there, my gaze zooming toward the last window desk at the end. The lamp was on, but there was no one at the desk. I ventured closer, suddenly filled with memories. A part of me wanted to relive all the good days I had spent studying here.

Then there was also the memory of Marcus pushing me against the window as he licked and sucked me from behind.

I ran my fingers across the crude carvings on the desk, smiling as I noticed all the new additions. But there was one carving that stood out from the rest: M.J. fucked C.H.

And underneath that was an ongoing discussion in blue ink.

_—Did they?_

_—Probably._

_—Who's M.J.?_

_—Michael Jackson?_

_—Ew. That's gross._

I giggled, enjoying the immature banter. Hugging my photocopied file close to my chest, I reluctantly turned to leave. It _was_ getting late, after all. I would have to come back next time to read the other new additions.

"Apparently, they think I'm Michael Jackson."

Startled, I whirled around. There, hidden among the dark shelves, stood Marcus Johnson. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves and loosened his tie.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. And I remained speechless even as he stepped closer and stood right in front of me. He was much taller than I remembered. It practically hurt my neck to look up at him.

A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his handsome features, his hazel eyes blazing. "Welcome home, stepsister."

# Chapter 8

"Don't call me that." I shot back. "Because I'm not."

He raised his brows. "Legally, you still are. Then again, if your mum gets her way, William Wentworth could end up being your next stepbrother." His laugh was brittle. "Isn't that completely fucked up, Charlotte?"

It was. He was right about that. "That's not going to happen," I said softly. "This time, I'll put a stop to it if I have to." I decided to quickly change the subject. "What are you doing here? And who gave you the key to the library?"

He sat down and riffled through a book, looking bored. "I was asked to give a series of lectures to the Year 12 history students. Is there a problem?"

So that was why he was in the principal's office. It all made sense now. I shook my head, turning to leave.

"Not at all. Welcome to West Newton School, Mr. Johnson," I said, heading toward the stairs. I could feel his gaze burning a hole in my back, but I forced myself to go down one step at a time until I reached the ground floor. Then on shaky legs, I stepped outside and closed the library door, leaning on the ornate wood for support.

I couldn't believe it. Marcus Johnson was here, of all places. And he hated me.

_Then why was he sitting in my spot?_

I didn't want to analyze that. I was sure it meant nothing. But it was our first exchange in over seven years, and it left a tremendous, aching pain in my heart.

_Oh, Marcus. I missed you so much. I still do_.

With a quiet sob, I pressed my forehead against the door and closed my eyes.

A second later, I found myself pitching forward, landing in Marcus' arms as my papers flew everywhere. He looked surprised to see me there, but he quickly collected himself and pulled me inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

"I-I'm sorry." I stuttered, desperate to find my footing. "I didn't realize you were about to leave –"

Marcus groaned. "Shut up, Charlie. Just shut the hell up," he said, and before I could speak again, he lifted me up and crashed his mouth on mine.

I was reeling from shock. His tongue assaulted me, hot and demanding. I tried to reciprocate, but he bit down hard on my lip, as though he wanted to punish me for what I'd put him through. I gasped and pulled away, raising a hand to my lips.

There was no blood. He hadn't broken the skin.

But he wasn't finished. His hand reached down my back and slipped inside my jeans, cupping my bare ass. He watched me closely as his fingers reached down farther and ran across my folds, opening them. I cried out, holding onto his shoulders. I was delirious with desire; I wanted him inside me, and I told him so.

Instead, my words had the opposite effect on him. His hand stilled, and then he slowly pulled it out, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I can't, Charlie," he said as regret filled his face. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" I asked breathlessly, my body throbbing with need. Was it because he still considered me his "stepsister"?

Then realization set in. Of course he couldn't. Not if my suspicions were correct.

I struggled against him, and he finally let me down. "It's that blonde woman, isn't it?" I said, straightening my shirt. When Marcus didn't answer, I continued on. "Is she your wife?" He still didn't answer. "Your fiancée?"

His jaw tightened, and I knew I had my answer.

"Congratulations," I said with a small smile. I had no right to be upset. Marcus had moved on with his life. It was my fault that I hadn't done the same.

With a heavy sigh, he bent down to pick up my strewn papers. When he finished, he stood up and handed them to me.

"Can I walk you to your cottage?"

I wanted to refuse, but I forced out another smile. "Sure, why not? For old time's sake."

We stepped outside and walked in silence, both lost in our thoughts. Marcus was so close and yet so far away. It broke my heart that we'd never really had the chance to develop our relationship.

"How did you meet her?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"At Australian National University. She majored in museum studies." A tender smile tugged on his mouth, and I felt a stab of jealousy. "Fiona would always sit behind me in class, then ask loudly if I could please move my big, fat head because she couldn't see the whiteboard."

"That was brave of her. Or suicidal."

Marcus' smile slipped off. "I was at a low point in my life. I was going crazy because I was stuck in a big house with your mum, and you weren't there. So one day, I snapped. I spun around in my seat and told the blonde to shut the fuck up. You know what she did? She just smiled at me and said, 'You have a nice voice. You should speak more often.'"

We reached Kent Cottage, and I smiled up at him. "She sounds like quite the catch. I'm happy for you, Marcus."

He looked like he was about to say something, but he took a step back instead. "I'll see you around. Take care, stepsister."

"Stop calling me that!" I said, my voice rising.

Marcus paused to stare at me, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You can blame your mum for that. For six years, she never mentioned your name in my presence. It was always 'your stepsister this' and 'your stepsister that.' Eventually, I got used to it. And now I can't get it out of my head, even though Dad and Abigail have separated." He turned to leave. "So if you have a problem with it, go and take it up with your mum."

# Chapter 9

For the entire morning, I had a bunch of Year 12 students performing their chosen pieces for their Higher School Certificate. Some had chosen well-known classical pieces: Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ and Rachmaninoff's _Prelude in C-sharp Minor_. Others had opted for more modern tastes: Led Zeppelin's _Stairway to Heaven_ and an ambitious flute arrangement of Britney Spears' _Toxic_.

A couple of them were good. Many were surprisingly bad. The even bigger shocker was that I actually enjoyed the flute arrangement. The student – what was her name? – was definitely someone to keep my eye on. She had arranging talent, that one.

The last student to perform was Nicholas Spencer. As he strode to the front of the room with his violin, he paused briefly to wink at me.

I remained expressionless. "And what will you play for us, Nicholas?"

"Tartini's _Devil's Trill Sonata_."

"Of course you are," I said wearily. "All right, then. Show us what you can do."

It was a sin to be this good-looking _and_ be a violin virtuoso. He played an entire fourteen minutes of it without missing a beat or a note. I could just picture him as a world-famous violinist, performing in packed concert halls and breaking hundreds of female hearts along the way.

"That was good," I said lamely when he finished. Clearing my throat, I added, "Just slow down a bit. You're playing it faster than it needs to be."

Nicholas flashed a cheeky grin. "I'll keep that in mind, Miss."

When class was over, I noticed that Mom had sent me another batch of text messages. It was time to end this. I'd been avoiding her ever since my return to Sydney, but maybe it was time to knock some sense into her. After scanning through her messages, I quickly typed out a curt message.

— _I'll drop by for dinner. Now stop harassing me_.

If she responded, I didn't read it.

When I went back to Kent Cottage to change into comfortable jeans and a sweater, I asked Becky if she wanted to come home with me. She blushed and said she had other plans.

"Plans? Are you going out?"

She fidgeted. "Yeah, I am. It's . . . kind of a date."

I was curious. "Who is it? Is it someone I know?"

"Well . . ." Becky busied herself by rearranging her ceramic cat figurines. "Kind of. It's, um, it's –"

"Spit it out already," I said, laughing. "It can't be that bad."

She groaned and threw herself on the bed. "But it is. It's so bad. I wanted to say no, but he cornered me and put me on the spot."

"Okay, now you're starting to scare me." I went over and sat beside her. "Is it the chemistry teacher?" She shook her head no. "Uh, the drama teacher?" Wrong again. "The vice-principal?"

Becky let out a muffled moan. "You're getting close."

No, it couldn't be. Surely not. I leaned in and tentatively asked, "Is it Humphrey Fitzwilliam, the principal of West Newton School?"

Becky nodded pitifully and wailed again.

Interesting. I knew the man was divorced, but he'd always seemed content to live by himself. He wasn't bad-looking, either, just a little . . . soft and paunchy. Some women actually preferred that to rock-hard abs. I mentioned all this to Becky to calm her down.

She sat up and wiped her eyes. "I've never dated a Humphrey before," she said. "I can't picture myself crying out, 'Humphrey, yes! Oh, Humphrey,' when I have sex with him."

I was shocked. "You're already thinking of having sex with the principal?"

"Of course," she replied, confused. "Why wouldn't I? I haven't been laid in a while. If he makes a move on me, I'll probably go for it."

"Then why are you wailing?"

"Because he's old and paunchy, like you said. And what if the other teachers find out? I'll become the Monica Lewinsky of West Newton School."

I snorted with laughter. "Don't worry about that. I heard the principal plays the trombone, not the saxophone. And just don't wear a blue dress on your first date." I laughed again when she flipped me the bird.

Feeling better about the evening, I quickly changed and hailed a taxi to Mom's place. It would be the first time I'd be seeing her since . . . well, forever.

"Oh, darling, I've missed you so much," Mom whispered as she drew me into her perfumed embrace. I allowed her to hug me, then breezed past her to enter the foyer. She hurried inside and led me into the dining room.

Mom hadn't aged that much; her skin was as smooth as ever. All the botox injections made sure of that.

"We're having broiled salmon tonight. I hope you don't mind." She ran a nervous hand across her flat belly.

My gaze zeroed in on that single movement. "You're not –" My eyes widened. "Mother! Please don't tell me you're pregnant!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Charlotte." Distaste rippled across parts of her face that weren't injected with botox. "I have no plans to ruin my figure at this age. What's gotten into you?"

I gawked at her. "What's gotten into me? Well, let's see," I huffed as I plopped into a chair. "You told me that you loved Dane Johnson, that it was your last chance to meet someone like him. You practically begged me to give up on Marcus. Then you shipped me off to Dad, who, by the way, was suffering from colon cancer. You told him that I was moving in with him permanently." I could feel my blood pressure rising, but I couldn't stop myself.

"Then you married Dane Johnson and lived happily for six years. In the meantime, you kept conditioning Marcus into thinking that I was his stepsister so that he would give up on me. When Dad died, you didn't even bother to come to his funeral. You left me to stand over his grave, alone and surrounded by strangers." Hot tears began to fill my eyes. "And then the coup the grâce – you cheated on Dane with Arnold Wentworth. Now, you're nothing more than that pig's glorified mistress. So ask me again what's gotten into me."

Mom stood there trembling, her face ashen. I was feeling pretty miserable, too. Despite everything, she _was_ still my mother, the only family I had. And love them or hate them, family was always important.

"Are you hungry?" Mom asked at last, clasping her hands.

I rubbed my eyes and nodded wearily. "Fuck, yeah. I could eat a fucking horse right now."

"Don't cuss, sweetheart," she pleaded, hurrying toward the kitchen.

"Eh, fuck it," I muttered under my breath.

# Chapter 10

The salmon was cooked to perfection. I must have eaten at least three slices; Mom kept filling my plate, content to sit there and watch me eat. She sipped on her wine and smiled at me.

"You've always been pretty, but you're so lovely now," she said, touching my hair.

"You're just saying that because I look like a younger version of you," I retorted, but inwardly, I was pleased with the compliment.

Mom pulled her hand away and fiddled with her sleeve. "Darling, everything you said just now was true. I _was_ selfish. I was only thinking of myself. But I didn't cheat on Dane." She paused briefly. "At least, not knowingly, anyway."

"What does that even mean? You slept with Arnold Wentworth, right?"

She frowned, thinking. "I think I did, but . . . I don't remember much of it."

Surprised, I dropped my knife and fork. "Did he rape you?"

"I'm not certain of anything, Charlotte. All I know is that Dane and I were supposed to have dinner at the Shangri-La, but he canceled at the last minute because his meeting was running late. I was already at the hotel, so I popped in to have a drink." She shrugged helplessly. "And I ran into Arnold Wentworth at the bar."

"Did he recognize you?"

"Instantly. He invited me to join him for a drink, and I couldn't think of an excuse, so I did. He asked about you, and I asked about William, only to be polite." Mom rolled her eyes. "You should have heard him, Charlotte, going on and on about how William was working at one of the top law firms in Sydney. When he stopped to catch his breath, I told him that your name would be on Broadway any day now."

I grimaced. "Sorry to disappoint, Mom."

"Don't be silly, darling," she said, brushing my apology away. "You know I'm proud of you. Anyway, after three or four drinks, I don't remember much. All I remember is the next morning, when I was lying naked beside Arnold in a fancy suite."

"Oh, Mom."

She smiled, trying to look brave. "I don't know if it was rape or if it was drunken consent. The only important thing is this – I hurt Dane. I hurt the one man who really did love me."

I had nothing to say, no words to console her. So I reached out and squeezed her hand in commiseration.

Mom sighed and dabbed at her eyes. "He knows, by the way." When I lifted a questioning brow, she elaborated. "Dane. He knows about you and Marcus."

I was stunned. "How? Did you tell him?"

"I suspect Marcus told him." Mom gave me a sad smile. "Either that, or Dane eventually figured it out on his own."

Well, it was years too late now, so it made no difference. Besides, Marcus was engaged to what sounded like a lovely woman. He had moved on. And it was time I did as well.

Which meant going out on dates and learning to forgive Mom for her past wrongs.

I squeezed her hand a little harder. "So, I was thinking . . . maybe I could spend the night here? It's getting kind of late."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, darling, I would love that. I'll go and prepare your room now." She rose to her feet and hurried out of the dining room, leaving me alone to finish my meal. As I stuffed another piece of salmon into my mouth, I thought about Troy Mullen, my grad instructor at Tisch. I thought about his floppy brown hair, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his luscious lips. I'd always known he had a thing for me, but I'd resisted him for the simple reason that I wasn't over Marcus.

I whipped out my phone and sent him a text message.

— _Hope you're well. Busy writing your latest masterpiece?_

As I resumed eating, my phone buzzed next to me.

— _Busy, but also lonely. Been thinking of taking a sabbatical. Can I visit you?_

I stared at the screen, wondering if this was a sign from above. With trepidation, I wrote back.

— _If you want. I'm staying in a boarding house, though._

— _That's fine. I can crash at a motel._

— _What about your masterpiece? And your co-writer?_

— _Don't worry. There's email and other ways to keep in touch and finish the project._

I bit my lip, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Was I really going to do this? Was I ready to move on? After much hesitation, I began to slowly type again.

— _I can't wait to see you._

This time, his response was immediate.

— _I've missed you so much. I'll try to be there in two weeks. Will you be able to pick me up at the airport?_

— _Sure. Just let me know when._

After saying our goodbyes, I put my phone down and stared at my plate, feeling a little sick. This situation called for drastic action.

"Mom, I need more wine. Preferable an entire bottle." I croaked as Mom sashayed back into the dining room.

She frowned at me. "What's the matter? Why do you look so pale?"

I wasn't surprised. The idea of letting Marcus go was literally making me sick. He had moved on with his life. So why was I still clinging to the past, afraid to let go?

Straightening, I lifted my nearly empty wine glass. "Because it's time to say goodbye to Marcus and Charlie," I said, trembling. "From tonight onwards, he is nobody to me."

Proclaiming Marcus as nobody was easy enough, but avoiding him on campus was another matter. He had begun his special lecture series for the Year 12 students, and even some of the female teachers were sneaking into the hall to hear him talk. To my dismay, Becky was one of them.

"I thought you were dating Humphrey." I accused.

"I'm not dating him." She corrected me. "I went on one date with him." She suddenly scowled. "And it wasn't even a proper date. He made dinner in his cottage. Lamb roast."

"Yeah . . . that's a date, Becky."

"He didn't even kiss me."

"Because he's a gentleman," I said, shrugging.

"I asked if I could see his trombone." Her scowl deepened. "For some reason, he seemed really shocked by that."

I stifled a giggle. "He probably thought you meant something else. Did you give him a come-hither look when you asked?"

"Who knows what I did. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I don't plan on seeing him again."

I had my doubts, but I kept quiet. Becky did seem pretty hurt by the principal's lack of response. I decided to let the subject go and talk about something else.

"By the way, Troy's arriving this evening," I said lightly. "Can I borrow your car? I need to pick him up at the airport."

She shot me a knowing glance. "Ah, yes . . . Troy, your Tisch instructor. Will I get to meet him anytime soon?"

"You might today," I answered, smiling. "He wants to see the campus and where I'm staying."

Becky leered at me. "And will he be staying the night?"

"No," I said emphatically. "We don't have that kind of relationship. Not yet, anyway."

She suddenly grew excited. "Hey, if things work out between you two, we can double date!"

"I thought you didn't want to see Humphrey again."

Becky's scowl returned as she fiddled with her sleeve. "I hate it when a man plays hard-to-get. You'd think at his age that he wouldn't have time for games."

"He's not playing games, sweetie," I said seriously, reaching out to still her hand. "It's just been a while for him, that's all. The last time he dated, mammoths still roamed the earth."

"Oh, you!" She threw a plush cushion at my head as I laughed and ducked. It was a lame joke, but at least it lightened her mood.

"Do you want to join us for dinner?" I asked, picking up her car keys. "I'm thinking of taking him to that Indian restaurant on Cleveland Street."

Becky sighed. "I do love that place." Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "But I don't want to be in the way. What if Troy's looking forward to an intimate dinner?"

"That's exactly what I'm hoping to avoid," I said, heading to the door. It was too early to jump into things. I wanted to take it slow and easy.

"Are you treating?" she asked, not moving from her spot.

"Of course. Now will you come?"

Cocking her head, she added slyly, "Can I order the prawn masala?"

I threw my hands up in defeat. "Yes! You can order anything. You can even get two desserts for all I care."

Looking mighty pleased with herself, Becky sauntered toward me and snatched the keys out of my hand.

"In that case, I'll be your chauffeur for tonight." Her grin widened. "It's the least I can do for all that fine, _free_ food."

# Chapter 11

After picking Troy up at the airport, Becky and I decided to park the car near Kent Cottage and walk to the restaurant. Troy had been agreeable; he was curious about where I was staying and working. I think he wanted to see what was so great about the place that I would pass up the chance to co-write a musical with him.

"This is nice," he commented, staring at the manicured lawns and cozy cottage. "Nothing like the prep school I attended in New York."

I smiled at him, admiring his looks and the way he held himself. He was the complete opposite of Marcus – he wasn't as tall or strongly built, but his lean form, longish wavy hair, and expressive eyes had made many Tisch students sigh after him.

And his full lips. Just looking at them gave you dirty thoughts.

Becky inched closer, a flirtatious smile on her face. "After all that horrible plane food, you must be dying for a nice meal. I hope you like Indian."

"I love Indian food," Troy said, returning the smile. "Curries are one of my favorite dishes."

As we made our way along the cobbled path, talking loudly about mundane topics, an awkward cough soon interrupted our chatter. Surprised, we looked up and saw the principal blocking our path. To his left stood Marcus and his beautiful fiancée.

"Good evening." I offered uncomfortably when no one said anything. I could feel Marcus' sharp gaze alternating between me and Troy. Principal Humphrey Fitzwilliam was staring at Becky, sweat beading on his brow. And I was staring at Marcus' fiancée, grudgingly admiring her silky blonde hair and modelesque features.

"Heading out to dinner?" Marcus asked at last, his narrowed eyes settling on Troy.

"We are," Becky replied in a hurry. "In fact, we're a bit late, so –"

"We're going to my cottage for dinner as well," Principal Fitzwilliam blurted out. "I made meatloaf. Why don't you join us?" When all eyes turned to him, he began to redden. "I mean, there's more than enough for everyone."

Marcus closed his eyes, and I stifled a giggle. I knew he hated meatloaf. If he'd known what the principal had cooked up in his kitchen, he'd never have said yes to the invitation.

"I don't mind meatloaf," Troy said, oblivious to the tension in the air. A gentle smile played on his lips as he gazed down at me. "We can get Indian food tomorrow."

"You'll still be here tomorrow?" Marcus demanded.

"Of course," Troy replied, and this time, he noticed the aggression in Marcus' voice. He paused, studying Marcus with more interest. "I'll be here for at least a few weeks."

"Thank you for inviting us, Principal Fitzwilliam," I said quickly, casting a harried glance at the two young men. "Meatloaf sounds lovely."

Twenty minutes later, we were seated around the principal's dining table, a thick slice of meatloaf lying prone before us. I took a tentative bite, then another. It was good. Really good. Anyone who could take something this boring and take it to that next level totally had my respect.

Marcus, on the other hand, had left his food untouched. Directly opposite from where I was sitting, he kept his intense gaze on me as I scarfed down the meal. I could feel my cheeks burning. Why wasn't his fiancée calling him out on his odd behavior? Wasn't she supposed to be this beautiful yet tough woman who had cracked his formidable façade in university?

"How is the meatloaf, Miss Green?" Principal Fitzwilliam asked, sounding nervous. "Is it to your liking?"

"It'll do," Becky said rudely, avoiding his eyes. Apparently, she was still miffed with the poor, sweaty man sitting on the other end of the table. I gave her a gentle but firm kick on the shin, sending her an admonishing glance. But she ignored me and kept eating, as if nothing had happened.

Odd. I cleared my throat and widened my eyes at her.

Still nothing.

But there was one person still staring at me. I turned my head slightly to the right and found Marcus grinning like the devil.

_Shit_.

"Why did you kick me, Miss Hall?" When I kept silent, he pressed on. "Surely there are better ways to get my attention?"

I snorted, unable to help it. "My leg fell asleep." I shot back. "I was trying to get some feeling back into it, that's all."

Troy turned to me, frowning. "Is it tingling? Do you want me to massage your leg?"

That wiped the smirk off Marcus' face.

"It's better now," I said, smiling at Troy. "But thanks for offering."

Thankfully, the rest of dinner remained civil, and for dessert, Principal Fitzwilliam brought out chocolate mousse that was thick and velvety, just the way I liked it. I sat there and closed my eyes, savoring the rich taste on my tongue.

Troy nudged me gently. "I didn't know you had a sweet tooth."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." I murmured, opening my eyes.

That seemed to pique his interest. "I'll have to take you out for some ice cream this week."

"It's a date."

Once again, I could feel Marcus' stare burning a hole in my face. The temptation to stare back at his beautiful eyes was strong, but I forced myself to focus on Troy instead.

"I've always been a little shy about playing my trombone before friends," Humphrey said aloud, his gaze flickering to Becky. High red spots appeared on his cheeks. "But this evening, I want to play a little piece I've been practising for the past week." His eyes turned misty. "It's from Handel's _Water Music_."

Marcus began to button his jacket. "Actually, it's getting late –"

"I love Handel." His fiancée quickly interrupted, darting a warning glance at him. Then she flashed a cover-girl smile at the rest of us. "It'll be a nice way to end the lovely evening."

Stunning _and_ kind, with a healthy dose of sarcasm when needed. According to Marcus, anyway. I was starting to feel a little sick with jealousy. It seemed the woman was the walking embodiment of perfection.

We reluctantly went into the living room and sat on the sofa as Humphrey played an entire suite for us. Or rather – he played an entire suite for Becky. Facing her, the principal blared his heart out, his cheeks ballooning from the physical effort. The veteran principal and the new, young teacher . . . I suppressed a giggle, eyeing them both.

It _did_ seem pretty scandalous.

After his performance, Humphrey walked his guests to the door. To my surprise, Becky stood beside him, bidding us goodnight.

I pulled her aside. "What are you doing?" I whispered into her ear. "Aren't you going home with us?"

She shrugged. "I thought I might stay a bit longer and, you know . . ." She trailed off, fiddling with her sleeve, then brightened. "He was pretty good on the trombone, don't you think?"

I gawked at her, recalling the missed notes and sluggish beats. Hadn't she noticed? Or was she so far gone that she couldn't tell the difference anymore?

A blush crept up Becky's neck. "Don't look at me like that," she mumbled. "Now shoo. I'll see you later . . . maybe." And she hurried into the foyer without saying goodbye to Marcus and his fiancée.

"An interesting turn of events." Troy noted, raising his brows.

"Yeah," I said, dumbfounded. Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the principal and thanked him for dinner. He, too, seemed flustered by Becky's odd behavior, judging by the nervous glance he cast over his shoulder. After a harried goodnight, he slammed the door in our faces, leaving us standing on the tiny porch.

"I guess that's our cue to leave," I said, biting down on a laugh. Ignoring Marcus once more, I turned to his fiancée. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe we can do this again some time."

Her smile was strained. "That would be nice."

Oh, boy. Someone was definitely in trouble tonight.

I linked arms with Troy and glanced up at him. "C'mon. I'll drive you to your motel." And before anyone could say anything else, I led him down the cobbled path and away from the perfect couple staring after us.

# Chapter 12

It was nine o'clock when I reached Kent Cottage. At the motel, Troy had invited me in for a nightcap, but I had declined, blaming exhaustion and a host of other lame excuses. As he'd leaned over to kiss me on the lips, he'd murmured, "I can wait, but don't make me wait too long," before disappearing behind the door.

Letting out a sigh, I slammed the car door shut and wearily strode toward the cottage. Troy's warning weighed heavily on my heart. It didn't help that I'd felt nothing during the kiss. There had barely been a spark.

We were _not_ off to a good start.

"Just what I need," I muttered, struggling with my keys. It had been over a year since I'd been with a man. And as much as I didn't want to admit it, I seriously needed to get laid.

_Even mindless fucking sounds good right now_.

If only Troy was a one-night-stand kind of guy. And I was pretty sure he wasn't.

"Where's lover boy?" a male voice asked behind me, and I let out a breathless scream, dropping my keys in the process.

Marcus hunkered down to pick up the keys. Then he glanced up at me, his eyes expressionless.

"I dropped him off at the motel," I replied irritably, snatching the keys from his hand. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your fiancée?"

He rose up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Unable to breathe, I took a step back, but he stepped forward until I was backed up against the door.

"I stayed to hunt down a couple of articles in the library," he said softly. He was close enough that I could smell his clean aftershave. "I was hoping you might want to join me? For old time's sake?"

I made a rude noise. "I don't think so." When I turned around and opened the door, Marcus pushed me in and followed behind, snaking an arm around my waist.

"What are you doing?" I shrieked, whirling around to smack his arm away, but he smothered my face against his chest.

"Shh, quiet. You don't want to disturb the other teachers." He paused, then whispered, "Which one's your room?"

I pointed to the end of the hallway, and he practically bundled me in his jacket and hurried to the bedroom door.

As soon as we were inside, I pushed Marcus away, glaring at him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He paused to turn on the lights. "I wanted to see your room."

"By forcing yourself in?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you have let me in if I asked nicely?"

Probably not. But I still didn't appreciate being manhandled like this.

"Can I have a coffee?"

I muttered under my breath and went to switch on the electric kettle. "We only have instant coffee packets."

"They'll do," he replied, eyeing the French windows with appreciation.

Several minutes later, Marcus and I sat at the small round table, drinking our coffees silently. The tension in the air was killing me. Why the hell hadn't Becky returned yet? Was she actually planning on spending the night at the principal's cottage? I didn't want to be alone with Marcus. I was starting to feel feverish, like I was catching something.

"Have you fucked lover boy yet?" he asked suddenly.

"That's none of your business." I snapped.

Silence fell upon us again. A moment later, I felt his hand on my thigh beneath the table.

"Do you remember when I pressed you up against the window and made you come with my mouth?" he asked. His voice was low and husky.

I put my cup down. "Stop it," I said, trying to control the trembling that had seized me.

"Do you remember?" he persisted.

"Yes, of course I remember," I said, growing angry. "I remember everything."

His fingers began to inch up. "Do you know how long it took me to get over you?"

"But you're over me now?" I said, my breath hitching.

"I think so."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Making sure that I'm really over you."

We sat there staring at each other as his hand went higher and higher. A moment later, his hand crept underneath my skirt and paused about an inch from my throbbing core.

His glazed expression told me all I needed to know. I pushed his hand away.

"Okay, that's enough," I said coolly, trying to sound unaffected. It didn't matter what we were feeling at this moment; we were different people now, with loved ones we could end up hurting if things went too far.

I was going to put an end to this once and for all.

Rising to my feet, I picked up my coffee and padded over to the French windows. I needed to put some distance between us.

His penetrating gaze followed my every move. "Talk to me." He demanded.

"All right, I'll talk. I want you to leave."

"Bullshit. Your body's telling me that you want me to stay."

"Nothing's going to happen between us," I said, fisting my hands. "You made that very clear when you told me you were engaged _and_ called me stepsister."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Maybe I change my mind," he said finally.

His reply was like a slap to my face.

_He wants to fuck me, but he's not willing to break it off with his fiancée_.

I shot him a glare and marched over to the door. "Please leave," I said in an icy tone. "I won't say it a third time."

"You're offended." He noted, narrowing his eyes.

"Any woman would be, when a man she once trusted treats her like a floozy."

"And I remember telling you once that I never saw you that way. That you" – he paused slightly – "meant a lot to me."

I snorted. "I'm touched. But it doesn't change the fact that you think I'm only good for an affair, but not a real relationship." I gripped the doorknob and yanked the door open, vainly trying to mask the trembling in my fingers. "That's a terrible offer, Marcus, and a waste of my time."

He came over, standing way too close. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." He murmured. After planting a lingering kiss on my forehead, he strode out the door, leaving me to stand there with tears in my eyes.

Oh, I would change my mind, all right. Numerous times. And each time, I would hate myself for it.

Impulsively, I reached for my phone and called Troy. He picked up on the fourth ring.

"I change my mind about that nightcap," I said before he could say a single word. "If it's not too late, can I take you up on that offer?"

There was a slight delay in his reply. "Of course." Not asking any questions, he added, "I'll leave the door unlocked. Just come in when you get here." Then he hung up.

My heart was beating wildly when I pressed "end." It didn't matter that there was no spark between us. If he made a move tonight, I was going to go for it.

It could be the only way to get Marcus Johnson to back off for good.

# Chapter 13

To my chagrin, Troy didn't make a move on me.

Well, he did kiss me, and he did fondle me through my shirt, but the moment I tried to pull his shirt over his head, he pulled away from me.

"I never thought I would say this," he'd said, breathing hard, "but let's slow down a bit, okay? I've been dreaming about this for months, and I don't want our first time together to be in some cheap motel room."

Some starry-eyed girl might have swooned at his romantic words, but they left me disgruntled and deeply unsatisfied.

Furthermore, I dreamt about Marcus kissing my breasts that very night, while Troy spooned me from behind.

"Everything's a mess." I wailed into my hands as Mom walked into the kitchen. It was Saturday morning; I'd promised to go shopping with her because she "needed my advice" about some evening dress she'd been eyeing for the past couple of weeks. "Tell me if I look fat in it." She'd stressed. "I need something appropriate for the Mortons' dinner party next weekend."

I had no idea who the Mortons were, and I didn't particularly care. In exchange for my so-called advice, however, Mom had offered to buy me lunch at my favorite Italian restaurant.

Maybe the little excursion would take my mind off my troubles, at least for a while.

"What's wrong, honey?" Mom asked, noticing the way I was cradling my face. "Are you feeling all right?" Her eyes suddenly filled with panic. "Don't tell me you're with child!"

Who would accuse us of being unrelated? _I accuse her of being pregnant, she accuses me of being knocked up._

We were kind of twisted in that way.

"I haven't had sex in over a year." I snapped, lifting my head. "I practically threw myself at a guy yesterday, but all he did was play with my breasts for a bit before calling it quits for the night." I didn't mention that I was fully clothed at the time.

Mom winced. "Too much information, dear. And anyway," she added, patting my shoulder as she breezed past, "I'm glad to hear that this young man isn't the rushing type. He sounds like a gentleman."

"Did you deliberately not hear the crucial bit about me not having had sex in a year?" I said, my tone rising. "I need sex! SEX! Even the flabby principal of West Newton got laid last night! It's been so long, I'm starting to get cobwebs in my –"

"Oh, someone's at the door!" Mom broke in as the faint sound of bells carried into the kitchen. She shot me a warning glance on her way out. "And honey, do contain yourself. You sound so depraved."

I sulked as Mom greeted whoever was at the door. Who was she to tell me I was depraved? Besides, my depravity never hurt anyone.

My phone started buzzing on the table. It was Becky, that vixen. With a sly grin, I raised the phone to my ear.

"Guess where I'm calling from?" she asked breathlessly before I could speak.

My mouth dropped. "Don't tell me you're still at Humphrey's cottage!"

Becky let out a tiny squeal. "I'm in his bathroom, going through his medicine cabinet."

"Where is he?"

"He's still sleeping." She giggled. "He's probably exhausted from the marathon sex we had last night."

Jealousy shot through me. Even the middle-aged principal had begun an active sex life. I was starting to feel pretty sorry for myself.

Becky continued on, unaware of my misery. "It's true what people say – older men _are_ better lovers." Her voice grew dreamy. "First, we had sex on the sofa –"

"The sofa we sat on while he played the trombone?" I asked in dismay.

"Of course."

I was never sitting on that sofa again. Come to think of it, I had no desire to enter that cottage ever again.

"Then we showered together," she went on. "Later, we ate more chocolate mousse – naked, mind you – and then he laid me over the dining table and smeared mousse all over my –"

"Yes, Mom, give me a minute!" I shouted in desperation, even as Mom was chatting with her mysterious visitor. I had no problems sharing intimate details with girlfriends, but details about the principal?

I would never be able to look the man in the eye and keep a straight face.

"Oh, are you at your mum's?" she asked, surprised. "I thought you might be with Troy."

_Twist the knife in, why don't you_.

"I promised to go shopping with her," I said through gritted teeth.

Becky clucked in sympathy. "I want to hear all about it. But not tonight." Giggling like a school girl, she added, "Teddy asked me to stay for the weekend."

"Who's Teddy?" I asked, confused.

"Humphrey, silly!" There was another giggle. "That's my nickname for him. He loves it. He's like my giant teddy bear."

There was something distinctly creepy about the whole situation, but I decided not to dwell on it. I had my own issues to deal with.

"That means I'll have the room all to myself then," I said, thinking out loud.

"Exactly. For the entire weekend." Becky paused. "If Troy is dumb enough to let this opportunity pass, I give you permission to fuck Marcus instead."

"Becky!" I cried in outrage. "He's engaged."

She snorted, and I could hear her slamming something closed. Probably the medicine cabinet door. "Puh-lease. The poor bugger couldn't take his eyes off you last night. Didn't you notice? I almost felt sorry for his fiancée."

That part was true. I, too, had felt bad for the woman.

"I'll try again tonight," I said, sighing. "But if things don't go beyond light petting, I'm going to dim the lights, light a few scented candles, and get into bed with my vibrator. Right in front of him."

"Also a good plan," Becky replied approvingly. "Seriously, he came all the way from the States for you. What the hell is he waiting for?"

That was a good question.

_Maybe he senses what I'm doing. And he doesn't want to be my fuck buddy. He didn't come all this way for that_.

I felt horrible, but at the same time, I was pretty pissed at him. Couldn't we work on the relationship _after_ the sex? Was there an unspoken rule that everything had to be picture perfect before getting naked in the bedroom?

"I guess I'll find out soon enough," I said, standing up. I cast a suspicious glance toward the foyer. Mom was taking unusually long. "Listen, I have to go. Mom's waiting for me. Have fun with Teddy tonight."

"Oh, I will," Becky said. "I'm going to wear my edible thong – you know, the strawberry-flavored one . . ."

I almost vomited in my mouth. "Yeah, that's great." I choked out, trying to scrub the image from my head. "See you on Monday, then." And I ended the call in a hurry.

Pocketing my phone, I went out to see what was taking Mom so long. Her soft words floated into the living room, which were cut off by a more aggressive-sounding voice. Definitely male. Curious, I ventured closer until I was standing right behind Mom.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I said angrily, belatedly noticing the hazel eyes and dark hair hovering right beneath the head jamb. Mom let out a startled breath and whirled around.

Marcus crossed his arms. "I came to see my stepmother." He cocked his head at Mom. "Legally, you _are_ still my stepmother, aren't you, Abigail?"

She raised a trembling hand to her throat. "You've said enough today, Marcus. Go home. I'll speak to your father –"

"He doesn't want to talk to you, not until you agree to sign this." He held out a bunch of papers. "You and Dad have been separated for over a year. It's time to make it official and move on with your lives."

In shock, I stared at the large heading on top of the paper.

_Acknowledgment of Service (Divorce)_

Marcus was serving divorce papers to Mom. In his father's stead.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, my gaze still pinned to the heading.

Mom's face was ashen. "I . . . Charlotte and I were . . . we were just about to . . ." She trailed off, looking like she might faint. "Excuse me, I need to –" Then she dashed off before she could finish what she was saying.

"Mom!" I was about to go after her, but Marcus reached over to grip my elbow.

"Let her be," he said quietly. "She'll need a private moment to process this."

I whirled around, furious. "This is your fault. What were you thinking? You can't just drop by unannounced and serve her divorce papers!"

His eyes flared with anger. "This isn't just about Dad and Abigail. It's about you and me as well."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Tightening his grip on my elbow, he stepped into the house and shoved me into the coat closet. Before I could utter a word of protest, he joined me and slammed the flimsy door behind him.

# Chapter 14

I gawked at him. "Are you insane? This isn't the time or place to –"

"Fiona and I ended our engagement."

"Oh."

Well, I hadn't expected that, especially since they'd still been engaged the previous night. Hesitant, I glanced up at him.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

His jaw tightened. "Are you, Charlie?"

I turned away, unable to bear his penetrating gaze. "I know you're hurt, but that's no reason to be so ruthless with Mom." I paused briefly. "You know she still loves Dane."

"Like I said, they've been separated for a year. It's Abigail's fault that she can't accept her new reality."

My breath hitched when he brushed a thumb across my bottom lip. "What are you doing?"

Marcus snorted in exasperation. "You're like a broken record. 'What are you doing here?' 'What are you doing?' 'What were you thinking?' So many irrelevant questions."

"They're not irrelevant!" I huffed, pushing aside a thick winter coat in frustration. The stuffy closet was making me feel claustrophobic. "I had every right to ask those questions. And what did you mean earlier when you said those divorce papers were also about you and me?"

He cupped my face and pulled me toward him. "I'm no longer engaged," he murmured. "And when Dad and Abigail are officially divorced, you and I can finally go back to the way things were . . . the way our lives should be." And then he bent down, his lips brushing against mine.

I moaned as his hand reached under my shirt and impatiently pushed aside a bra cup. His warm hand palmed my breast, his thumb rubbing across my nipple. I moaned again, pressing my body against his, pushing his head down to my chest. I wanted him to suck my nipples, to flick his experienced tongue over them again and again until –

The sudden buzzing in my back pocket startled us both, and I nervously yanked down my shirt and pulled out my phone. With a feeling of dread, I stared at the screen.

"Who the bloody hell is it?" Marcus asked, peeved. His dark hair was adorably tousled.

"Give me a minute," I replied. On shaky legs, I emerged from the closet and hurried into the kitchen.

"Are you having fun shopping with your mom?" Troy asked warmly when I uttered a breathless hello.

"We're, uh, still at home, actually." I raised a hand to my chest, forcing myself to calm down. "She isn't feeling well at the moment."

Troy was instantly concerned, which made me feel guilty. "I can drop by with chicken soup, if you'd like. I found a great soup place across the street."

Soup was the least of Mom's problems. "No, that's okay. Mom just needs some rest, that's all. She'll be fine after a couple of hours." I cast a nervous glance toward the foyer. "Listen, I need to go. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

After I ended the call, I sat at the island counter, feeling like a total jerk. What was I doing? Troy had come all the way from the States to see me, to give our relationship a try. Yet I had kissed Marcus three minutes ago like some horny high school student. It wasn't right, and certainly not fair to Troy.

_But Marcus ended his engagement to Fiona. Because he chose to be with me._

Was that true? Marcus hadn't really explained. I lifted my head when he walked into the kitchen.

"Who was it?" His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me it was Tom."

"His name is Troy." I corrected him, feeling a rush of annoyance.

Marcus snorted. "Like I care. What did he want?"

"Were you the one to end things with Fiona?"

The abrupt question caught him by surprise. After a tense pause, he said, "Does it even matter?"

"Of course it does!" The difference meant everything. How could he not know that?

"Our breakup was mutual. That's all you need to know."

I stood up and brushed past him. "Well, Troy and I are still together. And I'm not ending our relationship just because you happen to be available now."

He followed me into the living room and grabbed my arm, jerking me around.

"So that's it?" He was furious. "You're walking away? Again?"

I shook him off. "Troy came all the way from the States to be with me." I could feel my throat closing up, but I swallowed hard and continued on. "During the seven years when I was taking care of Dad, did you ever come to visit me? Did you even call? No. If anything, you blocked _my_ calls. You didn't reply to any of _my_ messages. You cut me off." My voice broke. "You didn't care enough to fight for me."

Marcus remained quiet, his eyes flickering with an array of emotions – anger, sadness . . . and finally, what appeared to be guilt.

"I didn't walk away the first time. You did. You gave up the minute we faced our first real obstacle. But this time, I _am_ walking away. I'm not interested in being with someone who only sees me as a consolation prize, a safety net."

"You're not a consolation –" he began.

"Just go, Marcus," I said, turning away. "And leave those papers on the table. When Mom's ready, I'll talk her into signing them."

Tense silence filled the room. A moment later, I heard footsteps, the clicking of the front door as it closed, and a car leaving the driveway. I hurried to the window, watching the back of Marcus' car until I could no longer see it.

When I was sure he was finally gone, I buried my face into my hands and bawled. For him. For me.

For us.

Because I knew this time, he was leaving for good.

# Chapter 15

**_Four months later_**

"What do you think? Does this dress scream, 'I'm pregnant and proud'?"

Becky and I were at a department store looking at maternity clothes. At first, we'd marched over to the newborn clothing section, but Becky had been seduced by the sight of bright-colored sleeves and Peter Pan collars in the adjacent aisle.

I gave the stretchy material a critical once-over. "Do you think Humphrey would approve?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Becky grew nervous. "Is it offensive? Do you think I should buy a different present?"

The principal had invited Becky to meet his very pregnant sister living in the Sunshine Coast. Now that we had started the school holidays, this meant she would be spending an entire two weeks with Humphrey.

Their relationship was getting quite serious.

The other teachers in Kent Cottage had all left for their homes the previous night. Which meant I had the entire place to myself. I smiled, picturing Troy lying in my bed for two full weeks. This was going to be fun.

For the past several months, Troy and I had been slowing working on our own relationship. Things had progressed to a level where I could now comfortably say I had pretty strong feelings for him. As for Marcus, the last I heard was that he was off on some archeological dig in the Northern Territory. But I needed to stop thinking about that.

I had a new man in my life now.

"I'm going to miss you," I said wistfully, linking my arm with Becky's. "The place is going to feel so empty."

She patted my arm in sympathy. "Not _that_ empty. You've got to keep an eye on the students staying behind."

Some of the older students had opted to remain on campus, citing looming deadlines and exams as their excuse. For some, it was probably true. For others, well . . . they probably didn't want to go home and face their demanding parents for two whole weeks.

"I hear Nicholas Spencer will be staying back as well." Becky went on, frowning. "You need to watch out. That kid is just too good looking."

"I need to watch out because he's good looking?" I shot her an annoyed glance. "Are you saying you don't trust me?"

"I'm saying I don't trust _him_. I've seen the way his eyes follow you around, like he's picturing what you look like naked and spread-eagled on his bed."

"Gah!" I groaned, trying to scrub the image from my head. "Don't even go there. He's my _student_!"

Becky shrugged, unapologetic. "I'm just saying, that's all." Her eyes narrowed. "Speak of the bloody devil. Look over there."

The devil himself, also known as Nicholas Spencer, was standing in front of Baskin Robbins, sharing an ice cream cone with a younger female student. I couldn't remember her name, but I knew she was in Year 11. She looked positively smitten with the handsome prefect, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

"I don't think he saw us," I muttered, grabbing Becky's arm. "C'mon. Let's go before he catches us staring at him."

"What's he doing here?" She eyed him suspiciously. "Do you think he's stalking us?"

"It's Sunday afternoon. He has every right to go out and meet people."

"But why _here_ of all places?" Becky pressed on, unmoved by my argument.

"Because," I said, pulling at her arm in exasperation, "it's the only spot near the campus that has shops and a half-way decent food court. Now leave the poor boy alone. Let's go."

As we walked past him, I thought he paused slightly, turning his head an inch toward us, but I ignored it and headed to the juice bar with Becky.

After a couple more hours of eating and shopping, Becky finally left for the Sunshine Coast with Humphrey. I trudged back to the campus with my grocery bags, tired from all the walking around. What I needed was a long, relaxing bath before getting up to prepare the ingredients for a New England clam chowder. Troy had been hankering for something distinctly American, and chowder was just the thing to satisfy his homesickness.

"Here, let me help with that," a male voice said from behind as I struggled to open the front door one-handed. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, biting back a groan as Nicholas reached down to take my groceries. Had he followed me home? Had Becky been right all along?

"Where's your friend?" I blurted out, immediately regretting my question when he quirked a brow at me.

"Oh, so you _did_ notice me earlier."

I clamped my mouth shut, not wanting to say more.

He pushed the door open and carried the groceries into the cottage. Not knowing what else to do, I trailed after him.

"Thanks, Nicholas. Just put them in the kitchen." I had to get rid of him quickly. It wouldn't do to have a student loitering inside a teacher's cottage. People would get ideas.

"What are you making for dinner?" he asked, taking the groceries out of the bag. He was already making himself at home.

"Nicholas."

"Yes, Miss?"

"Thanks for helping. But, you know, you should probably head back to your room now."

He paused briefly, gazing at me through his lashes. "I'm sorry, Miss. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

_Of course you are, Hot Boy_. _And you damn well know it_.

"I'm not uncomfortable," I replied with a tight smile. "But I have a friend coming over later, and I really need to –"

"A boyfriend?"

Okay, this was getting weird. I walked over to him, frowning.

"What's with all the personal questions?"

He shrugged and resumed what he was doing. "Just curious, Miss. I mean, you're young and attractive. It only makes sense that you'd have a date tonight." When he finished unpacking the groceries, he smiled down at me. "Can I hang around for a bit? I'm kinda bored, and I also need your help. I may be good at the violin, but I suck at music theory."

This was a bad, bad idea. But I found my resolve weakening.

"Fine," I said curtly. "But first, I need a shower. You can look through my theory books and find the sections you're struggling with. I'll go over them with you afterwards."

Fifteen minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom to find Nicholas sprawled on my bed, his long legs dangling over the edge. His brown hair was over his eyes, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip as he flipped the pages of Schoenberg's _Theory of Harmony_.

Damn. Becky was absolutely right. The kid was a freaking cutie, and he was casually lying on my bed like he _belonged_ there.

This was bad. So very bad.

He glanced up and caught me staring at him. His blue eyes softened.

"Your red hair looks burnished bronze when it's wet."

I snapped back to attention, pulling my robe tighter around my body. I'd always known he had a crush on me, and it had seemed harmless at the time. But this . . . it wasn't right. I shivered slightly as his gaze traveled down my body.

"Nicholas, it's getting late, and I have a lot to do. If you have questions regarding the upcoming exams, why don't you meet me in the library tomorrow after breakfast?"

"It's not even six. Are you trying to get rid of me, Miss?"

I wasn't going to play nice this time. "Yes, Nicholas." I sighed. "I have to cook _and_ get dressed. I'm sorry, but there simply isn't enough time."

"All righty, then." He rose to his feet and sauntered toward me, an easy smile playing on his lips. Before I could move away, he leaned over and planted a lingering kiss on my cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning." I repeated, conscious of how close he was standing.

He raised the book, his grin widening. "Can I borrow this?"

"Of course." I was eager to send him out. "You can return it anytime."

"Cool. I'll see you tomorrow, then . . . Charlotte." After squeezing my shoulder, he opened the French windows and strode out into the manicured lawns, tucking the book under his arm.

I shut the windows in a hurry. What had just happened? How had he gone from calling me "Miss" to "Charlotte" in minutes? Confused, I headed to the kitchen to start prepping for the chowder. Troy would be coming over in an hour or so. There was no time to stand here and ponder the mysterious things that went on behind the minds of eighteen-year-old males.

# Chapter 16

Right after dinner, during which Troy had oohed and aahed over the "delicious chowdah," we tumbled into bed, half of our clothes strewn across the floor. I reached over to yank off his socks, but ended up banging my forehead on his bent knee instead. With a loud groan, I fell onto the pillows, clutching my face in agony.

"Are you all right?" Troy breathed, and I had a terrible suspicion that he was valiantly holding back a laugh. He removed my hands to get a better look. "Show me."

"Is it bad?" I whimpered as tears filled my eyes. I never recalled being this much of a klutz with Marcus.

Troy shook his head ruefully. "It's turning red pretty fast. You might end up with a bruise tomorrow."

"That's okay. I can use foundation to cover it."

We tentatively resumed kissing, and I moaned as he bit me softly on the neck. I arched my back as he trailed kisses down to my breasts, but his shoulders started to shake uncontrollably.

My eyes popped open. "What's wrong? Is something the matter?"

He sat up and wiped his eyes, his shoulders still shaking. Then I realized.

The ass was _laughing_. At me!

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"Nothing. It's terrible, actually." He tried to look serious, but I could see his shoulders doing that jiggly move again. "It's just that . . . your forehead's swelling up fast, and you kind of remind me of the _Pachycephalosaurus._ "

"The packy what?" Trust him to be a nerd and kill the mood.

"The _Pachycephalosaurus._ " He pantomimed a large bulb protruding from his forehead. "You know, the dome-headed dinosaur."

I reminded him of a dinosaur? He was thinking about that _while_ we were kissing? Sulking, I pushed Troy away with my foot and curled into the fetal position.

"Do you have any ice packs?" he asked, rising from the bed.

"No packs. Just ice," I muttered.

He reached down to ruffle my hair. "Be back in a minute."

When he left, I lay back and sulked some more. He'd killed the mood, all right. All the fun was gone. Snorting under my breath, I reached down for my top and pulled the soft material over my head. We would just have to settle for a movie tonight.

A loud knock on the window made me jolt up in shock.

"Aahh!" I quickly yanked the top down and peered toward the window. To my horror, Nicholas was standing outside, staring back at me. How long had he been standing there?

A new realization nearly made me faint. Had he seen me . . . topless?

He knocked on the window again, this time with impatience. "Miss, could you open the windows?"

I hurried over, my anger burning. He'd gone too far this time. He might be a prefect, but he was going to get a week's detention from me. No, a month! I unlocked the windows, about to unleash my wrath on him. Hell hath no fury like a woman embarrassed by her hot male student.

A slight movement to his left soon made me pause. Seconds later, my mouth fell open.

"Fiona! What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you." The blonde woman cast an apologetic glance at Nicholas. "I saw him walking around campus, so I asked him where you were staying. He brought me here."

"I see." I turned to face him. "Thank you, Nicholas. You may return to your room now."

His gaze lingered on me before he broke into a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss." With a brief nod at Fiona, he made his way toward the direction of the students' boarding houses.

Fiona stared after him, an odd expression on her sculpted face. After a while, she turned around to give me a small smile.

"He couldn't take his eyes off you. Just like a certain someone."

"Excuse me?" What the hell was she talking about?

She shook her head, grimacing. "Never mind. I'm sorry to barge in like this. I just" – she bit her lip, hesitant – "well, I need to ask you a favor."

I crossed my arms, studying her with more interest. "We hardly know each other," I said slowly.

Her smile twisted. "I'm not so deluded as to come and ask for _any_ favor." After a tense pause, she added, "It's about Marcus."

I should have known this was coming. Why else would she be here?

"I'm sorry," I said immediately, raising my hands. "Whatever's happening between you two is your problem. Don't involve me in this."

"And yet you're thoroughly involved." She snapped back. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, then opened them again. "I apologize. That was rude of me. Let me explain exactly why I'm here. Marcus returned from the Northern Territory about five days ago, but it seems he's not answering anyone's calls." Her expression became troubled. "He's especially not answering mine. I know we broke up, but . . . I'm worried about him."

When I remained silent, she squared her shoulders and continued on. "I know that you were once his best friend. Please, can you call him? Or better yet, visit him and see if he's all right?" She shot me a sideways glance, opened her mouth, then thought better of it and swallowed whatever else she was going to ask me.

Having noticed it, I couldn't well let it go. "What is it?"

"It's nothing."

I rolled my eyes. "Spit it out, Australian Barbie. I know you're itching to."

"Funny," she said, raising her perfect brows. "I always referred to you as the American Doll in my head."

That royally pissed me off. "Do you have any idea how fugly those dolls are?"

Fiona burst out laughing. "You mean there's an actual American Doll? I'll have to search for it on the Internet."

"Please don't. Anyway, ask your question and stop being so damn coy about it."

"All right, then." She faced me directly, the laughter in her eyes gone. "Why did you refuse to get back with Marcus?"

"Because I've moved on."

"Have you?" Her gaze traveled over to the open French windows. "Marcus thought he'd moved on, too. Then you showed up seven years later."

"I'm with Troy now. Will it work out?" I shrugged. "Who knows? But I want to get to know him. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Until the other person ends up getting hurt," Fiona whispered, frowning at the ground.

"No one will get hurt." I stressed. But was it true? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Troy. I cared for him deeply.

Fiona smiled at me, and this time, it was genuine. "I should get going; it's getting late. Here's Marcus' address." She handed me a piece of paper, along with a business card. "And here's my card. Call me if you can't find the place, or . . . if you just want to meet for a girls' night out or something." And with that casual offer of friendship, she bestowed another ethereal smile on me before sashaying across the lawns and disappearing from my view.

Marcus was right. The woman was fucking cool.

# Chapter 17

The following morning, I trudged into the dining hall and headed straight for the buffet table. About thirty students were seated, some poring over books while others chatted quietly. Two other teachers, who'd volunteered to remain on campus, were seated on the far left. The older of the two women raised her hand, and I smiled and waved back.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs, hash browns, fried sausage, cereal, and fruit salad. I chose the eggs and fruit salad, along with a cup of piping hot black coffee. As I carried my tray toward my colleagues, Nicholas surreptitiously reached behind his seat and pushed something into my hand when I walked past. It was a small piece of folded paper. Frowning, I flicked it open.

– _Good morning, Charlotte. Let me take this opportunity to compliment you on your amazing tits. Yes, I saw them in all their glory last night_.

Mortified, I crumpled the note in my fist and glanced over my shoulder. Nicholas was bent over his book, the food on his half-empty plate growing cold. Several of the female students sitting nearby were casting hopeful glances at him, as if they wanted him to look up and notice them. But he appeared to be completely lost in Schoenberg's pedagogic writings.

I shoved the paper into my pocket and quickly joined the two teachers, one of whom scooted over to make more space.

"You came alone? Where's your darling American boyfriend?" Ms. Booker pushed her glasses up her nose, grinning. About two decades older than me, she taught modern history to the students of West Newton.

I took a sip of coffee before replying. "He returned to his flat early this morning. Said he had a lot of work to do."

To be honest, it had sounded like an excuse even to my ears. It had made me wonder if he'd overheard my conversation with Fiona, especially the part about whether I'd truly moved on or not.

"What's the matter with your forehead?" the other teacher muttered, throwing me a distasteful glance. Unlike Ms. Booker, this one didn't like me very much. "It looks diseased."

She was obviously referring to the faint bruise beneath the makeup. I smiled and poked at a plump grape in my salad with the fork. Rumor was that Miss Neely, the younger teacher of the two, strongly disapproved of Becky and Humphrey's relationship. She probably thought of Becky and me as the succubi of West Newton, out to suck the living souls of all the males within our vicinity.

The woman needed to get laid. Seriously. It would solve all her anger issues.

"Oh, this?" I said, waving in the general direction of my head. "That's what happens when you have too much porn sex with your boyfriend. You know, you really ought to try it sometime. It might loosen the stick up your ass."

Miss Neely thinned her lips in disgust before rising from her chair. Without another word, she took her tray and stomped over to another table.

I snuck a glance at Ms. Booker, who appeared to be choking down a laugh. "Well, she was asking for it," I said defensively. "I'm sick of her sanctimonious attitude."

What a way to start the holidays.

After breakfast, I reluctantly made my way to the library, wishing I could be somewhere else instead. Nicholas was getting too bold for my liking. And he'd seen me topless. This was bad.

In the end, I wimped out and left a note for him at the library front desk. Scribbling on a torn piece of paper, I wrote, "The tutorial is canceled. You know why. I'm still deciding on whether or not to give you detention." And I left quickly before we could cross paths.

Of course, there was another reason for the cancellation. There was no point in even denying it. It had been four months since I'd seen or spoken to Marcus, and it was time to call a truce. Fact was, I'd missed him like crazy. And I was also curious to see where he lived.

With my mind made up, I hurried to Kent Cottage to grab my bag and the piece of paper with his address on it.

Turned out he was living at Bondi Beach. I stood in front of the three-level apartment, craning my neck to look up. There had been a time when he'd lived all the way out in the west, taking him fifty minutes just to come visit me. Now, it would take him a mere ten minutes by car.

And yet he felt so far away.

I walked up three floors in my heels, grunting with each step. I hoped this trip was worth it. I hoped we could fix things between us and remain friends.

Once I reached the top, I stood before his door like a deer caught in headlights. I couldn't bring myself to knock. What would I say? How would I react? How would _he_ react?

_Why am I here, damn it?_

Before I could flee like a madwoman down the stairs, trip over, and break my neck, I knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

I tried again, just because I knew he was home.

Still no answer.

"Marcus!" I shouted. "It's Charlie. Open the door, you bloody fool."

There was a slight stirring sound behind the door, followed by a soft expletive.

Encouraged, I banged on the door again. "Let me in, Marc. I need to talk to you."

This time, I heard a sigh. I was about to bang on the door again when it yanked open, and Marcus loomed before me. He was wearing only jeans, the top button still undone. He'd probably pulled them on hastily when he heard me knocking. Dark stubble lined his jaw.

Even in his rumpled state, he looked so hot that I found myself freezing up again.

"What do you want?" he growled.

I cleared my throat. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"No."

Well, that was rude. But he would not get rid of me that easily.

"I think I have a right to see your place. After all, you forced yourself into Kent Cottage. Remember that time, Marc? So now, it's my turn." And before he could growl another "no," I ducked and ran past him, right into the living room.

Or at least, I'd been hoping to reach the living room. That was how I'd pictured it in my head.

In reality, however, I took two measly steps before he grabbed me from behind and pinned me against the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Charlotte?"

"I told you. I want to talk to you."

"We've got nothing to talk about."

"Wrong answer, you ass. Now are you going to let go of me, or are you going to keep me pinned to the wall as an excuse to cop a feel?"

His voice turned husky. "Do you want me to touch you? Is your boyfriend not enough to –" He broke off mid-sentence, scowling at me. "What the fuck is wrong with your forehead?"

I was getting pretty tired of this question. "It's a bruise, okay? No big deal."

Marcus was furious. "Let me guess. You got that bruise when Tim banged you into the headboard as he fucked you from behind, right?"

This guy was unbelievable. "His name is Troy," I said, peeved. "And no, I didn't. I got it when I banged my forehead into his knee."

He quirked a brow, unconvinced.

"Troy has wickedly bony knees, all right?"

We stared at each other as silence fell upon us. I studied his features, wanting to touch his face. He looked tired, as though he wasn't getting enough sleep. Fiona was right to be worried about him.

"What's going on?" I murmured, finally working up the courage to push his hair out of his eyes. "I heard you returned six days ago. Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"I wanted some time alone," he said, looking a little more relaxed. "The past four months were tough – long-hour days, seven days a week. I barely had time to just sit and think."

Maybe the situation wasn't as dire as Fiona had painted it to be. "So . . . you weren't avoiding your ex-fiancée on purpose?"

"Why would you say that?" He narrowed his eyes. "Wait – did she talk to you? Is that why you're here?"

I had to answer carefully. "I'm here because I wanted to see you. No one made me come." After a pause, I added, "But, yes. She did talk to me. She's been worried sick about you."

Marcus let go of me and padded toward the kitchen. "You want coffee?"

He obviously wanted to change the subject. I rubbed my eyes, sighing. "Yeah. And brew me the good stuff. None of that cheap instant packets."

He pointed at the sofa. "Sit down. The good stuff will take a while." When I didn't, he threw an irritated glance over his shoulder. "Why are you just standing there?"

"Can I take a tour of the place? It's so nice."

"No. I told you to sit down."

He was so rude. Grumbling under my breath, I obediently sat myself down. After all, there was plenty of time to look around later.

At least, I hoped so.

# Chapter 18

Coffee soon turned to lunch as my visit stretched into hours. I hadn't planned on staying so long. But we were talking, really talking, like we had when we were best friends in high school. I had missed this so much.

And apparently, so had Marcus, judging by his relaxed posture and the genuine smile on his face. I had never seen him this carefree since . . . well, forever.

"This chicken burger's awesome," I said, holding it up. "I didn't know you were this good at cooking." I shook the half-eaten burger at him. "I'll have to come over more often."

Marcus grinned and leaned closer. "How about you stay for dinner, and you cook something for me this time?"

I took a slow bite from my burger, thinking hard. Troy was coming over to spend the night. But a part of me really wanted to stay here with Marcus, my old best friend.

His tousled hair and strong jaw caught my attention, and I winced inwardly. Who the hell was I kidding? My body was screaming for his touch, his hot kisses, his promises that I was the only one for him. There was no way the night would end on a chaste note if I stayed.

I lowered my gaze, quickly finishing the burger.

"What is it?" he asked, sensing my doubt. "You have plans tonight?"

"Something like that," I muttered, wiping my fingers on a napkin.

That "look" was back in his eyes again. "It's Roy, isn't it? He's coming over?" Marcus was growing angrier by the second.

"You're doing on that on purpose, right?" I said, frustrated. "Because there's no way an esteemed archeologist such as yourself would keep getting that small detail wrong _all the time_. His name is Troy, damn it, T-R-O-Y, Troy!"

He snorted. "Don't change the subject. Why's he coming over?"

"Because he's my boyfriend?" I stood up and carried the empty plates to the sink. "Because we've been together for the past four months? Because we have that kind of relationship now?"

Marcus pushed back his chair, sending it flying across the floor. He reached me in three long strides and spun me around.

"Then why are you really here?" he demanded, shaking my shoulders. "Why did you come all this way? To reminisce? To eat a fucking burger with me? That's it?"

"Well, first of all, I wanted to –" I began, but was immediately silenced by his mouth crashing down on mine. Surprised, I tried to push him away, but he gathered me into his arms, bending me over the kitchen sink.

I was trapped. But that wasn't the worse part. I was responding back, equally if not more so. I couldn't get enough of Marcus. I was so not over him. Not in the slightest.

_I never was. And I never will be_.

"Wait," I said breathlessly when his mouth released me to kiss my neck, "just wait. Marc, please –"

"Stop talking, Charlie." He pushed his hands up my shirt and unclasped the bra hooks.

"No, I mean it." I bit down on a moan as he cupped my breasts and thumbed the nipples.

He leaned back to stare at me, still running his thumbs across my nipples. Back and forth. "Okay, then. Talk." Back and forth. Still staring down at me.

"I can't – not like this." Was he insane? I was going blind with desire. I couldn't even stand straight enough to talk. "Just stop that for a minute."

His jaw tightened, but he did eventually stop. Crossing his arms, he growled, "Say the wrong thing, Charlie, and I'll be all over you. And this time, you won't stop me."

"I have a boyfriend." I quickly reminded him again.

It was definitely the wrong thing to say, but it was also the only thing I could think of. Fury mounted in his eyes, but I gathered my courage and reached over to squeeze his hands.

"I love you, and I always will. But I won't cheat on Troy. I'm better than that." Shaking my head, I added, "Not to mention there's that pesky legal matter to deal with as well."

"Why won't Abigail sign those damn papers?"

"Because moving on isn't as easy as it sounds?"

The corners of his mouth curled in distaste. "Don't even compare our relationship to theirs. Their marriage was all kinds of wrong from the very beginning."

"Maybe. But that's neither here nor there." I clasped my bra and straightened my shirt, knowing that Marcus was watching my every move. "Listen. I have to get back."

"No, you don't."

He was right; I didn't have to. But it was too dangerous to hang around his apartment. Things had already escalated between us, and they would only get worse if I stayed.

Marcus must have seen the uncertainty on my face. With a small grin, he sauntered over to the sofa and picked up an old gray T-shirt. After yanking the top on, he ran his hands over his head several times to make his tousled hair a little more presentable.

"Are you going out?" I asked, curious.

"Correction. _We_ are going out. I want to take you somewhere."

I paused, suddenly worried. "Is this an abduction? Should I be afraid?"

"You always were dramatic," he said, picking up his keys on the way out. "C'mon. Let's go."

For the rest of the afternoon we hung out at his dad's place, out in the western suburbs. It surprised me to realize that it was my first time here. Even in high school, I'd never visited him during the school holidays. One obvious reason was the distance. But the bigger one was that summer holidays equaled boys' time according to Marcus, a time reserved for his dad and his mates from his old public school.

"Why didn't your dad sell this place when he married Mom?" I asked, lounging on the sofa. We were alone in the house. I stared at the picture frames hanging on the walls – pictures of Marcus as a toddler and a gangly thirteen-year-old, pictures of him playing rugby league and cricket in high school, and of course, pictures of the proud day when Marcus received his master's degree. By the looks of it, Dane Johnson was incredibly proud of his son.

As well he should be.

"Sell the place?" Marcus repeated, incredulous. "Are you kidding? I grew up here. Mum and Dad moved into this house right after they married." He plopped down next to me. "When Dad retires, he'll still be here, doddering around with his books."

"But you live so far away now." I noted sadly. "Doesn't he feel lonely?"

Marcus snuck a glance at me. "Well, he's not _that_ lonely." When I shot him a questioning look, he sighed heavily. "I wasn't going to tell you, not yet anyway, but maybe you should know."

"Know what?"

"Dad's been seeing someone for the past eight months," he said, watching me carefully. "I think this is it, Charlie. She's the one." He paused briefly. "As soon as Abigail signs those divorce papers, he's going to marry her."

I was stunned. Had Mom known this all along? Was that why she'd been dragging her feet, unwilling to sign those papers? The thought of her suffering alone made my heart ache.

_Oh, Mom. I'm so sorry._

"Does Mom know about this?" I whispered.

"I think she does," Marcus answered, a ridge forming between his brows. "Are you all right? You look like you might faint."

"I'm fine. I just . . . you surprised me, that's all."

He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on my shoulder. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But try to be happy for Dad, yeah?"

All I could do was nod numbly.

Marcus began kissing my neck as he ran a hand up my thigh. He was getting frisky again. I leaned away.

"Stop that. I told you I'm not going to cheat on Troy."

His grip on me tightened, his eyes blazing. "I've had enough of this holier-than-thou shit you keep pulling on me. I'm going to give you one day, Charlie. One fucking day. If you don't break up with him by then, I'll fucking do it for you."

I knew he was right. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Marcus I wanted, not Troy. It had always been Marcus. Trying to prolong the inevitable would only end up hurting Troy even more. But I still didn't appreciate Marcus' tone.

"Don't order me around like that." I snapped. "I get what you're saying, Marc, but I care for Troy, too. But more important, I don't want to hurt him. So just back off a bit."

"And what about me? You think it was easy for me to end my engagement to Fiona? You've been with Music Man for four months. That's nothing." He laughed harshly, pulling me closer to him. "I was with Fiona for over _six fucking years_."

It sounded like Marcus had been the one to break the engagement. Maybe he didn't see me as a consolation prize, after all. I stared up at his beautiful face, sorry and elated at the same time. I had to make a decision, and fast.

"Music Man?" I repeated, half-snorting. "Are you allergic to the name 'Troy' or something? Why do you avoid saying it?"

"I'm allergic to anyone who fucks you and thinks he can get away with it," Marcus said, leaning in. I was afraid he might try to kiss me again, but he rested his forehead against mine instead. "The thought of anyone touching you, kissing you, tasting you, pushing his cock inside you" – his hands tightened painfully on my shoulders – "it's enough to drive me insane. From now on, no one touches you but me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut. My heart wept for Troy, but I couldn't delay this anymore.

I would have to end things with him tonight.

"Can you drive me back to the campus?" I asked, pulling back. "It's getting late."

He must have seen the weary expression on my face. With a nod, he rose from the sofa.

Just before we left, Marcus stopped me at the doorway. His gaze was steely once more.

"I'm not joking, Charlie. End things with your American boyfriend tonight."

All I could do was nod in agreement; I had no more fight left in me.

He pulled me in for a hug, leaning down to kiss my bruised forehead. "Good. Now let's go."

# Chapter 19

As soon as Marcus dropped me off at Kent Cottage, I ran myself a hot bath. I felt shivery and sore, as if I was catching something. Before the bathtub was even half-filled, I hurriedly shed my clothes and jumped in, sighing in relief as the hot water hit my thighs. It felt so good that I slid right in until only my face was poking out from the steaming surface of the water.

I closed my eyes, worried about Troy. He had been in Australia for the past four months because of me. How was I supposed to tell him that I didn't love him, that I had wasted his time? That I loved him, but wasn't in love with him?

I splashed hot water on my face to wash away the salty tears seeping from my eyes. What could I say to lessen the pain for the both of us?

A moment later, I stirred at the sound of creaking footsteps outside the bathroom door. I bolted up, blinking rapidly as lukewarm water splashed around me. I must have fallen asleep.

"Charlotte? Are you in the bathroom?"

It was Troy. He was either early, or I had dozed off longer than I thought.

"Y-yes, I'm in here." I croaked, rising from the tub. My body still felt sore, as if I had partaken in a marathon the day before. I was definitely catching something.

"Hey," he said, leisurely watching me as I reached for my robe.

Knowing what was coming, I felt vulnerable having his gaze on me like that. I quickly turned my back to him and put the thin material on. Just as my clumsy fingers were tying the knot, he came and pressed up against me.

"What's the rush?" he murmured, raining feathery kisses down my neck as his hands cupped my ass. I grimaced and tried to move away, but he grabbed my hips to keep me still.

"I'm cold," I explained, rubbing my arms. "Let me put on my clothes, and then we'll have some tea, okay?" Giving him a quick smile, I gently pushed him out the door and then closed it before he could try to grab me again.

I stood there, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror. It had to be done. It was too late to back out now.

When I stepped out into the room, Troy was already making tea for us. He turned around, holding up two tea bags.

"Is green tea okay?"

I nodded, slowly walking toward him. "Green tea's good. Listen . . ." I trailed off, coming to a stop a few paces from where he was standing. "Could we sit down for a bit? I need to tell you something."

He straightened, and I felt it in the air – a subtle shift. The muscles in his shoulders bunched beneath his thin T-shirt.

"Sounds serious," he said with a smile, but there was no hiding the tension lacing his voice.

I sat on the bed and was about to pat the spot next to me, but quickly changed my mind. The situation was plenty uncomfortable without having our thighs rubbing against each other.

"Troy." I began, staring down at my hands, "I know you overheard my conversation with Fiona last night. And, I'm sure you're wondering if I went to see Marcus today."

He didn't answer immediately. When I forced myself to look up, our eyes locked; for just a split second, I thought I saw a cold and unfamiliar glint in his eyes.

When I blinked, it was gone.

I shivered, taken aback by what I'd seen.

He shrugged and began pouring hot water into two cups. "I'm curious; I won't lie about that. So, did you go see him?"

"I did. And we talked for hours."

"You talked for hours." He repeated. "About what?"

I wasn't used to this side of Troy. Truth was, I'd never been exposed to this part of him before. I was familiar with Troy the patient lover and Troy the handsome Tisch instructor. He had been my favorite mentor back in my grad days.

But this? He was like a stranger to me.

"Everything," I said with some hesitance, avoiding his eyes as I accepted the cup he was pointing my way. I hunched and took a sip of the tea, focusing on the warm liquid sliding down my throat. "We talked about how he was doing and reminisced about our days in high school."

"Sounds like you two had a good time."

"We did." I put my cup next to my slippered feet and clasped my hands. "Look, Troy, I'm so sorry, but –"

He raised his hand, cutting me off. "Stop blubbering like a child, Charlotte. Now come here." When I didn't, he grabbed my shoulders and yanked me up, smothering my face with demanding kisses.

I tried to push him off, but his grip tightened painfully. "Please, Troy, I –" My words were silenced by his mouth again. Before I could tear myself away, we fell heavily on the bed. He rolled over and instantly pinned me down, positioning himself between my legs.

"You said you loved me," he said, panting against my breasts. I was braless. "You said you would give us a chance." He pushed the T-shirt up, practically covering my face with it, and then took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked at it, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment.

To my dismay, my body was responding to his touch. But my mind was screaming at me to _get the fuck up right now_.

"Stop it, Troy. I mean it – oh!" His hand was in my panties now, his fingers getting more adventurous. If he kept doing that, I would come in the next few minutes or so. I had to stop him.

A small laugh puffed out of him. "I know you don't mean that." He groaned, resting his forehead on my stomach. "You feel amazing, Charlotte. So soft and wet."

"That's enough, Troy. Please." I thumped at his persistent hand, then let out a yelp when there was a hard knock on the window.

"Miss Hall? Hello? Are you in there?"

It was Nicholas Spencer. And of course he knew I was in here. After all, the light was on and he could see me perfectly.

_He's just being polite_.

This time, I successfully pushed Troy away and sat up, quickly arranging my T-shirt and shorts. What was Nicholas doing here? There was no doubt in my mind that he'd just gotten an unrestricted view of my bare boobs again. I groaned silently, padding toward the French windows.

"Get rid of him," Troy said, sounding pissed.

With a sigh, I stepped outside and pulled Nicholas out of Troy's view.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I seethed.

He raised his brows. "I'm sorry. I thought I was helping you."

"Helping me?"

"Yes." He cast a suspicious glance in Troy's direction. "I thought he was performing a non-consensual sexual act on you."

"Well . . ." Actually, I could see why he'd thought that. "Wait a minute. How long were you here, watching us?"

"Long enough," he replied vaguely.

It was only right that I should be furious at him. I was his teacher, and he'd seen me in a state of undress _twice_. And yet both times . . . he'd been helping. Sort of.

"Are you okay?" He took my elbow, frowning. "Should I call campus security?"

I made a choking sound. "Definitely not. Nicholas, you can't keep coming over like this. It's highly inappropriate."

"But he was –"

"You're mistaken." I quickly cut in. I jerked my head toward the students' boarding houses. "Go back, Nicholas. And the next time you come over like this again, uninvited, I _will_ give you a month's detention." I added an emphatic "good night" before returning to my room, where Troy was sitting up and waiting for me.

"What did he want?" he asked, still annoyed.

I dragged a chair to the open windows and sat down. "It's nothing important. Just a question about upcoming exams."

"He could have asked his questions in the morning. I don't trust him, Charlotte. He should be expelled."

"That's for the principal and staff to decide," I said coldly. "Not you."

Silence fell between us as we stared at each other across the room.

A moment later, he relaxed and patted the blanket beside him. "Come back to bed. I want to hold you."

"I'll do no such thing."

Troy's smile slipped off. "What's wrong with you? You're acting like a spoiled child."

"Am I?" I drew in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "I told you that we needed to talk. But you forced me into bed, even though I asked you to stop. You almost . . ." I bit my lip, suddenly nervous.

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't finish that sentence. You know I would never do that."

Did I, though? I thought I knew him, but now I wasn't so sure.

"I want you to leave," I said, standing up. "When you're ready to talk, I'll see you then."

"I'm not going anywhere, Charlotte."

"Fine." I picked up my phone and keys. "Stay the night. I'll be at my mom's." And before he could force me back in, I slammed the windows shut and walked barefoot toward the library.

I had no shoes and no jacket. I was freaking braless. All I had on was a thin T-shirt and shorts.

I was the queen of idiots.

Shivering, I hurried to the library and unlocked the door. In my haste to leave, I'd forgotten to take my purse with me. I sighed and trudged up the stairs, all the way to the third floor. I decided to sit at my favorite desk and call Marcus. Or Mom. One of them would have to come and pick me up.

Just as my frozen ass hit the chair, my phone let out an angry buzz. Surprised, I looked down and saw Marcus' name. I swiped the screen and answered with a breathless hello.

"It's all over, right?" he asked.

"Well . . ." I trailed off, then added softly, "It's a bit complicated."

"Let me guess. He won't let you go?"

"He won't even let me broach the subject." I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, feeling emotional. "Can you pick me up? I'm at the library."

There was a pause at the other end. "He's still in your room?"

I nodded, then belatedly realized that he couldn't see me. "Yes. I told him he could stay the night and left."

His voice grew softer. "I'll be there in ten minutes." And he hung up before I could mutter my thanks.

# Chapter 20

Marcus must have driven like a maniac because he reached the campus in seven minutes. When he saw me standing before the library door in my measly bed clothes, he pulled off his jacket and rushed over.

"You came out looking like that?" he huffed, placing his jacket over my shoulders. "Are you bloody nuts? Your nipples look like they're about to tear through the shirt."

I winced at his blunt words. "Keep your voice down," I said, embarrassed.

He snorted. "I'm doing everything in my power not to drag you into the library and push you against that window again. So stop complaining."

Once we were in the car, he drove at a slower pace, watching me every time there was a red light. At the third red light, he broke the comfortable silence between us.

"You look incredible, Charlie," he murmured.

I rolled my eyes, even though I was inwardly pleased. "I'm wearing my bed clothes, Marc."

"I love everything about you." He went on, as if he hadn't heard me. "I love your face, your skin . . . I love the way your red hair curls against your back, the way your breasts fit into my hands, the way your pussy feels and tastes on my mouth." His eyes had a hard, glittering look to them. "This thing with Ray . . . it has to end, whether he likes it or not. I can't wait any longer."

I didn't have the strength to correct his deliberate mistake. With a sigh, I leaned back against the car seat.

"I'm hungry," I said, cold and achy all over. "Do you have soup at home?"

The question caught him off guard. "Soup? I have the canned stuff. Will that do?"

"What kind?"

"Irish stew? I might also have an old can of minestrone somewhere."

"You don't have anything simple, like chicken soup?"

He reached over, patting my knee. "I'll get us some Chinese takeaway. How about that?"

"Be sure to order the sweet corn and chicken soup," I said, yawning loudly. "I need something hot inside my body."

Marcus shot me a sideways glance, a crooked grin on his lips. "Something hot inside your body, eh?" He grabbed his crotch and squeezed. "I've got something hot right here –"

I groaned out loud and clapped my hand over his mouth. Laughing, he jerked back and playfully slapped my hand away.

"Too crude for you?"

"More like embarrassingly lame," I said, sniffling. "Hey, can I stay over at your place tonight? I think I'm catching a cold."

"Serves you right for prancing around the campus half-naked," he teased, but there was worry in his voice. "I have Tylenol at home. After you drink your soup, you can take two tablets and go straight to bed."

I leaned back into the seat, closing my eyes again. "That sounds so wonderful. Thanks, Marc."

If he answered me, I didn't hear him. I was already nodding off.

When he nudged me awake later, it felt as if I had only slept for a minute. Groggy and sullen, I forced myself to get out of the car. Marcus was carrying several plastic bags, and all of them smelled delicious. I leaned forward and poked through them.

"What did you get besides the soup?"

"Fried rice, spring rolls, and honey chicken." He locked the car and headed toward the apartment. I sniffed at the fragrant air, trailing behind him. Honestly, I was surprised that I had an appetite, given that I was feeling pretty crap. Maybe I wasn't that sick, after all.

"Can we share?" I asked hopefully. "I haven't had dinner yet."

He smiled at me before climbing the stairs. "I've already eaten. This is all yours, Charlie."

A man after my own heart. I could seriously get used to this.

When we entered the apartment, Marcus immediately went about setting the food in front of his large LCD TV. Once that was done, we sat on the sofa and watched an episode of Game of Thrones from his DVD collection. Even when I was busy stuffing my face with honey chicken, I noticed Marcus leaning forward whenever a female character disrobed. His favorite scenes were the ones shot in brothels where all the rampant nudity and orgasmic cries took place.

I snorted silently. Typical male.

When the next nude scene came along, I picked up a spring roll and squashed it into his gaping mouth.

"Must you do that?"

He chewed voraciously and swallowed hard. "Do what?"

"Gawk at the TV screen like some half-wit."

"Boobs." He grunted, as if that single word explained everything. In a sense, I suppose it did.

I gave up and returned to my meal.

By the time we were halfway through the second episode, the food in the plastic containers was all gone. I piled the empty containers, intending to throw them out, when Marcus reached over and stilled my hand.

"Leave them," he said, his full attention on me now. He had that "look" that I'd been growing very familiar with as of late.

_He's getting frisky again. Why am I not surprised?_

"I'm sick," I said, leaning away from him. "And I don't want you getting sick because of me."

Not to mention that Troy and I were still technically together. It was weighing heavily on my mind.

I stood up to get a glass of water. "Where's the Tylenol?"

The reminder that I _was_ feeling under the weather seemed to douse his amorous intentions. Sighing in defeat, he disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing moments later with a red-colored box in his hand.

"Take two," he ordered, watching me as I swallowed the tablets in one go. I knew his gaze was on my breasts, and that knowledge made my nipples hard. I set the glass down and reached up for an impulsive hug.

"Thanks," I said softly, relishing in his warmth. I was careful not to rub against his erection. "For dinner and the medicine, and for letting me stay the night."

He inhaled my hair, wrapping his arms around me. "You smell so good," he said, his voice muffled.

"I smell like Chinese food."

"Don't you know?" he said, chuckling. "It's the best kind of smell."

We stayed like that for a while, just taking comfort in each other's arms. His erection was pushing against my stomach, but I didn't care. I wanted to stand here for as long as possible, breathing in his male scent, feeling his body molding to mine. It felt right.

"You can sleep in my bed," he said, reaching down to lightly pinch my ass. "C'mon. Let me show you my lair."

His "lair" contained a king-size bed with floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out into the dark ocean. I stared, picturing Marcus and I having sex in this room.

On _that_ bed.

I almost changed my mind about not wanting to pass my cold germs onto him.

"What about you?" I asked.

He laughed, but it sounded pained. "Sleep is the last thing on my mind, Charlie. Right now, I badly need to jerk off."

My gaze landed on the massive bulge straining against his pants. "Sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be. Just . . . don't disturb me for the next fifteen minutes, all right?"

I followed him to the door. "Are you going to jerk off in the bathroom?"

"No, I'm going to do it in the fucking street." He shook his head in frustration. "Yes, Charlie, the bathroom. Now go to bed."

"What if I can hear you through the walls?"

"And what if you can?"

"I won't be able to sleep."

"There's an easy solution. You can join me."

I paused, thinking. "Can I watch?"

"Do you want to?"

Of course I did. It dawned on me that I'd never actually seen his cock out in the open. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, feeling unsexy.

"Maybe some other time," I said with reluctance. "I mean, I _do_ feel pretty crap as it is."

"Then good night, Charlie." He leaned down to kiss the top of my head, then closed the door before I could say the same.

Feeling weirdly left out, I hopped into bed and snuggled under the blanket. Marcus had slept here night after night. Had he also fucked Fiona on this very bed? I tried to stop, but images of a gloriously naked Fiona riding Marcus, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, soon invaded my mind. How many times had he brought her to orgasm? Hundreds? Thousands?

I groaned and buried my face into the pillows. I had to stop thinking about that. Fiona was out of the picture, and I was the only woman in his life now.

Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for my own situation. My thoughts wandered to Troy. Was he still in Kent Cottage? Nervous, I slowly picked up my phone and stared at the glowing screen, psyching myself up to call him. I had left in a huff earlier in the evening, but we really had to finish our talk. I couldn't drag this mess out any longer.

We were done.

Drawing in a deep breath, I punched in Troy's number.

# Chapter 21

"Troy? It's me," I said when he answered the phone.

There was silence on the other end. _Please talk to me_ , I begged silently.

"You don't sound so good," he said at last.

"I'm coming down with a cold."

"So why aren't you in bed?"

I fell back against the pillows, gazing up at the white ceiling. "I'm in bed. But I wanted to talk to you."

He sighed, this time with resignation. "I guess I don't have a choice, then. So talk."

To my dismay, I had no idea how to start this conversation. Desperate, I thought back to the days when he'd been my grad instructor.

"I love and respect you, Troy. You know that, right?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "That line is so cliché it's not funny. But go on."

"I wanted our relationship to work. And it did. It's just that . . ." I trailed off, unsure as to how to soften the blow.

"I was never 'the one,' I suppose."

I blinked back sudden tears. "Please don't hate me. I never meant to hurt you, Troy. I still love you."

"Did you cheat on me?"

The question was so abrupt that I didn't know how to answer him. Had I cheated? Marcus had touched my breasts . . . without my consent, of course. I had kissed him back for a bit. And my heart had always belonged to him. That would be considered cheating by normal standards, right?

When I delayed in replying, Troy asked angrily, "Did you have sex with Marcus?"

"Of course not." I was relieved that I could at least say that. Surely it would be a small measure of comfort to Troy, knowing that I hadn't crossed that line.

A small sigh escaped from him. "You know, I'm glad you left earlier in the evening. I was so consumed with jealousy that . . . well, I wasn't thinking straight." His tone softened. "You were right. It's possible that I could have taken you by force."

I found it interesting that he was avoiding the correct term – rape.

"What will you do now?" I asked, wanting to change the subject. Also, I was starting to feel pretty drowsy.

"I'll hang around for a bit, wait until my working holiday visa expires." His voice grew steely. "Can I still see you?"

"I'd like that. I want us to remain friends, Troy. We were always on such good terms."

"On good terms," he repeated. After a long pause, he said, "Anyway, you'd better sleep. You sound awful."

"I do feel pretty tired." I let out a jaw-cracking yawn and closed my eyes. "I'll talk to you again soon."

"Take care, Charlotte." And he ended the call.

Something about our conversation felt unfinished, but I was too sleepy to figure out what it was. _Tomorrow_ , I thought, snuggling deeper under the blanket. _I'll think about it tomorrow_.

The next morning, I was rudely jostled awake.

"Rise and shine, Charlie. I made breakfast."

I let out a strangled noise before turning my back to Marcus. I sounded like some kind of primeval beast, eerily similar to the alien shape-shifter from _The Thing_. To make matters worse, my body felt battered as though I'd been thrown down a precipitous hill.

My eyelids were glued to my eyeballs. I pried them open with leaden fingers.

"The Tylenol didn't work." I croaked in accusation. "I feel so much worse."

"You only took two tablets last night." He placed a hand on my forehead. "You'll need to take them again throughout the day."

"Ughhhh." I couldn't even form coherent words anymore.

"I went to the supermarket this morning and bought more canned soup. You want to have that in bed?"

When he saw my pitiful nod, he ruffled my hair and went to the kitchen. Several minutes later, he came bearing the most wonderful gift – chicken noodle soup and a fresh croissant on a simple white tray.

"Nice," I grunted, struggling to my elbows. When I managed to sit up against the pillows, Marcus set the tray down on my lap carefully.

"You want me to feed you?"

I tried to glare at him, but that proved to be a difficult task. Even my eye muscles felt sore.

"Just give me the spoon," I said, extending my hand.

As I scooped short spaghetti noodles into my mouth, Marcus sat on the edge of the bed and watched as soup dribbled down my chin. Annoyed, I lifted the hem of my T-shirt and wiped the warm liquid off.

"Don't stare at me," I said, still sounding like some alien life form.

"I like looking at you."

"I'm a horrible mess."

"You are," he said, nodding in agreement. "But strangely enough, you still look cute to me."

We fell silent as I lingered over the soup and ate half of the croissant. When he gave me two tablets half an hour later, I swallowed them dutifully and went right back to bed.

This time, I tossed and turned as fevered dreams filled my sleep. Faces hovered over me – Marcus, smiling tenderly at me; Mom, looking beautiful and lonely; and Troy, whose expressionless face made him almost unrecognizable. Every time I fought the blanket and pushed it away, I would find it tugged around my sweaty body with clocklike precision moments later.

When I finally woke up with a soft groan, the room was pretty dark. Marcus had left the door open, allowing light from the corridor to filter in.

"Marcus?" I called, rubbing my eyes. I could hear water running in the bathroom.

There was the sound of a tap shutting off, and then Marcus strode into the bedroom. "How do you feel?" he asked, leaning down to turn on the lamp.

I cleared my parched throat. "A little better, surprisingly. But I'm thirsty."

He uncapped a bottle of mineral water that was sitting on the bedside table and handed it to me. "Here you go."

I accepted the bottle gratefully and drank until my throat no longer felt raw. When I set the bottle down, he took hold of my arm, indicating that I should get up.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

"To the bathroom."

"Why?"

He tossed me an amused glance. "Because you smell, Charlie. Now go and take a bath so that I can replace the bed sheets."

Embarrassed, I lifted my arm and sniffed tentatively at my body. He was right; I was sweaty and gross. Not exactly the sexy image I wanted Marcus to see.

Without another word, I marched to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. As I shed off my clothes and tossed them on the tiled floor, I thought about how caring he was being. Although we'd been best friends in high school, our relationship had mostly consisted of sarcastic jabs at each other, copying each other's homework, immature arguments about nothing, and sneaking outside after lights out to talk some more. It made me giddy to see this softer side of him.

A soft gasp escaped from my throat as I stepped into the tub. The water was hotter than I would have liked, but I forced myself to ease into it.

There was an abrupt knock on the door. "Is everything all right in there?"

I instinctively curled my body, pushing my chest against my thighs. "Do you have lavender or chamomile essential oil?"

"I don't take baths, Charlie. I shower."

"Didn't Fiona take baths when she stayed over? I'm sure she must have left some used bottles behind – oh, Marcus!"

He had snuck in while I was crouching and yammering about his ex-fiancée. I slid deeper into the steamy water as he knelt down beside me.

His hazel eyes turned soft. "Do you want me to help you wash?"

"I . . . I can manage."

"Are you sure? What about your back?"

I caught his gaze and held it steadily. Troy and I were no longer together. Which meant Marcus and I were free to begin and explore our new relationship.

And yet I felt strangely shy.

With a nervous smile, I uncurled my body and pushed my legs down the length of the tub. Marcus' gaze followed my movement, his cheeks flushed from the steamy air.

"You're as fucking lovely as ever, Charlie," he murmured at last.

My face burned. "I look like a damn lobster." And the red hair probably made it worse.

He reached for the washcloth and pumped foamy soap on it. "Sit up."

I obeyed, determined not to shy away from his touch.

He lifted my right arm and began scrubbing gently, fixated on his task. As he moved to the other arm and then my legs, I watched him like a hawk, desperate to know what was going through his mind. Was this a prelude to something more later? Or just simple assistance and a quick peek at my breasts?

"Turn around."

Feeling a little bolder this time, I gave him my back and rose from the bathtub.

I stared hard at the tiled wall before me, wondering what he was waiting for. His breathing had quickened, but he wasn't doing anything else. I released a disappointed sigh. Maybe I should have waited until he –

I gasped as he ran his soapy hands over my ass, squeezing slightly before moving upward. His arms snaked to the front, soaping the skin just beneath my breasts before sliding down. I held my breath in anticipation.

_Touch me_.

Instead, he moved his hands up again, lingering just below the breasts.

My frustration grew.

"Put your arms up against the wall."

Biting down on my bottom lip, I did as told.

"Good. Stay like that."

He pumped more soap into his hands and began running them across my back and shoulders. Then they slid up my breasts, testing their weight and size. His soapy thumbs swept across my nipples, back and forth, until they hardened in his hands.

"Marcus," I whispered, half pleading.

"Shhh. Put your left foot on the edge of the tub."

I lifted my leg and balanced myself on the cool surface. Immediately, Marcus joined me in the bathtub and pressed himself against my back.

"Wait . . . Marcus, your clothes are getting wet."

"Stop talking, Charlie," he murmured. "Just let me enjoy this." When I nodded in reply, he ran a hand down my ass, his finger sweeping forward to open my folds and find my clit.

My other leg nearly buckled as I moaned and arched my back, my head falling against his chest. In response, Marcus wrapped his arm around me to hold me in place. But my soapy body had other ideas. I slid down, my nipples rubbing against his arm as I fought to stay balanced.

Marcus groaned softly in my ear. His hand cupped my pussy from behind, his middle finger running over my clit slowly – up, down, up again. Sensuous and unhurried, as if he wanted to focus on its silken texture. I could feel my muscles tightening, my legs trembling beneath me. I was going to climax any moment now.

I moaned and writhed on his hand, rocking my hips.

Suddenly, he let me go. There was a soft splash, and the only thing surrounding my body was cooling air.

"Marcus?" Confused, I fumbled for a bit before seeing him turn the shower head on. He paused to glance at me.

"Go on," he said gruffly. "I'll join you in a sec."

With a dazed nod, I stepped out of the tub and padded to the shower stall. I wanted a clear view of his naked body, but the steam from the hot water was quickly building up inside the stall.

After he yanked off his wet T-shirt and kicked off his jeans, he hurriedly tore apart a small packet and rolled on a condom. His towering height came closer. As soon as he joined me behind the glass pane, I linked my fingers around his neck and pressed my body against his bare chest, realizing that this was the first time we'd done this.

_From now on, I get to see and feel all of him_.

"Did you wash the soap off your body?"

I nodded, eager for him to take me.

"Good. Hold on, Charlie." He gripped my ass and lifted me up, and just as I wound my legs around his hips, his cock slammed inside me.

"Oh!" My head fell back, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He was a lot bigger than what I was normally used to.

"Fuck, you're so tight. Open your eyes, baby." He coaxed, rubbing his thumb over my clit. "Look at me."

The initial discomfort gave way to mounting pleasure as he continued to rub me with his wickedly experienced fingers. His dark head bent down, his hot mouth sucking on a nipple. I cried out as his tongue swirled around the hardened nub.

He pulled out, then penetrated me again. He began thrusting his hips, slowly at first, then faster in tandem with my orgasmic cries. Our eyes locked as our wet bodies slapped against each other, filling our senses with the sounds of our lovemaking. The intense sensation quickly sent me toppling over the edge. As my muscles pulsated around his cock for what seemed like an eternity, Marcus groaned loudly, causing me to climax again along with him. And in that moment, I knew that he had completely ruined everyone else for me.

_I love you so much_.

Depleted, I rested my lolling head on his shoulder. When our breathing returned to normal, Marcus gently withdrew from me and tossed his used condom into a nearby wastebasket.

"Not bad for our first time, right?" he murmured, gathering me in his arms again.

I hummed in content and brought his hand to my breast. "I especially enjoyed the foreplay."

"So did I." He reached for the bottle of shampoo and handed it over to me. "Here. Wash my hair, and I'll do yours."

"Sounds fun. Let's do it."

That soon proved to be an impossible task as we gradually devolved into kissing and touching, once again filling the steam-filled bathroom with our aroused moans.

# Chapter 22

During the night, Marcus nudged me awake a couple more times, pressing his erection against my lower back as I mumbled my consent. His hands never left my body – if they weren't cupping my breasts or gripping my ass, they were squeezing my inner thigh or caressing my belly.

I loved every second of it.

Around dawn, I awoke to find him lying face down on his pillow, his dark hair tousled. Unlike me, he hadn't risen at night to put something on. The rising curves of his tight, muscular ass peeked out from the blanket. The temptation was too great.

I leaned over, pulling the blanket down to reveal the entirety of his sculpted derrière. After taking a full minute to admire their perfection, I planted a kiss on each cheek.

He stirred, but didn't wake up.

Grinning, I slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Ten minutes later, I grabbed his car keys and headed out the door. I'd left a brief note to say I was borrowing his car. More than anything, I wanted to lie in bed and watch those gorgeous hazel eyes flutter open and see me there beside him. But I also knew Marcus.

He would roll over and pin me down so that I couldn't leave the apartment.

And as wonderful as that sounded, I had matters to take care of today.

With a reluctant sigh, I closed the door behind me and headed down the stairs, his car keys in my hand.

"Darling! Why are you in a state of undress? And where are your shoes?"

I crossed my arms, shooting my mom a vexed glance. "May I come in, _Mother_?" I asked pointedly.

She matched my expression with a look of disapproval. "Yes, yes, come in. God forbid the neighbors should see you like this."

I strode inside and headed toward the kitchen. "Something smells nice," I said, sniffing the air like a hound dog following a trail.

"I made banana pancakes."

"Pancakes?" I said, narrowing my eyes. "I thought you only had dry toast and coffee for breakfast."

"Well, not today." Mom swished past me, her silk robe hugging her slender form. She was my mother, but damn . . . she looked good.

"So," she began as I sat on a wooden stool, "what brings you here?" She poured freshly squeezed juice into a tall glass and slid it toward me. "The last time you came to visit me, you were bawling your eyes out because of Marcus."

That had been four months ago. Oops.

I was a terrible daughter.

"Sorry, Mom," I said, grimacing. "I've been busy, and I had a new boyfriend." Those were poor excuses, but I knew she would understand.

"Had?" Mom repeated, frowning at me. She poured maple syrup over a stack of pancakes and passed them to me. "So he's in the past tense?"

I nodded, my eyes downcast. "I'm with Marcus now."

She raised her elegant brows. "I see." I could tell there was something else on her mind, but she chose to sit down and finish her half-eaten pancakes instead.

We ate breakfast in awkward silence.

As soon as we finished, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.

"All right, spill it. What's wrong?"

"What do you mean, darling?" Mom rose up, taking the empty plates to the dishwasher.

"Oh, come on. You're obviously unhappy about something. So what is it? You want to lecture me on my 'state of undress'? Or is it because you don't approve of my new relationship with Marcus?"

Mom whirled around, her pretty eyes blazing. "Can you blame me? After what he did to you, and the way he spoke to me when he visited the last time . . ." She closed the dishwasher door and returned to the island counter, breathing heavily.

_And what about what you did to us? How you selfishly tore us apart?_

But I didn't want to dredge up painful memories.

"Mom, I didn't come here to argue. And I can take care of myself. I'm not a child." After a pause, I hesitantly added, "Marcus told me about Dane's new girlfriend. You knew about it, didn't you?"

Her face paled, but she brushed off my question. "It's just a fling. Don't worry, darling, your father will come back –"

"He's not my dad," I snapped, "so stop saying that." Seeing her miserable expression, I softened my tone. "Mom, it's time to let him go. He's not coming back. He's moved on, and you need to do the same."

"I can't, Charlotte," she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I've tried, but it's impossible."

"Mom . . ." I reached over to still her trembling hands. "Dane plans to marry this woman. I know it's hard, but you have to accept that."

She pulled away from me. "He can do whatever he wants with that skank, but I will always remain his legal _wife_. I won't give that up so easily."

Her stubborn answer pissed me off. "There are other men out there!" I said, frustrated. "Why can't you go out and meet them? Don't you have any pride?"

As soon as the last question fell from my lips, I regretted it instantly. Mom stared at me like I'd just slapped her, hard.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –" I began, but before I could finish my apology, she left the kitchen and hurried up the stairs. Seconds later, the sound of a bedroom door slamming shut reached my ears.

I sighed, burying my face in the crook of my right elbow. What an asshole I was.

_But she needed to hear it. She can't keep clinging to him like this_.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me. I yanked it out and brought it to my ear.

"Where the hell are you?" Marcus demanded before I could utter a word. "Why did you leave so early?"

"Good morning to you, too," I said, my heart fluttering at the sound of his voice. "I'm at Mom's place. And I left early because I didn't trust myself."

"What does that even mean?"

"Never mind. I hope it's okay that I borrowed your car."

"Keep the bloody car. Look," he said, his tone softening, "promise me you won't disappear like that again. I mean it, Charlie."

My heart squeezed at his words. "I promise."

We fell into a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's company even if it was over the phone.

"Are you coming over tonight?" he finally murmured.

"I was thinking maybe you could come over to the cottage," I replied, smiling. "I want to cook for you." A part of me worried that Troy might have done something to the place, but I was probably overreacting. He wasn't the type to trash his ex-girlfriend's home.

_Then again, I didn't think he'd be the rapey type, either_.

My worry grew.

"Listen, I have to go and buy some groceries. Can you come around seven?"

"You bet. I'll get a bottle of wine on the way there."

After a few more minutes of inane talk, we reluctantly hung up so I could get started.

# Chapter 23

When I arrived at Kent Cottage and entered my room, I found the place tidy and drama-free. Sighing in relief, I headed to the kitchen to start preparing the ingredients for dinner. I was going to make seafood paella and chocolate mousse for dessert. Hopefully, Marcus would be impressed with my cooking skills.

Once the mousse was setting in the fridge, I returned to the room for a quick shower. As I undressed before the mirror, I noticed a small piece of paper poking out from behind. I reached for it, frowning.

_Always thinking of you_ , the note read. There was no name anywhere.

But it was painfully obvious who it was.

I sat on the edge of the tub, thinking hard. I had ended things with Troy. There was no question about that. I had been very clear about my feelings for Marcus.

_It was a mistake when I told Troy I wanted us to remain friends_.

I crumpled the paper in my fist and tossed it away, determined not to let this ruin my evening.

An hour later, as I was struggling to put on a little black dress, there was a knock on the door.

"Coming!" I yelled, still struggling with the zip. When I opened the door, Marcus loomed in the doorway. He was dressed casually in a dress shirt and jeans.

Damn my racing heart. Why did he always look _so_ good?

"Can I come in?" he asked, a cocky grin on his scruffy face.

"You're not going to barge in like you did the last time?" I teased, opening the door a little wider.

He walked in and immediately gathered me in his arms. "You liked that, did you?" he murmured in my ear. "Do you fantasize about bad boys who use a little force now and then?"

"Only if it's consensual," I said, turning around. "Now help me with this stupid zip. I think it's stuck."

"Why don't you just take the dress off?" He rained kisses down the back of my neck. "Eat dinner in the nude. Have you done that before, Charlie?"

"No. Have you?"

"Many times. I sleep naked, too."

"I've noticed," I said with a wry grin. "Now hurry up with that zip so we can have dinner."

We sat at the small, round table in my bedroom. Marcus was very complimentary about the paella, even asking for seconds when he finished off his plate. When I brought the mousse out later, he set his spoon down, frowning.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Don't you like chocolate mousse?"

"It's not that," he said, his face a mask of concentration. "I'm just trying to picture what you'd look like in a mousse bikini."

Becky's dreamy words echoed in my head. _Then he laid me over the dining table and smeared mousse all over my_ –

I'd stopped her then, and I quickly stopped myself now. As sexy as a mousse bikini sounded, Becky and Humphrey had completely ruined that for me. I would never be able to smear chocolate all over my body without conjuring up terrifying images of those two doing the same.

I shuddered. "I'm not doing that. That one belongs to Becky and Humphrey."

Marcus raised a brow. "Principal Fitzwilliam and chocolate mousse? Now _that_ is interesting."

"They've even experimented with edible thongs."

"Why eat thongs when you can eat pussy?"

I ducked my head, blushing.

Marcus saw my reaction and shot me a wicked grin. "Getting excited just thinking about it?"

"Stop teasing me and eat your damn mousse." I ordered, straightening in my chair. "Otherwise, I'm giving you detention."

An impish look settled over his eyes. "Yes, Miss Hall."

We stared at each other across the small table, eating the mousse half-heartedly. This really wasn't the dessert we wanted.

_I'm so hungry for you, Marcus_.

And by the ravenous expression on his face, he was no doubt feeling the same.

"Oh, screw it," I muttered, rising to my feet. Marcus read my mind and mirrored my movements. As he reached behind to unzip the dress, I began unbuttoning his shirt, eager to feel his bare skin. He leaned down to kiss my neck.

"We should turn off the light," I whispered, eyes closed. I was afraid of Nicholas – or any student or staff, for that matter – watching us through the French windows.

"But I want to see you."

"There's enough moonlight filtering in. Now, please."

Grumbling, he switched off the lights and immediately came up behind me.

I tilted my head as he kissed my right shoulder, his hands pushing the dress down. The black material pooled at my feet, leaving me standing only in my panties.

"Turn around so I can see you," he murmured.

I obliged, hiding a smile as his hot gaze traveled up and down my body. Before he could touch me, I crawled onto the bed and lay back, my head dangling off the edge. I had a good upside down view of the French windows.

I began touching my breasts.

Marcus' breathing quickened, as did mine. But I wanted him to watch for a bit longer.

My back arched as I pinched the nipples into peaks. Knowing that Marcus was standing there, watching me pleasure myself, was a new and exciting experience. I'd never done this with anyone before.

I moaned, running a hand down to my panties, rubbing myself through the thin material. It was growing moist with my desire. My hips automatically lifted, eager to increase the pressure when Marcus' strong hands gripped them.

I stilled, blood pounding in my ears.

His warm breath washed over my inner thighs as he pulled my panties to the side. I couldn't see him, but I could definitely feel him. I shivered as his tongue flicked over the tender folds. Then he slowly began to pull the soaked material over my legs.

"Hurry, Marcus," I begged. "Please."

He laughed softly, taking his time. "It's my turn to play, don't you think?"

My anticipation grew as his bare chest pressed against my stomach and his mouth took in my nipple. I arched my back, running my fingers through his thick hair. His tongue was relentless, flicking over the sensitive bud, his thumb giving my other nipple the same treatment.

I mewled and writhed beneath him.

His mouth traveled down. "Put your legs over my shoulders, baby," he said, groaning. "Now."

As soon as I did as told, he sucked my clit into his mouth, his hands reaching up to knead my breasts.

I moaned loudly, my hips arching straight toward his mouth. I wanted to push his head away, but at the same time, I couldn't get enough of him.

He slid a finger into my pussy, then another, as his tongue ruthlessly lapped at my clit. He was playing me like a damn violin. I cried out, reflexively squeezing his head with my thighs. The guy was a freaking virtuoso.

The sound of a condom wrapper tearing open reached my ears, and before long, Marcus slid his cock inside of me. He reached over to pinch my nipples, then began easing in and out. I moved my hips to his rhythm, desperate for release. His thrusts soon grew deeper and faster. I could feel my breasts bouncing from the force, hear the poor bed squeaking in protest as Marcus drove into me relentlessly. A breathless scream escaped from my throat as my fragile control shattered and the first orgasm hit me hard.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he groaned, his hips pistoning back and forth. Another orgasm soon followed the first one, and I cried out again, my eyes fluttering open.

And saw the faint, upside down silhouette of a man standing beyond the French windows, looking in.

Staring at us with glittering eyes.

It was Troy.

# Chapter 24

The holidays were sadly over, and classes had once again resumed. I sat at the round table, hunched over my morning coffee.

"So let me get this straight," Becky said, sitting across from me. She and Humphrey had returned the night before, looking like a couple head over heels in love. I wouldn't be surprised if he popped the question any day now.

She crossed her arms, eyeing me carefully. "You broke up with Troy, and you're now with Marcus. But Troy doesn't seem to have gotten the message clearly. And a few nights ago, when Marcus was banging you like a porn star with his stallion-sized penis –"

"Could you please not embellish the events?" I interrupted, wincing.

"– with his exceptional manhood," she paraphrased, as if that would somehow appease me, "you noticed Troy standing just outside the windows, watching you both."

I nodded glumly. "That pretty much sums it up."

"Huh. That's kind of creepy."

"I just don't understand," I said, staring into the steaming black liquid before me. "I don't recognize this 'new' Troy. When I was a grad student at Tisch, he was one of my favorite instructors. And when we first started dating, he was so gentle with me." I shook my head. "I can't reconcile the old Troy to the new one I'm seeing lately."

Becky went to pour herself another cup of coffee. "Maybe you're only now seeing the _real_ Troy."

"You're probably right," I said, sighing.

Becky sat down again, her face contemplative. "You know, I've always thought it was kind of weird that he came all the way out here to be with you."

"What do you mean?"

She took a sip of her coffee. "Well, even long-distance couples can't pick up and leave whenever they want to. They have to plan these things ahead of time. But Troy dropped everything to come and visit you, even though you two weren't exactly dating." She shrugged. "And that whole sabbatical thing feels off, too."

"How so?"

"I asked Teddy about sabbaticals, and he said the applicant needs to apply for a leave of absence _at least_ a month in advance. Most send them in about six months before their sabbatical leave." She shot me a sideways glance. "From what I remember, Troy came two weeks after you both texted each other."

I didn't like where this was going. "Maybe he sent his application weeks before we got in touch."

"Maybe," she echoed, bringing her cup to her lips. "Maybe not."

This was all too much to process. Could Becky be right? I buried my face in my hands, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. As much as I wanted to avoid it, I had to confront Troy. There was no other choice.

"Has Nicholas been harassing you lately?"

"What?" I lifted my head, unable to keep up with Becky's pace.

"Nicholas Spencer, you nincompoop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Your star pupil, your protégé."

"He's not my protégé. That honor goes to his violin teacher and mentor."

"Whatever. Has he been stalking you?"

"Yes. I mean no." I rubbed my eyes wearily. "He's mostly harmless. I'm not too worried about him."

Becky remained unconvinced. "Just make sure there are strict boundaries between you two, okay? I've been hearing things."

I sat up, suddenly alert. "What do you mean? What have you heard?"

She delayed in replying, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Well . . . it seems Miss Neely's been going around accusing you of being inappropriate with the Year 12 students."

"Inappropriate? How?"

"She says she saw Nicholas passing a note to you at the dining hall."

"What note?" Then I realized. That stupid note about my boobs. "He was being silly," I explained. "It didn't mean anything."

"Regardless," Becky insisted, "just be careful, all right? It doesn't matter if he's the one doing the harassing. _You_ , as the adult, will end up paying the price."

She was right, of course. And frankly, I had enough on my plate without adding Nicholas on top of the pile.

Later in the day, as soon as the bell rang after music class, I asked Nicholas to stay back so I could speak with him.

"Yes, Miss?" he said, giving me an impish grin as the rest of the students shuffled behind him to get to their next class.

I pointed at the chair opposite my desk. "Take a seat, Nicholas."

We sat down and eyed each other silently, until only the two of us remained in the room.

"All the students are gone," he said finally, his blue eyes twinkling. "So, what's on your mind, Charlotte?"

"First, you will address me as Miss Hall at _all_ times," I said in a cool tone. "I'm your teacher, not your friend. And second, you're forbidden from coming anywhere near Kent Cottage, and especially my room."

He seemed a bit surprised, but quickly recovered. "I apologize, Miss Hall. I thought you said we could come to you any time we had questions about homework or exams."

"You can, but only during class hours. If you have a question that requires an immediate answer, post it on our class blog. If I can't answer it on time, one of the students might be able to help you."

He stared at me, a look of uncertainty on his face. "Did something happen? Are you in trouble?"

My shoulders relaxed a little. "No, Nicholas. I'm not in trouble. But even you have to admit that passing personal notes to teachers and dropping by their cottage unannounced will invite consequences." I paused, then added, "For you, but especially for me."

He fidgeted in his seat. "I graduate next year," he said abruptly.

"Yes, I know. Have you thought about which university you'll be attending? I know the conservatoriums here would be lucky to have you."

"I've sent my application to Juilliard, along with my audition tapes."

Boy, he was fast. "I see. But just in case, you should also think about –"

"They've already accepted me, Miss Hall."

"I see." I repeated, a bit stunned. But it made sense. He was just too good. The way I saw it, Nicholas needed a teacher like Itzhak Perlman to reach that next level in his performance. Even his current violin teacher had nothing more to teach him.

Nicholas fidgeted again. "I heard you studied musical theater writing at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts."

"I did."

"Do you have any plans to go back to New York?"

This was getting weird. "I don't know, Nicholas. Why do you ask?"

His blue eyes lowered. "I thought maybe you could join me," he mumbled.

He was thinking of a future with me. Becky was right; this was no longer a harmless crush.

I gave him a tight smile. "I'm your teacher, Nicholas, and that's all I will ever be." After scribbling a brief note, I handed it to him. "Here's your late note, so don't even think about skipping your last class." And I dismissed him from my presence.

When he left, I buried my face in my hands, feeling like a total jerk. My response to him had been cold and hurtful. But the last thing I wanted was to give him any sort of encouragement. He was my student, and it would remain that way always.

"Sorry," I whispered into the empty classroom. "But you'll realize it was just a silly crush and get over it quickly." With a sigh, I rose up and left the room, heading toward the library. There was no time to sit and berate myself. A new term had begun, and I had a ton of work to do.

# Chapter 25

Around six o'clock, I stepped out of the library and slowly made my way back to Kent Cottage, hugging a stack of books against my chest. I could hear faint sounds of laughter in the distance, followed by the thudding sounds of a ball hitting a racket. Some of the students were probably trying to squeeze in a game of tennis before dinnertime.

I smiled, walking on.

"Good evening, Miss Hall," a male voice said behind me. Surprised, I whirled around to find the principal standing a few paces away, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Teddy – I mean, Humphrey," I said, mentally scolding myself for that slip, "how are you?"

He paused, frowning, and then his face cleared. "I'm fine, Miss Hall. I trust you had a good holiday?"

I nodded. "I did, yes. Were you on your way to see Becky?"

His generous cheeks flushed. "She invited me for a spot of tea." After nervously bouncing on his heels, he indicated that we should continue walking. "I've wanted to speak with you, Miss Hall."

"If it's about Nicholas Spencer, you have nothing to worry about –"

He raised his palm, silencing me. "Becky has explained everything." He sighed heavily. "It's a common occurrence, Miss Hall. Teenage boys can't resist attractive female teachers, and it becomes exponentially worse when they're boarding at the school. But I've had a stern talk with Nicholas. He won't bother you again outside of school hours."

For some reason, there was a lump in my throat. "That's . . . that's good news."

Humphrey wiped his hands on his pants, nervous again. "There's another matter I wanted to discuss with you."

My thoughts flashed to Marcus. "If it's about my male friends visiting the cottage, I can assure you that –"

"Oh, that." He chuckled, his jowls trembling. "Don't worry, my dear. Who am I to reprimand someone when I, too, have broken the rule many times?"

Images of Humphrey and Becky prancing around the cottage in edible thongs surfaced before my eyes, and I choked out an unintelligible response.

"Let's get back to the main issue. What I really want to discuss is Becky." He came to a stop, inhaling the air deeply before speaking again. "I want to take our relationship to the next level. Yes," he replied adamantly, even though I'd said nothing to him, "it is time. I want her to be my wife."

I blinked, confused. "Um, are you asking for my blessing?"

"No. Yes! I mean . . ." He trailed off, then looked at me in suspicion. "Do you not approve of our union?"

What the hell? Where did that come from?

"Of course I approve. I think it's great. When are you going to propose?"

He started bouncing on his heels again. "This evening, after we have our tea."

"In Kent Cottage?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Well . . . it's not very romantic. You might disappoint her."

The principal started to sweat. "I hadn't thought of that! What do I do now?"

I was seriously starting to get pissed. "What do you mean, 'What do I do'? Dress up, take her to a nice restaurant, and propose to her when the mood is right. You can't possibly sit on that rickety chair and propose to her in that cramped bedroom."

He wrung his hands. "Then . . . should I go and make reservations now?"

"Yes," I said in exasperation. "And if it's too late to make reservations for tonight, then maybe you can, I don't know, play your trombone and serenade her or something. Just make sure it's creative."

His eyes widened in wonder. "Serenade her? Play the trombone, you say?"

_Uh oh. This could end up being the worst proposal in the history of bad proposals_.

"Actually," I said, backpedaling, "that was a terrible idea. You haven't had time to practice. I think you should just stick to a nice restaurant –"

"No, no, your advice is inspired. Truly! And I know the perfect piece that will set the mood." He grabbed my hand and shook it with gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Hall. I'd best be going, then. There's a lot to do." And he left me standing alone in front of Kent Cottage.

_Forgive me_ , _Becky_ , I thought as I opened the front door and crept inside. _But really, it's your own fault. No one forced you to have sex with a trombone_ _enthusiast_.

It was the first night of the new term, but once again, I had the room to myself. Becky was either being swept off her feet at a fancy restaurant or tortured into saying yes before her ears bled out. I let out an evil chuckle and snuggled under my blanket with a book.

There was a piece of yellow paper sticking out between the pages. Frowning, I pulled it out.

_You know I love you, right?_ it read.

Once again, there was no name.

"Damn it, Troy," I muttered angrily, reaching for my phone. "Enough is enough." I quickly punched his number in.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hi, Charlotte. What's up?" he asked, sounding busy.

I drew in a faltering breath. "Troy, why did you leave those notes behind?"

"What notes?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"The short messages on pieces of paper. I found one in the bathroom and another one in a book."

"Oh, _those_ messages." He let out a snort. "I left them before you broke up with me. I guess I forgot to take them out."

"Oh, okay." Weird. Why hadn't I noticed them before?

"Is there anything else?"

I let out a nervous laugh. "You know, a funny thing happened a few nights ago. I thought I saw you through the French windows." _Watching as Marcus fucked me_ , I added silently.

There was a slight pause on the other end. "That _is_ funny, because I was nowhere near the campus," he finally said.

_But I saw you, Troy. Why are you lying?_

"You're right. I probably imagined it." I hesitated, debating whether I should ask about his sabbatical, but decided that it would be a waste of time. I had a feeling he wouldn't give me a straight answer.

"I'm pretty busy, Charlotte. If you're done with the questions, I need to get back to work."

"Of course. Sorry for disturbing you. Good night, Troy."

"Good night." And he ended the call abruptly.

I set the phone down and snuggled deeper into the blanket, thinking. There _was_ a way for me to find out about his sabbatical. I'd been friendly with the admin staff at Tisch back in my grad days. All I had to do was shoot them an email, and one of the sweet ladies there was bound to set the record straight for me.

Satisfied that I would finally get an answer, I opened the book and began reading.

Several minutes later, my phone buzzed next to me.

"I am going to kill you," Becky threatened when I brought the phone to my ear. I could hear erratic trombone blasts in the distant background. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"I may have suggested it," I said carefully. "But only to get his creative juices flowing."

"He won't stop." She groaned. "It got so bad that I had excuse myself and hide in the bathroom." She paused briefly. "I'm still in here."

I bit down on my lip. "You can't hide in there forever." There was another sound in the background, like an energetic fart. "Um, what did he play for you?"

"I think it was _Endless Love_ by Lionel Richie. But I can't be sure."

"And what happened after that?" I probed. "Did he, you know, give you something?"

Becky grew enraged. "Oh, he gave me something, all right. He gave me a stupid metallic box."

"Was there anything inside?"

She snorted. "Yeah. Another stupid box. Although I have to admit that these look kind of expensive."

By her brief description, it sounded like nested boxes. I grew excited. "Open that one as well. And keep opening them until you see a tiny box."

Becky did as told. A minute later, she squealed into the phone. "I don't believe it! There's a huge diamond ring in the last box. Oh, there's a note in here, too."

I squealed along with her. "Read it!"

"My sweet darling," Becky intoned breathlessly. "You are the most precious person in my life. This diamond ring was expensive, but you, my angel, are priceless.

"Please marry me and make me a happy man. Every year, I will present another gem in one of these boxes, until all of them are filled. I will give all that I own to claim the one true treasure in my life, which is you. I love you, Becky Green."

We fell silent, stunned. After a while, I cleared my throat.

"Are you going to say yes?"

She sniffled. "I . . . yes, I think so." Her voice grew stronger. "Of course I am. I love this silly man who thinks the world of me."

"Then go and tell him," I said, squealing again. "And tell him to stop playing that stupid trombone of his."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Becky said, tripping over her words. "Thanks, Charlie." And she hung up in a hurry.

With a happy sigh, I fell back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. This was all pretty exciting. Grinning, I closed my eyes and tried not to imagine what new adventure they were getting up to in the bedroom.

# Chapter 26

I grabbed the headboard as Marcus plunged into me from behind, his hands gripping my hips possessively. The sounds of our naked flesh slapping against each other was such a huge turn on that I shuddered and came, hard. He followed not long after, groaning as he panted against the back of my neck. For a long while, we stayed like that, just listening to each other's labored breathing and the feel of our sweaty skin clinging together.

"Good morning," I said when I was finally able to speak. I was still on all fours. "What a way to wake me up."

"It's a bloody fantastic way to wake up on a Saturday morning." He murmured, reaching down to play with my breasts. "Honestly, though, can you blame me? I've been dying to see you this whole week."

I smiled and caressed his hand. "I need to take a shower."

Reluctantly, he pulled out, giving my ass a light smack as he removed himself from the bed.

I fell back on the pillows, watching Marcus with an appreciative eye as he walked around naked. I'd never seen a man so genetically blessed before.

_I can't believe you're mine_ , I thought as he sauntered toward the bathroom to turn the shower on.

A moment later, he interrupted me from my daydream. "Are you coming or not?"

"Coming." I called out, wincing slightly at the soreness between my legs. I had arrived at Marcus' apartment yesterday evening with a weekend travel bag. As soon as I'd entered the living room, he had pushed me down on the sofa and taken me hard and fast, my jeans crumpled around my knees. Then he'd carried me into the bedroom without feeding me dinner. We probably fell asleep sometime around four in the morning.

As I padded toward the bathroom, I knew with certainty that he wouldn't be interested in just having a shower. But I was too sore for anything else, and I told him that as I shed my clothes off and joined him behind the glass door.

He gave me a wolfish grin. "Stand under the shower head. Go on."

When I did as told, he knelt before me, the water pelting down his broad, muscular back. He grabbed my thighs and encouraged me to spread my legs.

I immediately obeyed, threading my fingers through his dark hair and pulling him closer to me. The moment he leaned down and tongued my pussy, I closed my eyes and lost myself to all sensations.

An hour later, we sat on the balcony and had grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee for lunch. Due to the cold weather, the beach was mostly empty. Still, the view was breathtaking, and I sat and listened as frothy waves crashed around the cliffs and shoreline.

"Hmm, this is nice," I said with a happy sigh, wrapping my hands around my cup of coffee. "I could stay like this forever."

Marcus watched me, but didn't say anything.

"You know, Humphrey proposed to Becky. They're going to get married."

"Good for them," he mumbled, taking a big gulp of his coffee.

"You'd better come with me to the wedding." I smiled at him. "I have to bring a date, you know."

He cleared his throat, frowning down at his plate. "Have you talked to Abigail about those divorce papers?"

What a way to douse my good mood.

I bit into my sandwich slowly. "I have, but she won't listen. She's not ready, Marcus."

His jaw ticked. "This is getting out of hand. How much longer does Dad have to wait? What about _his_ wedding?"

Anger burned in me. "You know what? I'm actually quite upset with Dane. How could he meet someone so soon after he and Mom separated?"

"Abigail _hurt_ him. Do you get that, Charlie? She betrayed him. And now, she's being selfish again. Except this time, she's tormenting my dad instead of us." His hand tightened and relaxed on the table, as if he wanted to hit something. Or someone.

I stared at his hand, my appetite gone. How could he be with me when he loathed my mom so much? When I looked like her? I put the sandwich down and pushed the plate away.

"Where are you going?" he demanded when I rose to my feet and went inside. I didn't answer him; instead, I entered the bedroom and began throwing my clothes into my bag.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he said, yanking a T-shirt away from my hand. He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "You're not going anywhere, Charlie. You only got here last night."

"How can you stand to look at me, touch me – hell, fuck me – when I look so much like my mom?" I swiped the back of my hand over my teary eyes. "I've always known you disliked her, but I had no idea just how much."

"You look nothing like her." He let go of me, sounding pissed.

"Really?" I held out a lock of my red hair and shook it before him. "Same color." I held out my arm. "Same pale skin." I pointed to my eyes. "Same brown eyes." I bit down on my lip, afraid I might cry. "We're practically twins, Marcus."

He snorted. "Your facial features are different. You're both redheads, but that's about it."

I sat down on the bed. "You keep telling me how much you love Dane. Well, I love my mom, too, despite her flaws." After a pause, I added quietly, "She's all I've got."

"You've got me, Charlie."

"I meant family," I said, shaking my head.

He watched me, not saying anything again.

"I can't keep having this argument with you. I'm tired of it." Standing up, I grabbed my travel bag and was about to walk out when Marcus slammed the bedroom door shut. He turned around, advancing on me slowly.

"Like I said, you're not going anywhere."

"I can't stay here. We'll just end up saying hurtful things to each other."

He took my bag from my hand and tossed it on his bed. Then he cupped my face gently, forcing me to look at him.

"Sorry." He murmured, running his thumbs across my cheeks. "I didn't mean for us to fight. It's just that . . ." He trailed off, his eyes burning into mine. "When we were having brunch and you said you wanted to stay like that forever, I got angry."

"Why?"

"Because it reminded me why we can't, all right? Technically, I'm still your stepbrother." His hands slid past my shoulders, pushing down the spaghetti straps of my singlet top. "While I can keep you in my bed and fuck you senseless, I can't take you to Dad and tell him, 'I'm dating this girl.'" He pushed the top down my breasts, baring them. I shivered as he traced his thumbs around the areolas. "Do you know how fucking helpless that makes me feel? It's like I'm trapped. I can't go back, but I can't go forward, either. And that makes me fucking angry." He bent his head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked a hardened nipple into his mouth.

I gasped and clutched his head, balancing precariously on my toes. My nipples were tender and sensitive, but I let him suckle at them for a while.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, lifting his head. "Am I hurting you?"

"I'm just a bit raw," I said, wincing slightly. "But it's okay."

Marcus shook his head. "No, it isn't. Sorry, Charlie. I got a bit carried away." He straightened my top and took my hand. "C'mon. I'll make you a fresh cup of coffee." And he led me out of the bedroom.

I sat on the sofa and watched as he brewed a fresh pot, my heart aching for him. What he'd said earlier wasn't entirely wrong. Mom was the obstacle standing before us. If she just signed those damn papers, Dane Johnson would be able to live his life, and Marcus and I would be able to have a normal relationship, one that didn't make us feel like we were sneaking around doing something wrong.

And yet. She was my mom, and I felt bad for her.

"You once said that Dane didn't want to speak to Mom, not until she signed those papers."

"That's right," he replied, pouring fresh coffee into two mugs.

"You know, he can't keep avoiding her." I stared at Marcus thoughtfully. "I think he should talk to her – and I mean _really_ talk – before they make any decisions. I feel like Mom just wants a chance to talk to Dane. For him to _try_ to listen to what she has to say."

Marcus came over, handing me a mug. "He's not going to change his mind," he said, lifting his own mug to take a huge sip of coffee.

"I'm sure you're right. But they should at least try to have an amicable divorce." I insisted. "He owes her this."

"I'll talk to Dad," Marcus said, sighing heavily. He plopped down next to me and turned on the LCD TV. "You want to watch a game of cricket?"

I made a face. "Not particularly."

"Rugby?"

"Not really."

"How about porn?" he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

I hesitated. A part of me wanted to, but I knew that would only lead us straight to the bedroom, and I was still too sore for that.

"How about I give you a full body massage instead?" I said, raising my brows.

Marcus paused. "With baby oil?"

A flirtatious smile played on my lips. "If that's what you want."

Before I even finished talking, he set his coffee down and hurried into the bathroom, returning seconds later with a small bottle of baby oil in his hand.

# Chapter 27

I watched in satisfaction as Marcus lay on his stomach, breathing softly. His toned body and long legs gleamed with oil.

He'd fallen asleep.

Smiling, I took my phone and quietly went out to the balcony. As I sat on a wicker chair and checked my email, I noticed that Denise Park, who worked in the administration department at Tisch, had replied to my inquiry. Feeling nervous for some reason, I took my time opening the mail.

_Hi, Charlotte. It was nice hearing from you. I must admit to being surprised by your question. Troy Mullen no longer teaches at Tisch. He was dismissed after getting involved with a female student who then filed sexual assault charges. I believe she later dropped the charges –_

I stopped reading and quickly deleted the email. I didn't need to know the rest. Troy had lied to me. Had he lied about his new musical as well? And all that time he'd expressed open interest in me at Tisch, had he been doing the same to other female grad students?

I rubbed my face, angry and confused. Why was I so upset, anyway? He and I were no longer together. It made no sense that I felt this way.

"Something wrong?" Marcus asked softly, and I glanced back to find him leaning against the sliding glass door. He had hastily pulled on a pair of jeans, the top button undone.

"It's not a big deal." _Liar_. "I was just reading my emails."

"You look like you're about to cry."

I drew in a deep breath. "No, that won't happen. This isn't worth crying over." I stood up and went over to him, rising on my toes to kiss his lips. "I need to go run some errands. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"I thought we were spending the entire weekend together." Looking unhappy, he pulled me in so that I could feel his erection pressing against my stomach. "You're going out to see Troy, aren't you?"

My eyes widened, and I leaned back to stare up at him. "Are my ears playing tricks on me? Did I just hear you say his name right?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Only because you're with me now. Don't get used to it, though."

"Hmm." I sighed in pleasure as his hand slipped inside my shorts and squeezed my bare ass. "You're not going to fondle me out here in the balcony, are you? People in the other apartment buildings might see."

His brow quirked up. "Let them. I don't care." His eyes locked with mine as he pushed his other hand down the front of my shorts and fingered my clit.

My breathing quickened. "I told you . . . I have to" – a soft moan escaped from my lips – "run a few errands today." His fingers were getting wet with my arousal. Another moan rose out of me as I gripped his biceps for balance.

"You're nearly there," he coaxed. "Don't hold back, babe."

My fingers dug into his flesh as my hips shamelessly bucked against his hand. "Marcus." I gasped, throwing my head back. My muscles coiled and tightened seconds before my orgasm hit me and I let out a scream.

I. Actually. Screamed.

In the freaking balcony.

This time, I groaned in horror as I hurriedly pressed my face into Marcus' chest. My pussy was still convulsing from the release, and it didn't help that Marcus was running his fingers across my slippery folds.

"You think anyone heard me?" I whispered.

"Heard you?" His chest rumbled with amusement. "More like saw you."

"What?" I turned my head around. To my dismay, there was a blond, surfer-type male standing in the balcony next to ours. The neighbor gave Marcus a thumbs-up.

"Good on ya, mate." He called out before disappearing back into his apartment.

I let out a mortified groan, wishing I could disappear.

Marcus gave me a one-arm hug, his other hand still inside my shorts. "Don't worry about him. I've seen him do worse."

"I need to change my shorts before I leave," I said in a small voice.

He smirked at me. "Better hurry, then. Before I make you come again."

I removed his hand from my shorts and fled inside.

Later in the afternoon, I stood in front of Troy's flat, debating whether I should go in or not. If I was being honest with myself, I was nervous about being alone in the flat with him.

I decided to call him instead.

He answered the call immediately. "What is it this time, Charlotte?"

Not even a hi or a hello. Then again, I couldn't blame him for his less-than-friendly approach where I was concerned.

"Hi, Troy. Are you busy?"

There was a slight pause. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to talk to you." I glanced up at the second-floor window, where I could see him sitting in front of a laptop. "I'm standing outside your flat."

I saw him do a double-take, then recover and return his phone to his ear.

"Why are you here?"

"I thought we could go for a cappuccino."

He rubbed his eyes. "Look, I'm busy writing my new musical –"

"I know you're not on your sabbatical, Troy."

Even from where I was standing, I saw his face blanch.

"How did you know about –"

"I emailed Denise Park at the admin department."

He didn't look happy. "Fine. We'll talk. I'm coming down now."

When he came toward me, unsmiling, I fell into step beside him and walked to the nearest café. We didn't speak until we were sitting in the far corner of the room, our cappuccinos untouched before us.

"What do you want from me, Charlotte?" Troy looked absolutely pissed off.

"I want the truth." I began. "You lied about –"

"You had no right, going behind my back like this."

It was my turn to get pissed. "Do you know how guilty I felt about breaking up with you? You gave the impression that you came all this way for me. But now I know that's not it. You came to get away from your own personal fuck-up." I took a small sip of my cappuccino to collect myself. Once I calmed down, I continued. "Why did you come to Sydney, anyway?"

He gave me a brittle smile. "You may not believe it, but I actually _did_ come to see you." He let out a tired sigh, slumping in his chair. "You're right; I fucked up big time. I never should have gotten involved with Lucy Harrison."

"Lucy?" I repeated, incredulous. "Wasn't she an undergrad? A dramatic writing major?" She'd had a bit of a reputation for being a major flirt with the professors and instructors there. Then again, most of the female students had, one time or another, crushed hard on Troy. It was an accident just waiting to happen.

I started to feel more sympathetic toward him.

He nodded. "She came into my office one day, late in the evening. I should have been more careful, but I was tired, and she wanted to talk about her grade. Somehow, one thing led to another, and she went down on me." He faltered before looking away. "I didn't stop her."

When I remained silent, he continued on. "Another time, she dropped by at my condo. Said she wanted some advice on her future prospects as a playwright. Her parents were badgering her to quit her course and study something more useful. She started crying, and I eventually let her in, even though I wasn't in the mood to talk to her." He suddenly glanced up at me, his eyes piercing. "That was the day you refused my offer to co-write with me. I'd been so sure you would say yes . . ." His glance dropped to his cappuccino. "Anyway, what can I say? Lucy and I fucked that night. Three weeks later, she pressed charges for sexual assault."

I'd only heard his side of the story. Certainly, Lucy Harrison had her own tale to tell. And yet I found my hand creeping over to hold his tightly.

"I'm sorry this happened to you. It sounds like you've both been hurt by this." I bit my lip, afraid to ask. "It _was_ consensual, right?"

Luckily, he didn't bite my head off. "I thought it was," he said wearily. "I was certain of it. Then later, I wasn't so sure. I started doubting myself."

I thought about the night when I'd tried to break up with him and he'd thrown me on the bed. If Nicholas hadn't interrupted us, anything could have happened. Troy could have "taken me by force," as he put it. But maybe the whole incident with Lucy Harrison had him believing that he was capable of such a thing, causing him to react in a way that was so unlike the instructor I'd grown to respect and adore.

Or maybe I was just making excuses.

"At least she dropped the charges."

Troy let out a humorless laugh. "Yes, but too little, too late." He gently removed his hand from mine, slouching in his chair again.

There was one other question I was dying to ask. I lowered my voice, nervous.

"You were there that night, weren't you? When Marcus and I were having sex."

He stilled, then shot me an uncomfortable look. "It was an accident. I went over to see you, to see if maybe we could patch things up. But I froze up when I saw Marcus in bed with you."

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said, wincing. Damn those French windows. I really needed to buy some ultra thick curtains.

"Doesn't matter now. I'm glad at least one of us is happy." He smiled at the dubious expression on my face. "I'm not being sarcastic, Charlotte. I mean it."

I believed him. "So what are your plans now?"

"I'm almost done with the musical," he replied, a genuine smile spreading over his face. "I've decided to return to New York and focus full-time on theater work. Teaching wasn't really my forte, anyway."

_On the contrary. You were one of the best instructors I had in grad school_.

"That sounds amazing," I said, sighing. "Writing musicals full-time is like my ultimate dream."

Troy glanced at me hesitantly. "Maybe one day, when everything's settled down, you and I can finally co-write a new musical. We always worked so well together, Charlotte. I bet we'd have a Broadway hit on our hands."

I knew it would never happen, but still . . . it was a nice gesture on his part.

"That would be nice, Troy. Maybe some day."

We sat there drinking our lukewarm cappuccinos, glancing up once in a while to send the other a smile or two. It relieved me that we were able to end things on a friendly note. Despite everything that had happened between us, I still cared for him, and I knew he felt the same way.

# Chapter 28

On Sunday evening, I packed my meager belongings into my travel bag as Marcus slouched against the pillows, his eyes watching my every move.

"Come back to bed, Charlie," he said in a low voice.

I shook my head. "I can't stay the night. I have classes tomorrow."

"Then stay for another hour." He came over and tossed the bag onto the floor.

"Hey!"

He laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me between his legs. Glancing up at me, he wrapped his arms around my hips so I couldn't budge.

"I really have to go," I said, hating myself for weakening.

"I won't see you for the next five days." He murmured, planting light kisses on my stomach. He reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and discarded that on the floor as well. "I don't know how I'm going to make it to Friday night."

"Me, too," I said, squeezing my eyes shut as his tongue flicked over a tender nipple. He yanked my panties down, and I thought I heard a tearing sound. My eyes popped open. "Did you just –?"

He tossed the shredded material onto the floor and went back to business.

Minutes later, I was riding his shaft as he gripped my hips tightly. I was leaning dangerously back, hanging onto his shoulders for dear life. My hips rose and bucked against him, my breasts bouncing in his face. I felt wanton and completely free.

I loved every second of it.

He came not long after I did, groaning loudly as he buried his face between my breasts. His hot breath made gooseflesh prickle on my skin.

"I love you," he said, breathing hard.

"What?" I was sure that my ears were playing tricks on me.

"I said I love you." He pulled away, the corners of his mouth curling upward. "Why do you look so surprised?"

"You don't seem like the 'I love you' type." I blurted out.

He looked offended. "You have a pretty low opinion of me, don't you, Charlie? But I can be romantic, and I also dream about marrying and having kids one day. I'm not some Neanderthal that only sleeps, eats, and fucks."

He was right, of course. I glanced shyly at him. "I love you, too."

"Was there ever any doubt?" he said, smirking at me.

Rolling my eyes, I climbed off his lap and padded to the bathroom.

Around eight, Marcus drove me to the campus and walked with me to Kent Cottage. We decided to go straight to the French windows instead of going through the front door.

That turned out to be a big mistake.

"Becky must be here," I said, peering at the candle-lit room. "Huh. I thought she was spending the night with Humphrey."

"Maybe he's spending the night here," Marcus said.

I shook my head. What a preposterous idea. "Why would they leave a perfectly spacious and private cottage to sleep in this cramped room? Especially when there are other teachers here –"

"Oh, Teddy." Becky's sigh traveled over to where we were standing.

Marcus shot me an amused glance. _Teddy?_ he mouthed.

I nodded grimly in response. Well, this was just great. What were they _thinking_? And where the hell was I supposed to sleep tonight?

"Becky, yes, YES! Oh, darling, you are beautiful." Muffled sounds were soon followed by a deeply satisfied chuckle. "My, my, aren't you a talented girl . . ."

My eyes widened in horror. "We can't stay here," I whispered frantically. "We have to go. Right now."

"But I'm enjoying this," Marcus said, a wicked glint in his eye. "The fun's just starting."

"It's not fun, damn it. It's a freaking nightmare." I pushed at his back, and he went along, still laughing softly to himself. Once we reached his car, I whipped out my phone and called Becky.

"Hello?" she answered in a dreamy voice.

I raised my brows. "It's me. Just calling to make sure you're staying at Humphrey's place tonight." With a grin, I added, "I'm at the campus and heading toward Kent Cottage now."

Becky let out a strangled noise. "No! No, no, no. Wait just a – fuck!" It sounded like she stubbed her toe, judging by the howling that ensued. Humphrey could be heard in the background, frantic with worry for his beloved. Then the line went dead.

Marcus was grinning at me as I pocketed my phone. I shot him a guilty glance. "I suppose you heard that."

He nodded, pulling me toward him. "You could always come back with me. I'll make sure to set the alarm clock."

"No, it's only right to kick Humphrey out of the room. I bet the other teachers in Kent Cottage are disturbed by his presence there as well." I scowled. "Seriously, what were they thinking?"

"Who cares about the other teachers? What do you think earplugs are for, anyway?"

His nonchalance was contagious. Smiling, I reached back and pinched his perfect ass. "I'll see you on Friday. Behave until then."

He looked at me tenderly, his beautiful eyes studying the planes of my face. "Bring a nice dress this weekend."

"Why? Are you taking me to a romantic restaurant?"

He shook his head, turning serious. "No. It's time for us to have lunch with Dad."

I was gobsmacked. "I thought you said –"

"I don't care anymore." His hand reached up, cupping my cheek. "I was so stupid when I was eighteen, letting you go like that." A pained expression settled over his face. "I never should have kept you a secret from Dad."

"You wanted him to be married and happy."

He snorted. "And look how well that worked out." He drew me in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "I don't care if you're my legal stepsister. I'm not ashamed of our relationship, Charlie. Even if Abigail doesn't sign those papers, I'm not letting you go. And it's time Dad knows that."

Tears filled my eyes. "Are you sure?" I whispered. "He might not approve."

Marcus made an amused sound. "Charlie, we're not meeting Dad to get his approval. I'm setting up the luncheon to tell him that we're together. That's it. It doesn't matter what he thinks; only that he knows."

When I was eighteen, I'd had the irrational fear that I would only ever be Marcus' dirty little secret, someone to keep on the side until he tired of me and met someone better. That fear had always lingered deep in my mind, even after seven years had passed.

But as I stood here with him, I realized that he really _did_ love me. And that knowledge brought fresh tears to my eyes.

"Hey, why are you crying?" he chided, brushing his thumbs across my cheeks.

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "It's nothing. I just felt a bit overwhelmed, that's all."

He pressed his forehead to mine, a sigh on his lips. "I should let you go, but my feet won't bloody move."

"Then should I leave first?"

"Maybe," he said, sounding reluctant.

I blew him a kiss and headed toward Kent Cottage, putting an extra swing to my hips as I walked away. I knew he was staring at my ass.

Smiling, I reached the front door and let myself in, turning back once to see if Marcus was still standing there.

He was.

I bent forward and squeezed my breasts together before waving goodbye in a seductive pose. Then laughing, I closed the door as he chuckled soundlessly and shook his head.

The week flew by in a blur. The Year 12 students were hard at work, rigorously practising their pieces in their own time while I focused on their aural and compositional skills. During class, Nicholas sat in the back, a frown marring his handsome face as he stared at me openly. All I could do was ignore him and continue with the lessons. I was afraid that if I singled him out, he would use that as an excuse to get close to me again. And that couldn't happen.

When Friday evening finally arrived, I was almost crying with relief.

I threw my crumpled clothes into my travel bag and stepped outside the French windows, desperate to see Marcus. My body was already tingling at the thought of him touching me, kissing me, sliding inside me. I quickly locked the windows and hoisted my bag over my shoulder when a shadow emerged from the trees.

Frightened, I let out a breathless gasp.

"It's me, Miss Hall," Nicholas said quietly, coming closer.

I eyed our surroundings, afraid a student or a teacher might see us.

He noticed what I was doing. "I checked before I came. There's no one around."

Somehow, that piece of information didn't comfort me at all.

He hesitated, then gave me a boyish smile. "I wanted to apologize for what I said to you the last time we spoke." When I remained quiet, he went on. "I shouldn't have asked if you might join me in New York. That was out of line."

"Yes, Nicholas," I said in a somber tone. "It was."

He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, staring hard at the ground. "But I need to be out of line just one more time. Then I'll leave you alone for good."

"What are you talking about?"

In seconds, he strode toward me and cupped my face with his musician's hands. Before I had time to step back, he leaned forward and crashed his mouth on mine.

Surprised, I grabbed his wrists and pulled at them, but he was too strong. His tongue was forceful, relentless, passionate. I made a desperate sound of protest when his hand lightly brushed over my left breast.

"Nicholas!" I gasped, finally breaking free. I tilted my head as he buried his face in my neck.

"I'm sorry for that, Charlotte," he mumbled, his breath hot on my skin. "And thanks for giving me this one moment with you." Abruptly releasing me, he ran a hand over his hair and headed in the direction of the students' boarding houses, not stopping once to glance back and see my reaction.

I pressed a hand against my lips, shocked. My heart hurt for him. Nicholas Spencer was an exceedingly handsome and gifted eighteen-year-old who could have anyone. Why was he torturing himself over someone like me? Why had he allowed his silly crush to develop into something more?

My cheeks felt wet, and I belatedly realized I was crying. I had to get out of here. Swiping a hand across my face, I slowly made my way out of the campus and took a taxi to Marcus' apartment.

# Chapter 29

"What's wrong?" Marcus asked, running his fingers down my bare back and over the curve of my ass. "You seem distracted."

"It's nothing." I murmured, feeling tired and sleepy. The moment I'd walked through the door, I'd thrown myself at him, yanking his clothes off without saying a word. He didn't seem to mind. Instead, when I draped myself over the back of the sofa, naked and vulnerable, he came up behind me and ran his tongue between my legs, gripping my ass cheeks. Shivering, I allowed him to finger me, taste me, push his tongue inside me. The moment he slammed his cock in, I bit my lip and held on as his thrusts grew hard and urgent. My hair covered my face in wild tendrils as my body jerked back and forth. The position was somewhat uncomfortable, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get lost in Marcus.

_I knew you would help me forget about Nicholas_ , I'd thought as he brought me to a shuddering climax that made me see stars dancing before my eyes.

Marcus leaned down to kiss my ass, waking me up. I stirred and rolled over, my eyes at half-mast as I gazed back at him.

"Don't do that." He groaned. "Do you have any idea how incredibly fuckable you look?"

I moaned and stretched my body, pushing my breasts out as I clasped my hands above my head.

"So fuck me, then," I said in a sleepy voice.

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. I knew he was fighting for control. When he finally opened his eyes, I raised a questioning brow at him.

"You know I want to, but right now, we need to talk."

"Hmm. About what?" I rubbed my body on the soft bed sheets.

Marcus positioned himself on top of me, pinning me down. "Stop it," he said, his voice strained. "I can't talk when you distract me like this."

I writhed beneath him, reveling in the way my breasts flattened against his chest, the way my mound dug into his rock-hard abs.

"Damn it, Charlie," he muttered, grabbing my waist and rolling over so that I was on top, straddling him. I leaned down and rubbed my breasts over his face, watching as he craned forward to trap a nipple in his hot mouth. I tossed my head back, sighing in pleasure as he sucked and licked my nipples into hardened peaks.

Bliss. This was absolute bliss. I wanted to stay in his bed forever.

Half an hour later, we lay in bed, hungry and spent. Marcus microwaved sausage rolls and frozen pizza and brought them to bed, along with a bottle of expensive red wine. I felt like we were on our honeymoon.

"This is nice," I said, biting down on a slice of ham-and-pineapple pizza. "We should eat in bed more often."

"Absolutely." He watched as I brought the wine glass to my lips. "We're having lunch with Dad tomorrow."

I choked on the wine. "So soon?"

"Why not?"

"Well . . ." I tried to come up with an excuse. "I'm not ready."

"But I am." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."

"Of course not." I took another huge gulp of the wine, avoiding Marcus' penetrating gaze.

"We're having lunch at his house. He's also invited Stella Doyle to join us."

I set the glass down and looked at him, puzzled. "Who's that?"

"Dad's fiancée." He frowned at me. "I've told you about her."

My mouth twitched in response.

He pointed a finger at me. "Don't you dare," he warned. "I don't want you to make fun of – "

I threw my head back, grabbed fistfuls of my hair, and screeched "HEY, STELLLLAAAA!" at the top of my lungs as Marcus rolled his eyes at my immaturity. Here was a naked woman, screeching like a lunatic on his bed.

What a sight I must have been. Definitely the opposite of fuckable.

"Feel better?" he asked sarcastically once I calmed down.

"Surprisingly, yes." It had felt like a battle cry for me, to psych myself up for tomorrow's dreaded lunch.

"Don't do that tomorrow," he warned me again. "Unless you want Dad to kick us out."

I gave him a demure smile. "I'll be on my best behavior."

The next day, I wore a dark-green dress to complement my red hair. As I slipped on a white jacket in front of the mirror, Marcus came up behind me.

"You look beautiful." He murmured, pressing a soft kiss on my head. I smiled and gazed at his reflection. He was wearing charcoal-gray pants and a white oxford shirt. As usual, he looked totally hot, but I decided to give him a critical once-over instead.

"And you look like you're going to an interview for an altar boy position at the local parish," I said, spinning around to throw my arms around his neck. "Maybe put on a different shirt or something?"

He shook his head. "It's a casual get-together. Besides, I want you to stand out today."

"Who can stand out with you standing next to them?" I said, scowling. "Even if you wore a sackcloth, you'd still be the hottest person in the room."

"You're incorrigible," he said with a small chuckle. He gave my ass a light smack. "C'mon. Time to go."

It took us about fifty minutes to get there. When Marcus parked his car on the driveway, I noticed Dane Johnson standing in front of the house, hands on hips. The last time I saw him, he and Mom had announced their engagement during our graduation lunch.

_He still looks good_ , I thought as I got out of the car and went over for a hug.

"How's it going, Dad?" Marcus said, holding out a bottle of wine. "Where's Stella?"

"She's inside," he replied, before smiling at me. "She's been busy cooking all morning."

When we went inside, Marcus made the introductions.

Stella Doyle was a beautiful woman of Aboriginal descent, a researcher at ANU's Centre for Indigenous Studies. From what Marcus told me, she and Dane had become acquainted in the Northern Territory during their fieldwork.

Meeting her, I could see what Marcus had meant when he'd said she was "the one." The woman had a lot in common with Dane.

_Unlike Mom, who only cared for tabloid attention, cosmetic clinics, and being arm candy to men of higher status_ , I thought sadly.

"I've heard so much about you," she said, taking charge as she led me toward the dining room. The Johnson men trailed after us. "Oh, darling" – she turned to Dane – "could you set the table? And Marcus, go and get the wine glasses."

When they left, Stella turned to me with a smile. "We're having pot roast. I hope you don't mind."

"I love pot roast," I said, relaxing. "Can I help with anything?"

She waved her hand, dismissing my offer. "Everything's done. Don't worry about it." She gently pushed me toward the bathroom. "Why don't you go and wash your hands?"

Nodding, I went to do just that, and also to poke around a bit. Because, hey, I was that kind of person.

When I walked past the study, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. My steps slowed when I heard Marcus' voice carry out into the hallway.

"Dad, you have to go and speak to her. There's no way around it."

There was a tired sigh. "I'll think about it." After a hesitant pause, Dane asked, "Did you end your engagement to Fiona because of Charlotte?"

"I did," Marcus replied firmly. "Fiona's a great woman, but she isn't right for me."

"It'll be a complicated relationship," Dane said quietly. "If you ever decide that you want to marry Charlotte, are you willing to accept Abigail as your mother-in-law?"

My heart sank at Marcus' silence.

"That's what I thought," Dane continued. "Look, I don't want to see either one of you get hurt, so don't make promises that you know you can't keep . . ."

At this point, I hurried along and entered the bathroom, washing my hands thoroughly. Our lunch date with Dane was not off to a good start. At this rate, it could end with Marcus seriously reconsidering our relationship.

_Stay calm_ , I told myself, toweling my hands dry. _Stop overreacting_.

"Boys!" Stella shouted from the kitchen. "Where have you gone off to? Why aren't you setting the table? And where are the wine glasses?"

"Coming," Marcus called out. More muffled sounds. Then the Johnson men left the study, their soft thudding footsteps fading as they went to join Stella.

I silently counted to ten before joining them as well, placing a bright smile on my face as we sat down to enjoy our first lunch together.

The pot roast was delicious, our conversation was carefree, and we each had at least two glasses of red wine. Stella asked questions about my time in New York, and I answered them as truthfully as possible without mentioning how I'd come to be there. She seemed impressed that I'd managed to study full-time while taking care of Dad and holding down a part-time job. By the time we finished our lunch, I was pretty certain that I'd won her over.

Unfortunately, our conversations never even broached the subject of my relationship with Marcus, which had been the whole point of my visit.

"Let's do this again soon." Stella said to me two hours later as she walked Marcus and me to the door. I hugged her and Dane before getting in the car, waving at them as we pulled out of the driveway. As Marcus drove down the street, heading for the highway, I leaned back with a tired sigh.

"Good lunch, wasn't it?" he said, smiling.

I made a noise and stared out the window.

He darted a quick glance at me. "What's wrong, Charlie?"

"You didn't talk about our relationship," I said slowly. I didn't mention that I'd overheard his conversation with Dane in the study.

He reached over and patted me on the thigh. "Dad knows about us. And that was the whole point, right? That he knows?"

"I guess."

"What do you think of Stella? She's nice, isn't she?"

I nodded, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "I can see why Dane loves her. She's an amazing woman."

Marcus quickly turned serious. "Dad's going to contact Abigail soon. He doesn't want to drag this out any longer." His jaw tightened in displeasure. "It's not fair to Stella."

My mood immediately soured, and I turned to face the window once more.

This time, he spoke carefully. "Sorry. That was inconsiderate of me."

Tense silence fell between us.

"You really hate her," I whispered sadly, unable to look at him. "I used to think that time would take care of this. But you'll never forgive her, will you?"

"You forgave her because you had to." He shot back. 'She's your Mum; what else could you do? But when you were telling Stella about your time in New York, it made me angry again. Seven years gone, just like that, and all because of Abigail and her selfish scheme." He shook his head. "I don't think I can ever get over that."

_And that's why you stayed silent when Dane asked if you could accept Mom as your mother-in-law_.

"I don't regret my time over there," I said softly. "I don't regret studying at Tisch. I don't regret taking care of Dad during his final days. And I certainly don't regret the hardships I faced those seven years." Eyes bright with unshed tears, I turned to face him. "They shaped me into the person I am today."

Marcus kept his eyes on the road, but I could tell he wasn't happy. When we stopped at a red light, he turned to speak to me again.

"Look, we've had a nice day so far. So let's keep it that way, all right?" He suddenly grinned. "Hey, give Becky a call. Ask her if she and Humphrey are free tonight."

I cast him a dubious glance. "Why?"

"Do you remember that awful dinner at Humphrey's cottage? When he served meatloaf?"

"Of course I do." From my recollection, the meatloaf had been quite tasty. The trombone performance, on the other hand, had been pure hell.

"Tell her I'm treating them to a nice dinner at the Shangri-La." He cocked a brow, causing my heart to skip a beat. "Let's show them how _we_ do things."

"It might be a bit late to make reservations –"

"Don't worry about that. A good mate of mine works there; he'll get us a table." His eyes softened as he leaned closer toward me. "It's my way of saying sorry to you, Charlie."

The ute behind us honked loudly, and then a red-faced man poked his head out of the window.

"Oi! Move your arse, you bloody turd! Or are you too busy pashing to see the light's turned green?"

A muscle twitched in Marcus' jaw as he settled back in his seat. "I really hate this suburb," he muttered as I giggled and whipped out my phone to call Becky.

# Chapter 30

"I've never been here before," Becky whispered in awe as we sat at a reserved table overlooking the Opera House. She grinned at Marcus. "Can I order anything I want?"

Marcus gave her a sexy look, prompting Humphrey to scowl in his direction. "You bet."

Becky and I ordered the duck. Humphrey decided on the lamb, and Marcus, kingfish. The food was delicious, and the atmosphere was both sophisticated and romantic. I snuck a glance at Marcus and nudged his leg under the table. _Thank you,_ I mouthed. He smiled and locked eyes with me, slowly bringing a piece of kingfish to his lips.

Damn. He looked so hot that I started flushing. I quickly crossed my legs and downed my wine.

"Wow, this is really yummy," Becky exclaimed, stuffing her mouth with more duck. She looked at Humphrey accusingly, still chewing. "You never take me to places like this, Teddy."

Once again, this prompted the principal to scowl at Marcus, who sat there ignoring the older man.

"I mean," she went on, waving her fork in the air, "I need more of this in my life. I deserved to be wined and dined at fancy restaurants, not imprisoned inside a cottage that smells of Pine O Cleen."

Humphrey reddened. "Now is not the time to –"

She shook her fork at him. "You want to get laid again soon? Trust me, Teddy, this is the way to do it."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. "Yes, dear."

I rolled my eyes at Becky. "What are you complaining about? At least Humphrey gave you a gorgeous diamond ring." I jerked my head in Marcus' direction. "This one hasn't even given me a pair of earrings yet."

"I don't do jewelry," he said firmly. "Unless you want a pearl necklace in bed."

Becky and I choked on our food, while Humphrey looked on with approval.

"What a romantic idea," the principal said, completely oblivious. "Imagine her delight if she woke up to find a shiny pearl necklace draped across her neck." He chuckled to himself, imagining a scenario far different from ours.

For someone who'd experimented with chocolate mousse and edible thongs, he sure was surprisingly naïve.

When it was time for dessert, we ordered mascarpone cheesecake and talked about Becky and Humphrey's upcoming nuptials. They announced their decision to have the wedding at West Newton's assembly hall.

I glanced at Becky in dismay. "Really? You're okay with that?"

"Humphrey wants all the students and staff to be there." She shrugged. "He considers them family."

"That makes sense," Marcus said, nodding. I snuck a glance at him. Was all this talk of marriage making him uncomfortable? He seemed calm about it, but I wondered if he was recalling Dane's question in his head.

_If you ever decide that you want to marry Charlotte, are you willing to accept Abigail as your mother-in-law?_

I wished he'd given his dad an answer, good or bad. It was better than not knowing at all.

At the end of the evening, Becky and Humphrey happily returned to West Newton, and Marcus and I went back to his apartment. I lay naked in bed, staring at the dark ceiling as Marcus buried his face between my thighs. His teeth lightly grazed my mound, causing my muscles to tighten. As usual, it felt wonderful, but my mind was filled with other pressing worries.

"What's wrong, babe?" he murmured, running his tongue up my swollen folds. "You're so tense, and not in a good way."

I bit back a moan, my back arching. "It's nothing."

He flicked his tongue on my clit, eliciting an audible groan from me this time. I gripped his thick hair, opening my legs wider for him.

"That's more like it," he said, sounding pleased. He paused to grab a couple of pillows, then pushed them beneath my hips, sighing as he gazed down at my vulnerable form. "You're perfect, Charlie. So perfect."

I didn't answer, just closed my eyes and focused on Marcus sucking on my sensitive clit. Seconds later, I cried out as a powerful orgasm rocked my body. My hips began to buck uncontrollably, and I let out a guttural cry as Marcus grabbed my hips and ruthlessly pushed his tongue inside my pussy.

I couldn't think straight anymore. I was a hot mess. All I could do was wrap my legs around his head and desperately finish the wild ride I was on.

At around midnight, I was almost at the brink of sleep when Marcus nudged me softly.

"Are you all right, Charlie?" he asked in the semi-darkness.

"Hmm. What do you mean?"

He paused. "You seemed sort of preoccupied just now. I had to _make_ you pay attention to what I was doing." He paused again, hesitant. "That's never happened before."

"Everything's fine." I murmured, reaching back to pat his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"It's about your mum, isn't it?"

I sighed, flipping on my back. "We had a very nice lunch. We had a great dinner as well. You gave me three mind-blowing orgasms. I'm more than content, Marcus. I promise."

He reached over and pulled the soft blanket down, exposing my breasts. Pale moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass, allowing me to see his face as he gently palmed my breast and ran the pad of his thumb over the nipple.

"I can't stop touching you," he said, looking pained by his own admission. "I can't stop thinking about you. It drives me nuts."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"All I want to do is bury myself inside you, all fucking day long. I can't imagine life without you, Charlie, but I also can't give you the one thing that really matters."

My breath hitched. _He knows_ , I thought, eyes wide. _He knows that I was listening at the door_.

There was a rustling sound, then Marcus' dark head came down, his mouth closing over my nipple. I arched into him and ran my hand through his tousled hair.

Something hard and round softly hit my nipple, and I gasped as Marcus pulled back to watch me closely.

"What the –?" I looked down at my chest and saw a white-gold diamond ring encircling my nipple.

Most guys normally put a ring on a girl's finger.

But Marcus? He put a ring over my left nipple.

With his mouth.

"I bought this secretly when I went shopping for engagement rings with Fiona," he said, frowning. "For some reason, I had to buy one for you as well. Even back then, I couldn't let you go. You were always on my mind."

I knew this wasn't a proposal. After all, he'd just said he couldn't give me the one thing that really mattered.

"I thought you said you didn't do jewelry," I said quietly. This was the second piece of jewelry I'd received from him. I still had the bracelet he'd given me on my seventeenth birthday.

"I don't. Not anymore." He balanced himself on his elbow, gazing down at me. "But this isn't jewelry, Charlie. It's so much more than that."

"Then what is it?" I asked. "Because I have no idea what this ring is supposed to mean."

"It means give me time," he said slowly. "Until I can figure things out. And if you accept the ring, it means that you'll wait for me."

I lay there, pondering what he'd said. As far as I was concerned, waiting wasn't the hard part. The hard part would be finding out he'd rather end things with me than have Mom as his mother-in-law, after all.

My eyes returned to the ring resting on my breast. It was a stunning ring – sleek, modern, sophisticated. Nothing like those clunky rings that look like they once belonged to Grandma.

"Yes," I whispered, deciding to take the plunge. I took the ring and slipped it on my middle finger. "I'll wait."

Marcus let out an exhale of relief before kissing me, long and hard. I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me.

"I love you." I moaned as he squeezed my breasts together, tonguing one nipple before moving on to the other. It was the sweetest torture.

"I love you more." He said it so softly, so quietly, that I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. It didn't matter, anyway. Because the moment our bodies joined and I eagerly rocked to his rhythm, I knew that we were no longer fucking. We'd stopped doing that some time ago.

Marcus was making love to me.

And his actions told me more than words ever could.

# Chapter 31

The next morning, Marcus and I sat in the balcony and enjoyed a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and freshly brewed coffee. When I caught him staring at me, I blushed and set my fork down.

"What's wrong?" I said, self-consciously wiping at my chin. "Do I have egg yolk on my face?"

He lifted his coffee mug to his lips, eyes still trained on me. "This is nice." He murmured. "I could stay like this forever."

This time, it was my turn to stare at him. When I'd said those words a while back, we'd gotten into a fight. But last night had changed everything for us.

"You mean that?" I asked, my heart beating faster.

He arched a brow. "Absolutely."

Flustered, I gazed at my left hand, where a gorgeous ring sat atop my middle finger. Maybe it would be on my ring finger in the near future.

It was an overwhelming thought.

After breakfast, Marcus came up behind me as I was wiping the plates and utensils in the kitchen.

"Want to go back to bed?" he asked, lightly biting my shoulder. His hands reached under my long, worn T-shirt to squeeze my ass. When his hands made contact with bare skin, he groaned in my ear. "You're not wearing anything underneath."

"I didn't have time," I said, closing my eyes as his hand cupped my mound. My body was already responding to him, but I couldn't get distracted. "Marcus, I can't. I have to go out soon."

"Where?" He turned me around, frowning. Then his eyes softened at the sight of my hard nipples poking through the flimsy material. "You can't go out in that state, Charlie. Here, let me help you." And he leaned down, sucking at my nipple through the T-shirt.

The added friction only served to intensify my arousal, and I threw my head back, wrapping a leg around his hip. "I have to go out," I pleaded, then let out a breathless gasp as he pushed his cock in.

"You're already so wet for me." He groaned, pumping his hips. His pace grew faster, more demanding, as he rubbed against my clit. I could feel myself teetering on the edge. I was almost there. Any second now.

"Marcus!" A scream tore out of my throat as an orgasm that nearly bordered on pain rocked my body. Seconds later, he came inside me as he gripped the sink to steady himself. All I could hear was our orgasmic cries as he stretched and filled me completely. And yet it wasn't enough. I needed to feel more of him. I needed to –

"I forgot to put on a condom."

"What?" I was still stuck in a lust-filled haze. He pulled out slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, and that was when I felt it – the wetness seeping from between my legs.

"I'm sorry, Charlie." He shook his head, angry at himself.

I instantly reached out to comfort him. "It's okay, Marc. Really."

"No, I was careless." After moistening a cloth under warm water, he began to clean me up. I stood there and watched as he gently wiped between my legs. "I had myself tested two months ago. I'm clean, so you don't need to worry about that."

"I'm not worried," I said, reassuring him.

That answer didn't please him at all. "You shouldn't take these things lightly. It's no joke."

"I'll get a morning-after pill later when I go out."

"That's beside the point. What if I had a sexually transmitted disease?"

"But I knew you didn't."

"And how did you know that, exactly?"

I crossed my arms. "Two reasons. I'm pretty certain Fiona didn't pass anything to you. And I _know_ your right hand didn't give you any STDs during the four months you were in the Northern Territory."

His mouth twitched. "Is that right? Maybe I met a local woman there. Did you ever think of that?"

"You wouldn't have." I straightened my T-shirt and sashayed toward the bathroom. "You were pining for me, remember?"

He cleared his throat. "I wasn't. Pining for you, that is."

I paused to glance back at him. "Oh, really? Then why did you lock yourself in the apartment like some mopey teenager when you came back from the expedition?"

"I. Was. Resting!" he said, gritting his teeth. "Can't a guy get some alone time? Is that so unusual?"

"Admit it," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You were pining for me."

He rubbed his face, letting out a shaky breath.

"It's true, isn't it?" I shouted in glee. "You _were_ moping around the apartment."

"So what if I was?" he growled. "Can you blame me? All I could think about was you and Trevor, how he was fucking you every night. I thought I was going mad."

Marcus was doing it again. "His name is Troy," I said, teasing him.

"He's only 'Troy' to me when he's no more than an asexual being in our conversations," he retorted.

He was getting riled up. It was time to end his torment. And I knew just the thing to get his heart racing for the right reasons.

I lifted the hem of my T-shirt, giving him a peek at my bare ass. "You can join me in the shower if you want. It's your call." I gave him a cheeky grin before flouncing off into the bathroom.

As I was pulling the T-shirt over my head, I felt his body press up behind me, his warm hands cupping my breasts.

"Sorry for snapping at you," he said, burying his face in my hair. "Forgive me?"

He was so damn cute. I turned around, rising on my toes to throw my arms around his neck.

"Only if you give me multiple orgasms."

He gave me a slow, sexy smile. "I better get to work, then." As he gripped my ass and lifted me up, I wrapped my legs around his hips. I was already throbbing for him.

"Marcus," I pleaded, desperate to feel his mouth on me. "Hurry."

"No, baby. I'm going to take my time with you." And with a wicked grin, he carried me straight back into the bedroom.

When I was finally able to tear myself away from Marcus' bed, it was late afternoon. I left Mom a text message as I half-ran out of his apartment and down the stairs.

— _I'm coming over_.

I quickly combed my fingers through my unwashed, disheveled hair and grabbed a taxi. I felt nervous for some reason. Or maybe it was because of the gorgeous ring displayed prominently on my left hand.

I slid it off and carefully placed it in my bag.

By the time I arrived at Mom's house, I was feeling sick to my stomach. I wasn't sure if Dane had spoken to her yet. And if he had, what had been her response?

_I guess I'll find out soon enough_ , I thought as I rang the doorbell.

When she opened the door, I was shocked to see her face looking puffy and make-up free. Immediately, I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her inside.

"Mom! What happened to you?" I brought her into the living room to get a better look. "Are you sick?"

She gave me a faint smile. "I'm fine, Charlotte. It's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" Frowning, I placed a hand on her forehead. "Well, at least you don't have a fever."

"I said I'm fine." She headed into the kitchen. "I was enjoying a glass of wine when you rang the doorbell. Why don't you join me? I do hate drinking alone."

Not knowing what else to do, I trailed after her and sat at the island counter, watching as she refilled her glass and then poured one for me as well.

"What shall we drink to?" she asked, lifting her glass. Before I could reply, she smiled and said, "How about we drink to Dane Johnson and his lovely fiancée?"

"Did . . . did he call you?" I asked carefully.

"Even better. He came over to see me last night." Mom's eyes briefly sparkled with happiness. "I was so excited, Charlotte. I thought, 'Finally! He's coming back to me.'" Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Oh, Mom. Don't blame yourself."

She took out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "We sat and talked for hours. We talked about all the fun we had, and also the bad things that happened between us." She paused, then glanced up at me. "You and Marcus came up as well."

I wasn't surprised to hear that.

A vulnerable expression entered her eyes. "He told me you met his fiancée for lunch."

If Dane Johnson had been standing before me, I would have throttled him. Then pushed him down a cliff. And then left him for the dingoes. Mom was already hurting as it was. Why would he rub salt into her wound like that?

"It wasn't a big deal." I hurriedly explained, trying to downplay the whole thing. "It was just a casual get-together, you know? Totally meaningless. There was no meaning to it. The meaning was, you know, not there at all." Wincing inwardly, I took a big gulp of wine before I said something _really_ stupid.

Mom giggled, some of her tension gone. "You're so silly, Charlotte." Giving me a genuine smile this time, she added, "It's all right, darling. You don't have to explain yourself. It's only natural that you would want to meet Marcus' future stepmother."

I was a bit slow to grasp what she'd said. "Wait. You mean –"

Mom nodded, putting on a brave face. "I signed the divorce papers last night."

I was stunned by how quickly Dane had gotten her to sign those blasted papers. "Did he threaten you? Is that why you signed them right away?"

"Dane would never do that." She snapped, still protective of her ex-husband. "What a terrible thing to say, Charlotte."

I grew defensive. "I'm just saying, that's all. The last time I visited, you said –"

"I know what I said. And I also remember my own daughter asking me if I had any pride." Her eyes softened when I hung my head in shame. "It's all right, darling. I realize now it was something I desperately needed to hear."

"It was still wrong of me to say it, though."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Mom paused to take a sip of her wine. "Dane didn't force me to sign those papers. I signed them because of you."

"Me?" I said, surprised.

She nodded, smiling sadly. "When Dane and I were talking, I realized something. We rushed into marriage because I was so desperate to be his wife. But look at me now." Her bottom lip trembled slightly. "And here you are – older, smarter, experienced. Almost eight years have gone, yet Marcus still loves you." She took a moment to let that sink in. "I won't stand in your way again, Charlotte. Not this time."

I didn't know what to say. Truth was, I'd always blamed her for tearing me away from Marcus, but a small part of me also wondered if maybe she'd been right – that we'd been too young and immature for each other back then.

"So what now?" I asked finally. "Are you going to go out, meet new people, go on dates?" I attempted a teasing smile. "There are heaps of eligible men in Sydney, you know."

Mom let out a heavy sigh. "Charlotte, I'm returning to New York."

"For a visit? That's not a bad idea, actually. It's been ages since you –"

"No." She grasped my hands. "I'm moving back permanently."

I stared at her in shock. "But Sydney's your home," I whispered.

"It's _your_ home." She gave me a tired glance. "It's never been mine."

She was going to leave me behind. I would have no family here.

It was a frightening thought.

Sensing my fear, Mom tightened her grip on my hands. "You won't be alone. You'll have Marcus and a new family."

Her words didn't comfort me at all. "Mom, you can't go back. What about this house? What are you going to do in New York? Where will you stay?"

"I'll stay at your grandmother's townhouse, of course." Her bottom lip trembled again. "I can just see the tabloid headlines now: The Prodigal Daughter Finally Returns!" She closed her eyes, muttering under her breath, "It will be a nightmare."

The last time I saw my maternal grandmother, I was thirteen. My memories of her were of a stern, unapproachable woman clad in pearls and fox stoles, always looking distastefully at me because I was freckly, gangly, and liked to wear fashionably ripped jeans.

I visibly shuddered. "Grandmother's going to ground you. I bet she's going to lock you up in your room for an entire year."

"That's not helpful, darling," Mom said, turning pale. She finished the remaining wine in her glass before squaring her delicate shoulders. "I'm giving this house to you. You can stay here or sell it, whatever you choose."

"Mom, it's too much. I can't –"

"Of course you can." She reached for my hands once more, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Promise you'll visit me once in a while, Charlotte. Don't forget me."

The loneliness in her face broke my heart, and I grabbed her in a fierce hug.

"Only if you move out of Grandmother's house soon," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "You know she scares the hell out of me."

"She scares me as well," she said, pulling back with a rueful smile. She reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. "Do you have time to stay for dinner? I know how much you love my mushroom risotto."

"I'll go and clean the mushrooms," I said, quickly rising to my feet. I didn't want her to see my own tears welling up in my eyes. As we rinsed, chopped, sautéed, stirred, and finally sat down to enjoy our meal together, I felt an emotion surging in me that I'd never experienced before.

For the first time in my life, I was unbearably proud of my Mom.

# Chapter 32

**_Five months later_**

"It is my pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife." The celebrant gave a genial smile. "You may now kiss the bride."

The students whistled and clapped as Principal Humphrey Fitzwilliam leaned in to give his bride, Becky Green, a chaste kiss on the lips. Cheeks pink with pleasure, the newlyweds then proceeded down the assembly hall, laughing as students threw rice over their heads.

I smiled and leaned against Marcus, who wrapped an arm around my waist.

"Look at them. They're so happy," I said with a contented sigh.

He gave me a slight squeeze. "So are we."

"That's true." I closed my eyes as he bent down to kiss me softly on the lips.

The wedding reception was held outside, under a huge white tent. The Australian summer was in full swing, and I grumbled as my dress stuck to my hips.

"I can't wait to get out of this," I muttered, yanking the material down.

Marcus gazed at me thoughtfully. "Want to sneak away to the library? It's air-conditioned in there."

Nodding, I took his hand and left when the bride and groom were busy dancing their hearts out.

We climbed up to the third floor and watched the students milling about from the windows. One particular prefect had been conspicuously absent from the wedding – Nicholas Spencer. He'd left for the States right after finishing his HSC, which he'd probably aced. True to his word, he'd left me alone for the rest of the year, only remaining behind in class once to politely thank me for teaching him.

I didn't want to admit it, but I was going to miss him a lot. _Maybe I'll see him perform at the Opera House soon_ , I thought as I stared at his friends standing near the tent, sneaking alcoholic drinks to the Year 10 and 11 students eagerly waiting behind them.

A deep, scratching noise woke me from my daydream. "What are you doing?" I asked. Marcus was sitting at my favorite window desk at the end of the room. Smiling, I went over to make sure he wasn't vandalizing school property.

At least, not too much.

I rolled my eyes when I saw exactly what he'd been up to. "Seriously, Marcus?" He'd been busy carving on the desk with a metal compass.

"Done," he said, looking proud of himself. He glanced up at me. "Hey, the students of West Newton need to know what happened to M.J. and C.H., don't you think?"

Shaking my head, I dropped my gaze to the desk. M.J. fucked C.H. But there was a long scratch across "fucked." And right above it, he'd carved another word in.

_Married._

_M.J. married C.H._

Stunned, I stared at Marcus as he took my left hand and pulled off the ring. Then he slipped it onto my ring finger.

"Are you sure?" I whispered. "Can you really accept Mom as your mother-in-law?"

He ran a thumb over my hand. "I Skyped her last night," he said quietly, "and we spoke for about an hour. It wasn't easy, Charlie, but it turned out better than I expected." There was a hesitant pause before he added, "You were right about time taking care of certain feelings. I never thought I'd say this, but I don't hate Abigail anymore. The thought of having her back in my life doesn't anger me as much as it used to."

I was relieved to hear that. So much, in fact, that I jumped up and wrapped my arms and legs around him. My skirt rode up my thighs, but I didn't care. We were the only ones on the third floor, anyway.

Marcus' hands slid down to my ass, supporting my weight. "Charlotte Hall, will you marry me?" he asked softly in my ear.

"Well . . ." I pretended to think, then laughed when he pinched my left ass cheek. My laughter soon turned to a moan when he pushed me against the window and ground his hips into me.

"Will you marry me?" he repeated, grinding into me again.

I gasped and arched my back, delirious with desire. "Yes. Definitely yes." I moaned. I threaded my fingers through his lush hair and pulled him closer.

He kissed me long and hard, murmuring "I love you" each time we came up for air. When we finally drew apart, I said hoarsely, "I love you more."

A beautiful smile spread across his face, and my heart thumped alarmingly in my chest. This amazing man was mine, and I was his. He was my best friend, my lover, and soon to be my husband. He was going to be my family now.

Overwhelmed by the thought, I kissed him again, and he reciprocated eagerly. Even when a roar of laughter sounded below us, we remained lost in our own little world, because the only thing that truly mattered was right here in front of us.

I hope you enjoyed **_Resisting Him_**.

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# Also By Leslie Johnson

For a complete list of Leslie's Books visit:

<https://lesliejohnsonauthor.com/my-books/>

# About the Author

Leslie is a California native but recently moved to Arizona after a stint in Arkansas. She enjoys travel and being with her grandchildren.

She is an avid reader of many genres, but prefers romances with travel or thriller themes. She loves writing about strong women and strong men because the world needs both!

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_Feel free to get in touch!_

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leslie@lesliejohnsonauthor.com

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