Page 51 of Freckles

If it were something else, a tennis bracelet, a chunky gold bangle, somethingnondescript, plucked from a jeweller’s shelf with expense the only guide, that would be one thing.

But this is personal. This is something he selected based on the scant details he knows about me.

Coming from anyone else in any other circumstance, I would love to receive such a thoughtful present, but from the boy who seeks to control my every move?

It makes me want to cry.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

KINCAID

By sheer force of will,I keep away from Francesca for the rest of Tuesday, keeping my scowl in check while I watch her eat lunch with Aidan, the pair sitting far too close together for my liking.

I wait for her Wednesday morning, but she doesn’t show before first bell. It’s a relief to walk into our shared first period physics class and see her in the first row.

Her seat is by the window, and each time I glance over, the thin winter sunlight is setting fire to her vibrant hair.

She keeps fiddling with the bracelet I gave her, rubbing her thumb over the pendant, sliding her fingertip under the chain. I had it made to match the hairpin I stole in the locker room, and I’m relieved she likes it. A relief that’s nothing to do with the piece of tech hidden snugly inside the pendant.

I’ve never given a girl something that expensive or heartfelt before.

Although her body reacted positively to me on Monday night, I already crave more, and I’m happy to take this as a sign that one day, her heart and mind might follow suit.

“Kincaid?”

I startle, drawing myself upright in my seat. The teacher stares at me with an expectant expression but I have no idea what he’s just asked. “Yes?”

“Your homework? Did you get an answer?”

There’s no reason for him to call on me. Usually, teachers ignore me in class, even when I’m doing something to warrant their attention.

Especially then.

“Yes. I did.”

A faint titter comes from the back of the class, but I don’t bother turning to see from whom.

All my usual aggression is absent this morning. Like it splashed in pearl seeds across Francesca’s chest; depleting stocks that will take time to refill.

Mr Harrison arches his eyebrow but when I shrug, he sighs and calls on a pupil willing and able to elaborate on their answer.

I try to concentrate. Studies don’t matter much to me, but I also don’t want word getting out that I’m thick, not when my distraction is down to a completely different reason.

But my gaze soon drifts from the whiteboard back to Francesca. This time when I look, her large green eyes stare back at me, and she jumps, jerking her head to face forward. Cheeks turning pink beneath the bounty of freckles.

In the space of a minute, the flush spreads along her throat and fans across her chest—at least the tiny snippet of flesh I can see.

I type into my phone under cover of the desk, sending her a text. According to her schedule, she has a free study period next, and although I told myself to back off for a while, give her time to adjust, it’s like I can’t help myself.

Kincaid

Meet me in the library next lesson

After the bell goes, I head straight to the library, finding a nice recess with a study table and three empty chairs. There’s just enough space between the books and the top of the shelves to see anyone coming.

When Francesca walks past, a worried frown on her face, I grab her wrist and haul her into the tiny alcove, finding it sexy as hell that she obeyed my instruction.

“Good girl,” I say in a low voice, mindful of the librarian ten metres away. “Now explain why you were late this morning.”

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