Page 50 of The Rest is History
‘Elodie,’ he says, a little roughly, like he’s trying my name out for size. I have to make a real effort not to close my eyes in ecstasy at the way my name on his lips makes me feel.
‘Yeah?’
‘Did I mark your neck?’ he asks in a low, gruff voice that does things to some reptilian part of my brain.
‘Understatement,’ I tell him, and his eyes darken.
‘Can I see?’
I eye him suspiciously as I get to my feet. I’m not sure if he wants to apologise for marking my skin or gloat over branding his woman like a total neanderthal.
Ug ug.
He takes a step back so I can push my chair away from the desk, but not enough to give me space. He’s right there in my face, and he’s so gorgeous it’s astonishing.
Clean shaven today. Obviously. I’m pretty sure he thinks sporting stubble at school is, like, sacrilegious. He’s in a crisp white polo shirt, impeccably pressed, and beige chinos. As usual,his dark hair is slightly damp, and, as usual, he looks good enough to eat.
His long-lashed eyes are flitting between my mouth and my neck. I, in turn, watch his face as I reach up, find the end of the silk tie at my neck, and pull it slowly. The tie tumbles open down over my chest, and those firm, gorgeous lips of his part.
I know what I’m doing.
I know that one little move gave the impression of my undressing for him.
But still. He asked to see my neck.
Not taking my eyes off him, I reach up and unwind the tie so it’s no longer concealing my neck before gathering up my hair and pulling it over my left shoulder.
I wasn’t kidding when I saidunderstatement.The guy went crazy on my neck to the extent that I had to come clean to my shocked and tickled-pink sister, because it looked like I’d just come home from a high school disco. I mean, who thinks it’s okay to give love bites at our age?
That said, every lick, every suck, every nip at my neck from his beautiful mouth was so fucking perfect that I’d let him mark every inch of my body like that.
I tilt my neck to the left, pulling the collar of the blouse down a little further and exposing the most hickey-tastic section. I watch his shocked intake of breath through my eyelashes.
‘Jesus.’ He reaches up and runs his thumb over my skin, and the gesture reminds me so much of the way he touched me on Saturday that my stomach flips.
He’s so close to me. His nostrils flare slightly as he strokes my skin, and his breath is warm on my neck. I spent the weekend mentally preparing myself for the silent treatment, or at least for him to be deeply awkward again.
I wasn’t expecting this.
He swallows, hard. ‘Elodie. I’m so sorry.’
His blue eyes flit to mine, and we hold the gaze.
He doesn’t look sorry in the slightest, and I tell him so with a smile.
He frowns.
‘It’s hard for me to be sorry about what happened. Impossible, even. But I’m sorry that my showing my… appreciation for your beautiful neck had consequences.’
I nearly laugh.Consequencesis such a teacher word.
‘I’m not sorry,’ I tell him. ‘You shouldn’t be, either.’
He looks at me, opens his mouth, and closes it again.
‘Let’s get you put back together,’ he says finally, and I criss-cross the silk ties at the back of my neck, pulling them flush over my skin so they hide all of ourconsequencesbefore crossing them at the front.
‘Allow me,’ he says. I lower my hands and stand there as he ties the fabric in a bow, his face inches from mine, the scent of his cologne wafting over me in a gorgeously fresh, masculine flurry of herbs. But better than that is the smell of his skin, a smell that’s new to me and yet has already found its way undermyskin.
