Page 28 of Crown of Thorns
Until my brain catches up.
I push him away, cheeks burning with embarrassment, even as a part of me aches to stay right there, tangled in the heat of his mouth, lost in the wrongness that feels so terrifyingly right. “What the…we’re in a church. We’re…in public…”
“Don’t worry, Professor, there’s no one here.”
“But there is. So, stop these blatant displays when we are in public. When we areanywhere.”
“Then stop ignoring my texts. Perhaps I should punish you. Maybe makeyoukneel for once, over the altar. What do you say?”
“I say you’re completely crazy. Listen.” A storm rages through my insides, throwing my emotions around, creating utter chaos as I bring us both to a hidden corner. “Our deal doesn’t cover you barging into my private space. It doesn’t cover you calling me baby.”
Ignoring me blatantly, he waves a golden envelope in the air. “For you.”
“Did you hear what I just said? And what’s that?”
“I knew you’d be curious. Open it.”
My eyes narrow as I take it from him, suspicious when I turn it around. The paper is decorated with gold, the handwriting elegant. But the words have me snap my gaze back to Louis. “You want me to come to aparty?” I shake my head.
“Not a party, a gathering. And you agreed to have a little fun.”
“Agathering.”
“Yep. Here’s your official invitation.”
He holds it out like a dare—an envelope, heavy with intent. I take it with a trembling hand, the weight of it anchoring something deep in my chest.
“My… formal… invitation,” I echo. My fingers brush his. A static crackle passes between us. I should pull away.
I don’t.
Our gazes lock. His pupils dilate. Mine probably do too.
“I want to make a few things clear,” I say, voice lower than I intended. “No more text messages.”
He leans one shoulder against the stone arch behind him, all studied ease. “I need to see you.”
“No more freshly pressed orange juice.”
“You need to stay healthy.” His smile is maddening. Too close. Too calm.
“No more buying me expensive books.”
“You needed to fill those bookcases,” he murmurs, stepping in, slow as sin. “You looked hungry for it.”
“No more breaking into my dorm.”
That finally earns me a grin—wolfish and unapologetic.
“And you haven’t even seen the result,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “What result?”
He shifts closer, invading my space with the subtlety of a tide rising. His voice drops an octave.
“The dorm, Professor. Let’s just say it looks a little different now.”
His gaze skims over my face, lingering at my mouth. “You haven’t stepped inside lately, have you?”
