Playing With Trouble

by Chanel Cleeton

  “He cheated on me,” she answered, her voice soft. She looked away from me, staring down at her hands and something clenched in my stomach.

  Fuck.

  If I’d wanted to put some distance between us, mission accomplished.

  “What happened?”

  “I found him having sex with his best man in the changing room of the church on our wedding day. I was nervous; I think I knew things weren’t right between us, and I went to talk to him before the ceremony.” She let out a sad laugh. “I don’t even know why I went or what I was looking for. I think I just hoped that he would make me feel better about everything. That he’d convince me that we were meant to be together. But the second I caught them together that was it. I found out he was gay and they were in love. I called off the wedding.”

  Jesus.

  “My father tried to spin it—reelection season and all that—but that stupid Capital Confessions blog got ahold of the story and we’ve been plagued with gossip ever since.” She looked up and met my gaze, her voice strained. “So I do know a little something about having your dirty laundry aired for the world to see.”

  “It’s not entirely the same, though. What happened to you wasn’t your fault. What happened to me was mine.”

  “I don’t know. I keep thinking I should have realized something was off. That if I’d paid more attention, if I’d been honest with myself, I would have known. I should have known. Who misses something like that?”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  She shrugged. “Regardless, it stayed with me. He was at my parents’ party. I owe you thanks for that, by the way.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You distracted me. I was so nervous about seeing him and, at the end of the day, I didn’t even think about it.”

  “After all that, your parents invited him to their party?”

  “Wealthy donors with deep pockets are hard to come by,” she answered, her voice quiet.

  “Your father’s an asshole.”

  “Yeah. He kind of is. When the engagement fell apart my parents sort of lost it.”

  “They were pissed at you?”

  “They aren’t big on scandal. Ironic given everything that’s happened with my father lately. The wedding was supposed to be a PR opportunity right before the election. Camelot and all that. I sort of ruined the image. Law school was a compromise.”

  It sounded like less of a compromise and more like her trying to fulfill everyone’s expectations of her.

  “You’re not close?”

  “Let’s just say things with my family are complicated.”

  “More complicated?”

  She nodded. “I’m guessing you also missed the news that my father had an extramarital affair and fathered a child?”

  Jesus.

  Maybe it was how spectacularly I’d fucked up my own life, but I was impressed by her ability to keep her shit together in spite of all that drama.

  “You always seem like you have everything together. Grace under fire and all that.”

  She shook her head. “Trust me, it’s not necessarily what it looks like.”

  “It’s exactly what it looks like. Other people would probably lose their shit in the face of all the things you’ve dealt with. Not to mention, your first semester of law school can be its own brand of hellish torture. You’re doing really well. You should be proud.”

  Blair

  I didn’t feel like it. In fact, lately it felt like all I heard was all the ways I was fucking up. His words meant a lot more than I thought they would.

  Each one loosened something in me, and I moved closer to him without even realizing it, as though I wanted the comfort he gave me, our bodies inches away from each other.

  His eyes darkened, heat blasting back at me. I swallowed, my stomach tight, waiting to see what he would do next.

  Everything about him screamed bad idea. I’d just ended a relationship with a guy who cheated on me on my wedding day, had seen the devastation my father’s infidelity had caused. Had seen firsthand how power and greed could wreck lives. The last thing I needed or wanted was more baggage, especially someone dealing with some dark stuff I wasn’t equipped to handle. And he was my law professor. I needed to keep reminding myself of this.

  “I want you,” he whispered, the confession sending another tremor through my body.

  Fuck.

  It was the whisper that did me in. There were so many tones to his voice and they each showed a different facet of his personality. The professor gave me arrogance delivered with cold, clipped words. The man who was surprisingly easy to talk to gave me patience and even laughter. And the man who looked at me now like he wanted to strip my clothes from my body and fuck me in the backseat of his car gave me whispers throbbing with temptation, sex, and promise.

  I closed my eyes, rooted to the spot where our flesh met. Bound by his hand and his words. This was a moment for whispers, a moment when the images we showed the rest of the world were replaced by the people we were underneath all of the pretense and civility.

  This was madness. Undeniable madness.

  I didn’t know if it was the dance, or the kiss, or all of the restlessness that had been building inside me for months—Thom, law school, this crazy arousal that hummed in my veins—but sensible had gone out the window. I was so sick of playing it safe, of hiding behind a mask that sucked the life out of me more and more each day.

  “Why me?” My voice shook as I pushed the words out.

  I needed to understand; some secret, dark part of me wanted to hear him say he felt the same way I did, that I wasn’t the only one who had completely and utterly lost control.

  I’d never had a lot of power with men. I saw how Jackie was with Will—all she had to do was look at him, and he would do anything for her. He was hooked by her and she by him.

  Even before I’d found out why my fiancé didn’t seem all that into me, I’d known he wasn’t hooked by me. He was sweet, and—I’d thought—loyal, and things had been easy between us. We hadn’t been the type of couple to get into fights or break up a lot. We hadn’t cared enough to. He hadn’t cared enough about me. I saw the virtue of easy, but sometimes easy was lazy, and in that moment, I didn’t want easy.

  I wanted a man who would walk over glass for me, a man who would care enough to fight for me. I wanted a man who would work for me, so my gaze narrowed as I made him work for it.

  Gray shook his head, breaking the connection between us. His voice was sandpaper sliding over my electrified, sensitive skin.

  “I don’t know.”

  I forced myself to look at him, nowhere near satisfied with his explanation. He’d given me easy—a boy’s answer—and he was all man.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  His breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

  His fingers squeezed mine, his hand sliding into place until our palms connected and we were joined wrist to fingertip.

  I struggled to form the words, so focused on how good it felt to hold his hand.

  “You aren’t the kind of guy who just does something. Why me?”

  He sighed as though the words pained him. “All that calm—the polite smiles, the pearls, the elegant voice—it’s just there for show. It’s not you. This is you.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. I was afraid that was all there was with me. That I was the beige girl who was destined to stand in the background and look pretty, but not too pretty. Be smart, but not too smart. I was worried that Campaign Blair with her stupid handshakes and polite laughter was all there was.

  I liked this girl better, even as she scared the shit out of me. She wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted—who she wanted.

  Thom and I had started dating when we were fifteen. He’d been my first kiss, my only kiss. The first and only guy I’d ever had sex with. The worst part of it was that now that I knew he was gay, none of it felt real. I didn’t know how long he’d known that he liked guys, but the moment I’d seen him w
ith someone else on our wedding day, everything we’d been to each other had died. And now every memory I had of us kissing or in bed was clouded with doubt and fear that there had always been someone else in his head, someone else he’d wanted when he pretended to want me.

  I was filler. And all I wanted was for someone to act like I mattered, for someone to want me. Not because my father was the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, or because my mother had been a Vanderwaal, or because I came from money, or had my picture taken in some stupid society page.

  I wanted someone to want me. And I didn’t want to be beige anymore.

  I closed my eyes, wondering if I was losing my mind, if this was the stupidest thing I’d ever done. Possibly. I didn’t care.

  My voice shook as I spoke the words, but I said them anyway, forcing myself to take a chance.

  “Can we pretend that I’m not your student? For a minute, while we’re in this car, can we just pretend? When we step out you can go back to calling on me in class every fucking week and I’ll go back to glaring at you. I don’t want special treatment. I don’t want anything but this.”

  My eyes fluttered open and I stared into Gray’s eyes, losing myself in the desire I saw there. No matter what, I knew—

  He wanted me.

  His voice turned husky and rough, his body tense.

  “What do you want? You have to tell me. If I’m going to cross this line with you, then I need to know. I need to hear you say it.”

  He looked at me like I’d pushed him past the brink of sanity, to somewhere dark and dangerous. It should have terrified me, and yet it pulled me somewhere I’d never been before.

  “I’ve kissed one guy in my entire life before you. And now that I know I was just a placeholder for who he really wanted, it doesn’t feel real. And after our kiss . . .” I held his gaze, the desire staring back at me giving me the confidence I needed. “Kiss me. I want to feel what it’s like to be kissed by a man who wants me,” I whispered. “Please.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rumor has it Blair Reynolds has moved on. Just who is her mystery man?

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Gray

  Fuck.

  A better man would have said no. I should have said no.

  I kissed her instead.

  The second she said the word, please, I gave her what she wanted and I’d craved since I’d first experienced the nirvana of her mouth on mine.

  If I was going to hell for this one, then I was sure as fuck going to enjoy the ride.

  I moved closer, our bodies just inches apart, hers throwing off heat like a fucking furnace. I allowed my gaze to drift from her pretty brown eyes, down her elegant neck, to the vee of her cream-colored sweater, her tits the perfect handful. For a moment I imagined the weight of them, fantasized about rubbing my thumbs over her nipples, rolling them between my fingers, watching them stiffen from my hands and mouth.

  Her nipples were visible through her thin sweater, two tight points begging to be touched. I groaned at the sight, the tenuous thread of self-control I’d clung to, shredded.

  This was what I had wanted all along, the image that had kept me company on the nights when all I’d had was my hand and a desire that couldn’t be quenched. This was the fire she’d started the first moment she’d kissed me.

  I kissed her, or maybe she kissed me; I didn’t even know anymore. We both moved, and our lips collided, and the taste of Blair exploded in my mouth. Somehow I reined in the desire to consume and replaced it with the need to be the best she’d ever had. As hard as it was to resist the urge to rush, her words hit me hard.

  I want to feel what it’s like to be kissed by a man who wants me.

  This wasn’t about me; it was all for her. So I gave her weeks of want and need with my lips and my tongue.

  And then she kissed me back with everything she had, and fuck, slow went out the window.

  Blair

  Any nerves I might have felt disappeared as soon as his mouth touched mine.

  His lips were firm, commanding me to open, luring me in with a stroke of his tongue, with the pressure of his teeth grazing my flesh.

  More.

  The first time we’d kissed, I’d caught him off guard. This time he was definitely prepared.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him forward, my mouth opening wider, my hands fisting in his hair, reaching for the connection I craved.

  His hands stroked my back, holding me tight. I wanted him to slip beneath the fabric. Wanted more than just a kiss. He was quicksand, pulling me in deeper until I couldn’t move.

  His hands were on my breasts, stroking my nipples through my sheer sweater. I arched my back, pressing myself into his palm, my skin burning up, wanting him to take my top off and put his mouth on me.

  Fuck.

  We had to stop. I didn’t want to stop. But we were in his car, in a middle school parking lot, making out like a couple of teenagers. And yeah, the windows were tinted, but still.

  Somehow I managed to wrench my lips off of his as I slid back into my seat, away from his hands and his mouth.

  A minute passed, and still the time did nothing to clear my head or give me any idea of where this was headed or where I wanted it to go.

  Gray glanced down at his watch and winced. “We’re fifteen minutes late.”

  I looked away, staring out the window, wondering what happened next.

  “Blair.”

  His voice groaned over my name, as if it hurt to speak it. That one word contained so much—regret, want, need.

  “I’m sorry I did that,” I whispered, my voice cracking. I felt like crying, and I wasn’t sure if it was because we’d kissed, or because we’d stopped, or because he’d given me a glimpse of something I couldn’t have. I wasn’t even sure what I was sorry about.

  “Don’t apologize. If anything, it’s my fault.”

  I turned and stared at him, incredulous. He looked down at his hands, his jaw clenched.

  “I’m pretty sure I was the one who asked you to kiss me,” I corrected. Begged him to kiss me. Practically jumped him.

  He grimaced. “I’m your professor. I’m older. I know better. I’m a fucking mess, and believe me, you don’t need my shit.”

  He was right. Those were all thoughts that had run through my mind at one point or another. But as soon as he said it, something inside me rebelled. My entire life people had told me how to dress, how to act, tried to tell me how I should feel. Not him. Not after that kiss.

  “For starters, you’re a whole seven years older than me. And yes, you clearly have been through some things in your life, but who hasn’t. And it’s not like we’re getting married. I’m not asking you to love me forever, not asking you to be my boyfriend,” I replied, my tone dry. “It was a kiss. Okay, two kisses.” I swore I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on my lips. “You’re not going to make this something tawdry and cheap by pretending you’re some lecherous professor preying on a young, virginal student. I may have been having bad sex, but I’m far from a virgin.”

  He swore under his breath. “And the part where I’m your professor?”

  “Are you going to give me a higher grade because I kissed you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. I’m not exactly worried about you taking it easy on me. You taking it easy on me would probably mean that you’d only call on me every other week.”

  Silence filled the car.

  “I’m going to have someone else grade your final exam. The dean is already planning on checking all of my finals since it’s my first time teaching, but I’ll get one of the other professors to read it as well. Sometimes professors get second opinions if a grade is on the line. I don’t want there to be any question of favoritism for either one of us.”

  I knew he was right, didn’t know how Hannover would handle it if they found out. There were rumors about a couple of faculty members dating students, but they weren’t students they taught. And Gray was a
new professor, it wasn’t like he had tenure or anything. I didn’t want to get him in trouble and I couldn’t afford to screw up my academic future.

  The fall semester was over in less than two months and I wouldn’t have him for torts in the spring. Did it matter?

  Gray’s voice got tight. “I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t want you. That I’m not hard as a fucking rock sitting here, imagining taking your mouth again. But this isn’t right. I don’t want to take advantage of you—”

  Fuck that.

  “I kissed you because I wanted to,” I answered, anger threading through my voice. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you an apology.” He looked at me like I had three heads. And just like that, my earlier regret fell away. “I’m not going to, though. I take it back,” I said, my voice going soft. “That was the best kiss of my life, hands down, no comparison. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit here and bask in the fact that I made someone who looks like you kiss someone who looks like me, like that.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “That you look like a bloodthirsty warrior on your nice days, and I mean that in the best possible way.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” He choked the words out, his expression somewhere between pain and amusement.

  “It means you’re hot in the kind of way that makes lady parts stand at attention. In a completely wild, unrestrained, sexy sort of way . . .” My voice trailed off.

  “Jesus. And I thought you were shy.”

  I couldn’t let that one slide either. “No, you didn’t.”

  Another choking sound. “I didn’t?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I didn’t know what it was, but somehow I’d completely wrested control from him. He just sat there in the driver’s seat looking poleaxed.

  Maybe it was anger that drove me. Or more than that, the desire to make him see me. Not as some fucking stereotype, but as a girl who liked having his hands and mouth on her. A girl who was done playing by the rules. A girl who was apparently courting trouble.