Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  I eye him warily. “What is?” I ask.

  “You, of course,” he answers, moving around his desk with the fluidity of a snake. “Your innocence! You are… majestic.” He comes to me and takes both my hands, and then he spins me around almost like a dance. “I am not tainted in your eyes by who I am. You truly don’t know. You have no expectations of me, and likewise, I have none of you. We are each other’s blank slate. A canvas untouched. Can you picture it, Celeste? Do you see?”

  His enthusiasm is… dammit, it’s infectious. I can’t just stonewall him. Not when it’s this obvious that I am vulnerable.

  He spins us once, twice, and then lets me go. He prowls toward me and wraps his hands around my waist. I swear this whole sequence would feel choreographed if it wasn’t so spontaneous. He brings his face close to mine, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek, and whispers, “You are going to make a phenomenal lover.”

  And then he kisses me. The touch of his lips is so soft, so caring, that, for a moment, I simply lose myself and let it be. I close my eyes and shut off my mind and become consumed by the kiss. My mind flashes back to the night on his yacht: His taste, his touch, his smell. I thought memory did a fine job preserving those feelings, but they truly pale in comparison to what I’m experiencing now.

  And then he lets go. Just like that, without warning, he releases me. I’m left reeling, my mind gone to complete mush, my hormones raging in me, my whole body yearning for his delectable touch again…

  “That,” he says softly, “was a promise.”

  I shake my head stupidly. “A promise? A promise of what?”

  “A promise that I will make you my lover,” he says, turning away. “Until next time, Celeste Adams.”

  8.

  The entire way home, I keep going over and over just what transpired in his office.

  After dismissing me, James simply took out a book and started reading. Just like that, as if I wasn’t even there! Strange doesn’t even begin to describe some of his behavior with me. But then again, I guess, he is a professor. He has a right to be unconventional.

  Still, that doesn’t help me when trying to figure out just what the hell I’m going to tell Summer. Honestly, I can’t chalk up singling me out to a random quirk. There has to be a reason I can give her.

  A reason that absolutely must, must, must must must be miles away from the truth.

  The moment I open our front door, Summer all but leaps on me.

  “You sneaky bitch!” she accuses, a smile plastered over her face.

  “Me?” I ask weakly.

  “Yes, you! Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

  “I don’t really know him,” I hedge.

  “Oh, bullshit,” she calls. “Why did he ask you to stay behind, then? What did he want? Come on! You have to dish. It’s only fair.”

  “He didn’t want… anything.” I lie. “I just um, met him, over the summer. A year or two ago. At a bar. He… bought me a drink.”

  “Uh huh,” Summer says, cocking her hip out and placing her fist on it. “Do you know how transparent that sounds?”

  “The simplest explanation is often the truth,” I quote automatically. Then, wanting to deflect the attention somehow, I turn it over on her. “And what about you? I thought you’d be waiting for me outside. Why’d you run home?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Celeste,” she says. “I can tell when someone’s got his eye on my friend. And Professor Landon was practically fucking you with his gaze.”

  “He was not!” I say, and then flush a scarlet red.

  I turn away before Summer can see and busy myself washing my hands in the bathroom.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Summer says, leaning against the doorframe. I run the water cold and splash it over my face. “Then why are you so flustered?”

  “It’s this damn heat,” I grumble. “I wish the AC in our apartment worked.”

  “Yeah, me too, babe,” Summer says. She saunters over to the living room and drapes herself over the couch. “But I’ve never heard you complain about it before.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe it’s finally getting on my nerves!” I snap, and instantly regret it. Getting offensive only furthers my guilt.

  “Whoa, whoa, calm down there, girlfriend,” Summer says. “I’m not upset with you. In fact, I think it’s kind of hot that the professor’s got a thing for you.” She turns around and leans over the back of the couch. “So tell me… when he got you alone… did he try to make a move?”

  “No!” I say quickly. “Come on, Summer, who do you take me for? You saw the blonde that came out before us. You think I’d let him do anything to me after having his dick in her nasty snatch?”

  Summer laughs. “Point taken,” she says. “And relax! You’re way too uptight. I’m just grilling you for fun, you know. I understand that nothing could really happen.”

  “No?” I sit down across from her. “Why not?”

  “Well, for one, you’re not his type,” she says. “All sticks and bones and you know that hideous mop of hair on your head. Seriously, it’s like burned straw.”

  “Thanks for making me feel grand,” I tell her sarcastically.

  “I’m just teasing!” she defends again. “Anyway, you could call me whatever you want, and I wouldn’t get offended. Go on, try it. Call me fat.”

  “You’re a disgusting, overweight pig,” I drone on, “who subsists solely on take-out fast food and expired Cheese-It crackers.” I fix her with my eyes. “That good enough for ya?”

  “Ouch, harsh,” she says, clutching at her heart. “I don’t think we can be roommates anymore. How will my poor, fragile heart take such vitriol?”

  “You’re hysterical, you know that?” I perk an eyebrow up at her. “Okay, so what’s the second reason?”

  “The second reason,” Summer emphasizes, “Is that you heard me call dibs. Even if he tried to pull a move on you…” she sits up, leans toward me, and looks absolutely dead-serious now, “…you would turn him down because you know I had first call. Right?”

  I squirm a little in my seat. “Right,” I say, weakly.

  Summer doesn’t relent. If anything, she intensifies. “Celeste. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me I’m right. You know how the code works. You wouldn’t break it.”

  I meet her stare. “I do,” I say. “And no. I wouldn’t. I promise.”

  “Good,” Summer says, all smiles and good humor again. “Because, Celeste, if you do… friendship or not, I will break you.”

  I swallow hard.

  9.

  That entire night I spend tossing and turning. It’s impossible for me to get even a wink of sleep.

  How do I reconcile the two promises made to me today? James promised to make me his lover. Summer promised to break me if I go behind her back.

  Where do my loyalties lie? Logically, they should be with my roommate. She’s right—there is a code, and I would have to be a despicable, sneaky bitch to break it.

  But at the same time, what right does Summer have claiming the professor as her own? Just because she has a little crush on him? Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. That’s not good enough. And yet…

  And yet, if I go and try to convince Summer of it, she’d go ballistic. And then she’d really get suspicious. And suspicion can turn to jealousy can turn to distrust real quick.

  I don’t want a man to get between us. She and I dreamed of reuniting and living together since high school. Now, five years later, we’re finally making good on that.

  We were besties starting from freshmen year. We grew up a few blocks apart, and became inseparable in high school. Summer’s home became my second home. Her parents and brother became my second family.

  But… people change in five years. Summer has become a little crasser. Ruder, too.

  She’s not exactly the girl I remember.

  The few weeks we’ve lived together have been pretty smooth. Yet, we’re still at the stage where we’re feeling each other out. I haven’t told Summer
everything about myself. I’m sure she has secrets from me.

  I want to get closer to her, not further apart. Bringing a third external element into it, with James? That would widen the gulf. Not what I want.

  I guess in the end it comes down to figuring out what’s more important to me: A friendship that’s been in place for more than a decade? Or some man who, just a day or two ago, didn’t even have a name?

  The choice should be easy. In theory, that is. In practice…

  Well, in practice, those shining, green eyes make this way too tricky.

  ***

  I decide not to do anything unless James makes the first move. I’ll just avoid him as much as I can. I want to be a good friend to Summer. I owe her the opportunity to make good on her little crush.

  I don’t tell her about the yacht hookup, however.

  What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

  I sit in the far back of James’s lecture. I never look at him directly. I am the last one to arrive and first one to leave each class.

  Things continue like that, in a happy equilibrium, for about two weeks.

  Then the weekend hits. Summer and I are in the bars. I’ve got a massive buzz going. I’m dancing like crazy in the middle of the floor to Iggy’s latest.

  Summer’s dancing with me. The lights are down and the drinks flowing. Guys come to chat us up. We laugh and roll with the punches and get free drinks. Poor suckers—neither of us would ever go home with any of them.

  This is just like back in college, with one big difference: I’m with my bestie.

  Halfway through the night, Summer gets a text and squeals with excitement. When I ask her what it is she grabs my hand and pulls me outside.

  “Mike just texted me!” she screams.

  “Mike?” I say. “Who’s Mike?”

  “The guy from the yacht party, remember?”

  “The blonde one?” I ask. “I didn’t know you kept in touch!”

  “Yeah, well, we did!” she says. “He was hot. I wouldn’t just let him forget about me. I’ve been kind of, sort of—” her eyes dart around us in a surreptitious way, “—leading him on these last few weeks. Sending him pics here and there, keeping him interested.”

  “Why?” I ask

  “Why? Umm, because he’s tall, handsome, and loaded!” she giggles. “Anyway, he’s out tonight with his friends too. He’s on a rooftop nearby. It’s a pretty exclusive place.” Her eyes sparkle. “Want to go?”

  I look back at the street side bar we just left, weigh my options… and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, let’s do it. Sounds like it could be a blast.”

  “There’s the Celeste I know and love!” Summer exclaims, slapping me on the back and hailing us a cab.

  We drive through the city and stop in front of a towering apartment building on the Gold Coast.

  “This isn’t a club,” I tell Summer.

  “I know!” she screams. “Mike’s friends with the guy who lives in the penthouse. He’s got the full rooftop cranking!”

  “Wow, really?” I ask. “Impressive.”

  “Yeah, really!” Summer exclaims, then grabs my arm and pulls me through the doors.

  We go past the security guard and take the elevator to the higher story then run up a staircase to the roof. We emerge…

  “Holy shit,” Summer mutters.

  Holy shit is right. This place is amazing. There’s a huge dance floor in the middle with a live DJ working the set to some epic trance. In the middle is a long, narrow, four-lane pool. Lights glow around it. Women in bikinis and men in speedos frolic in the water. Farther away is a crowded bar where some very sexy male bartenders hurry to fill drink orders of all those in front of them.

  “Very European,” I say. Seriously—the women are gorgeous and the guys are smoking hot. “What does this Mike of yours do again?”

  “Beats me,” Summer says. “But aren’t you glad now I kept in touch?” She grabs my hand and leads me into the crowd. “C’mon, let’s go find him.”

  But after ten or fifteen minutes of frantic searching, Mike is nowhere to be seen. We go to the bar and order a few drinks. When I reach for my wallet to pay, the bartender stops me with a smile and a wink.

  “It’s all on the house,” he says. He pushes over cocktails to us. “Courtesy of the host. Enjoy the party.”

  “Say,” I ask Summer. “Are you sure it’s not Mike who owns the penthouse?”

  She bursts out laughing. “No way. The guy’s rich, but not that rich.”

  “Who’s not that rich?” A deep, male voice asks from behind us.

  Summer turns first, and squeals. “Mike!” she exclaims. She jumps up and launches herself at him. A bit over eager, I think, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he catches her by the waist and twirls her around.

  When he sets her down, he looks at me. “Who’s the friend?” he asks.

  “Oh!” I say. “I’m Celeste.” I extend my arm.

  He takes it and brings it to his lips in a kiss. I giggle. “It’s very nice to meet you, Celeste.”

  He has a bit of an accent—German, maybe? It only serves to make him sexier.

  “You too,” I say.

  He looks around. “This place is very noisy, no? I think we should go somewhere quieter. What do you say, Summer, Celeste? My friends have a private table up above—” he looks over our heads to the extended balcony on the second story, “—and I think we can enjoy the night much more from up there. Yes?”

  “Okay,” Summer giggles.

  Mike smiles and leads us through the crowd.

  10.

  On the second level, surrounded by Mike’s friends, I get the distinct feeling I’m being watched.

  It’s nothing more than an itch between the shoulder blades, but it’s still discomfiting. I chalk it up to alcohol at first, but I haven’t really had that much to drink. Definitely not enough to induce paranoia.

  It must be something else, then. Somebody could be there. Yet every time I glance back, the patio’s empty.

  It only takes a few rounds for Summer to start flirting outrageously with Mike. A few more minutes and they’ll be making out like crazy, no doubt. Mike’s friends are cute, I guess, but they’re not really my type. Besides. One of us has to be the responsible roommate.

  I excuse myself just as Mike and Summer start really going at it. I say I have to use the washroom then get up.

  I take the long way there. The real reason for leaving them is to try to dispel that irritating itch.

  I stop for a second by the stairs, supporting myself against the railing. I’m feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks. I wait for my head to clear. Once it does, I give myself a little pep talk—Come on, Celeste, you’re not a lightweight!—and head to the main floor.

  Halfway down the stairs a voice stops me in the dark.

  “I knew I’d be seeing you again.”

  I freeze. It’s him.

  It’s him, Professor Landon. James. The stranger from my fantasies. The man with the amazing tongue and such sure, strong hands.

  Was he the one watching me?

  I look back up but don’t see him.

  “Down here,” he says.

  I look down. And, sure enough, standing at the foot of the stairs, cocktail in hand, is Professor James Landon.

  I can’t deny the thrill that shoots through me on seeing him. I try to play it off, but with my brain buzzing, with the mood and atmosphere just right for seduction… it’s all I can think of.

  “Celeste.” He rasps my name and takes the steps two at a time to get to me. I’m rooted to the spot. Transfixed, really, by this beautiful specimen of a man bounding toward me.

  His intensity on approach makes me take an involuntary step back. I find myself pressed into a corner.

  He stops a hair away. His eyes shine in the dark, just like they did the very first night. Dammit, he’s so beautiful. No man has a right to be so beautiful! I just want to reach out and touch his face…

  No! I chide myself
for the thought. He’s my professor and that’s all. Our hookup before doesn’t count for anything. So what if he wants me? So what if I want him? So what if we’re both consenting adults and hungry and thirsty and craving each other…?

  Oh, jeez.

  “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind,” he says. He’s so close I can feel his breath. “Celeste. I’ve been thinking about those beautiful lips of yours,” he growls.

  I’m not quite sure which lips he’s talking about.

  “You know I want you,” he says. He steps into me so our bodies are pressed together. I give a low, needy moan.

  “You like that?” he asks. He tilts his head forward, bringing his face even closer to mine. A strand of hair falls in my eyes. He brings a hand up and slowly sweeps it out of the way.

  “Yes,” I say, in a shuddered whisper. All my nerves are fried again, and all my body knows is him. All it needs is him. I want to be his. I want to be consumed by him. I want him to do all those things he did to me on his yacht. I want it, I want it all, I want his cock and mouth and hands and tongue and…

  “These lips,” he interrupts, pressing the pad of his thumb to my mouth, “Are absolutely exquisite, Celeste. But they are not the ones I mean.”

  His hand trails down my chin, over my neck, and brushes lightly over my nipples. It comes to rest on the bit of exposed skin between my top and my jeans.

  “I want to taste you,” he rasps in my ear.

  Just like that, I’m instantly wet.

  I blink fast, swallow hard, and try to think of what to say. He’s so close: why hasn’t he kissed me yet? We both want it, I can see it in his eyes, I can hear it in his voice, and he most obviously understands his effect on me.

  Or his effect on all women, I think, with a touch of cynicism, but even that isn’t enough to dissuade me from him.

  Suddenly, I remember Summer. She’s right upstairs. Even if she hadn’t been paying attention to me before, she might look up and notice me gone for an extended period of time. If she comes looking and sees me with James…