Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Oh my God.” The words fall helplessly from my mouth as I look up at him and try to right myself. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Carter.”
Deep green eyes fringed with dark lashes gaze down at me, brows pinched together, lips in a flat line. Sybil wasn’t joking. He really is the hot teacher of doom. My heart beats faster as I study him, unable to stop this slow-motion train wreck from happening. He isn’t like any teacher I’ve ever seen before. The man is at least six feet tall with the body of an athlete. A body wrapped up like a GQ model in black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a black waistcoat. His cologne has notes of what I think are cardamom and sandalwood, but I drag in a deep breath just to be sure.
My God, this man is beautiful, and I can’t seem to stop staring at him. He’s older than me, but young enough that I know he isn’t quite in his thirties. Silky chocolate locks of hair soften his caustic expression and sharp, angular cheekbones. My eyes blaze over his coppery skin down to the beating pulse of his throat.
This must be what it feels like. That chemistry thing Sybil is always rambling on about. My hormones are firing on all cylinders, and I don’t know how to stop this roller coaster of emotions as his eyes cut over my face. That is until he speaks, reminding me we have an audience, and I’ve just humiliated myself for the third time today.
“You’re late, Miss LeClaire.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SEBASTIAN
THE FIRST DAY of school is as monotonous as the blur that has been the past three years. One by one, the students parade into the classroom, showing off the latest designer handbags while they humblebrag about their summers on the French Riviera. The endless cacophony of giggling schoolgirls born with Tiffany spoons in their mouth is a long-suffering death. Briefly, my thoughts drift to Katie, grateful that she never succumbed to the peer pressure to be just like them.
I scan the sea of faces, taking note of moods, new haircuts, casual attempts at cool conversation. There aren’t any who stand out. Not a single one. Already, I’m convinced that it’s hopeless. Finding someone who can think for themselves in this monochrome environment will suck the last of my soul from me.
The steady unfailing tick of my Tag Heuer timepiece alerts me to the hour, and I move on autopilot to seal my fate inside the classroom. It’s just another Monday. Just another school year. Another group of students I will forget as soon as they leave. Until it isn’t. Until a flash of red crashes into me, making this day one for the books.
Stella LeClaire. I know it must be her when she looks up and stuns me with those kohl-lined eyes the color of honey. I would have remembered those eyes if I’d ever seen them before. Vaguely, I recall glancing at her name amongst the others on my list, acknowledging that I had a new student this year. But after that, I never thought of it again. And now here she is. A banging drum solo in a world full of symphonies. Right away, I know she is the outlier in this group with her red wine-stained hair and ivory skin and her hundred thousand-megawatt face.
“Oh my God.” The words stumble from her crimson red lips. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Carter.”
Christ, those lips. I can’t tear my eyes away from them, and the limp dick in my trousers has taken notice too. My dick hasn’t seen any action for far too long, and now is an inopportune moment to remember that. This is new, and it’s a fucking problem, but that doesn’t stop me from taking stock of this mysterious new creature in front of me. Leggy with a body of a pinup fantasy, she has the figure of a model with none of the grace and only half of the confidence. There is something unapologetically genuine about her, and I am drawn to it like a goddamn moth. Soft lines and retro sex kitten lashes are all I can see. Unspoiled territory demanding to be explored.
Fuck. I’m staring at her, and the entire class is watching. How long have we been here like this? What fucking day is it? It’s time to rectify this situation. My eyes cut over her, and my voice turns menacing as I establish dominance. “You’re late, Miss LeClaire.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes dart to Louisa and her gaggling pack of hyenas in the back of the classroom. “I had some trouble finding my way here.”
She’s lying, and it’s evident that she’s become the latest target of the self-proclaimed mean girls at Loyola. But regardless of her excuses, I have an example to set.