Page 52 of The Headmaster’s Rule

I hesitate, wondering if I’ve misheard him. “Fine?” I echo uncertainly. That’s it? He’s giving in just like that?

“Yes.”

I’m too slow to stop the wide grin that pulls at my mouth. Theo’s gaze follows it, a smile flaring to life on his own lips before quickly dying away. Something painful flickers in the depths of his blue eyes, then he drops his gaze to his polished Oxford shoes.

It’s like a punch in the heart. Not being able to celebrate the little wins. Not being able to enjoy working together anymore.

Not being able to kiss him.

My throat thickens with emotion, and I glance away.

“I need… paper clips,” I mumble, turning toward the supply closet at the back of my classroom. I don’t need paper clips. I need a moment to breathe. I need to not let him see how much this affects me.

I flick the light on as I step into the small, dusty room, taking a deep breath. I didn’t expect this to hurt as much as it does. Counting to five, I try to gather myself. There’s a noise behind me, and I spin around to see Theo entering.

What is he doing?

My heart trips when he carefully closes the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, expression agonized as he looks at me.

It comes out of nowhere, and I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know if he’s talking about school stuff or… something else. And I’m too scared to ask. To embarrass myself again.

“You texted me to apologize, Eleanor, and you shouldn’t have. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Texted him? That was two weeks ago. I exhale, trying to calm my drumming heart.

“I apologized because I overstepped, pushing you about last year’s fundraiser, when I should have kept my mouth shut.”

His brows slam down. “You had a right to know. And what you said to me…” he trails off, swallowing hard.

I look up at him in the confined space, studying the deep V stamped between his brows, desperate for him to say more, but he holds back.

“Why are you apologizing?” I hold my breath as the question leaves my mouth. If he tells me he regrets kissing me, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it.

But he just stares at me hard, his jaw clenched. The intensity of his gaze could melt metal. We’re so close in this tiny room, tension emanating off him in waves. Silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded with all the words we’re not saying.

I lift a shaking hand to push a strand of hair from my eyes, but he captures my wrist. Releasing it, he tenderly, carefully, brushes my hair back himself. It’s the lightest touch, but sends electricity singing across my skin. I suck in a ragged breath. His gaze darkens, falling to my mouth, chest rising and falling under his suit jacket.

And something in me breaks.

I don’t care that he’s my boss. That we’re in the supply closet in my classroom. That there’s too much on the line.

All I care about is that he’s not kissing me.

“You should be sorry,” I whisper, unable to keep the edge of anger from my voice.

His brow pulls low again. “Why?”

“You haven’t kissed me for two weeks.”

His brow smooths. Anxiety flickers in my gut as he gazes at me, saying nothing. That was definitely over the line. But he lifts his hand to my face. His thumb caresses my cheek, feather-soft, fingers cupping my jaw.

“I’m not supposed to want you, Eleanor.” His words come out in a rough, throaty whisper, and my heartbeat accelerates.

“I’m not supposed to want you either,” I breathe, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. I’m close enough to smell the sandalwood of his cologne, and brazenly push onto my tiptoes to brush my nose against his neck. His breath catches. When I draw back, his eyes are dark and penetrating under hooded lids. He swallows thickly, and I watch the muscles slide up and down under the silver stubble at his throat.

God, what I would do to this man if I got him naked.