Page 68 of The Headmaster’s Rule

“What about this morning? You wouldn’t even look at me.”

I wait for him to step away, to say that he’s had time to think and we can’t go on, but a sly smile touches his lips.

“There was a good reason for that.”

I lift my brows in question.

“Eleanor, if I’d let myself look at you properly this morning, I would have thrown you onto the table and ripped that pretty dress right off you.”

I glance down at my turquoise-blue dress, embroidered with daisies. When I look back, he’s biting hard into his bottom lip, his hot gaze devouring me slowly.

Fuck.

“But… you were so cold. So distant.”

“No. I’m just a good actor.”

“A damn good actor, if you ask me,” I say dryly.

He chuckles, but I still can’t shake that voice of doubt. The one reminding me I could lose everything—my job, my class, Safe Harbor—if I get this wrong.

Theo reads it on my face, softening. “I’m sorry about the note. I was worried about someone seeing me sneak home this morning, so I left in the dark, but I should have woken you.”

A nervous laugh escapes me. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. Because if you regret it—”

“No.”

He reaches for me, not hesitating this time, his mouth meeting mine in the softest kiss. The kind of kiss that makes my head spin, makes me forget the things I worried about all day.

“Nora, sweetheart, I wouldn’t have crossed that line unless I was sure.”

Relief washes cool through me. “Really?”

“Really. I’m in this. I’m all in.” This time I have no trouble reading his face, and he’s dead serious. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I really want that.”

“Good.” His mouth curves into a smile. He leans down to kiss me again, when the phone on his desk rings. “Goddammit,” he mutters, stepping away. He points at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I laugh, watching him take the call. He sends me a Sorry, this will take a moment look, as he sinks into his chair. I motion to ask if I should leave, but he shakes his head, gesturing for me to come closer. When I round his desk he reaches for my hand, brushing his lips over the back of it as he listens. From what I can gather, he’s speaking to a parent about something. I watch his shoulders tense, climbing higher with every word, and I can’t stand it.

Easing my hand from his grasp, I tug his suit jacket, until he cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear, easing one arm out, then switching to the other side, never missing a beat as he assures whoever he’s speaking to that he’ll discuss this with the teacher involved. There’s something about his competence, his control, his steady, unwavering nature that I’ve always found so attractive. It’s reassuring. Reliable. Grounding.

And so much more fun when he finally loses it.

I gesture for him to remove his vest too, and he hesitates, then slowly undoes each button, eyes locked on me as he slips that off as well. Hanging the items on the coat rack, I return to stand behind him, sliding my hands over his shoulders. He’s like stone, the muscles in his neck and shoulders so tight. He tenses even more at my touch, and I remove my hands in an instant, cursing myself.

What do I think I’m doing, massaging his shoulders while he speaks to a parent? He was very clear last night: Nothing can happen at work. God, one night with this man and I lose my head. The me of a few days ago would be appalled.

But his hand reaches over his shoulder, warm as it slides over mine and guides it back to him, and I slowly, carefully, start to massage. It would be better with oil, and his shirt off—for many reasons—but I’ll make do. I knead his shoulders through the cotton, down to his shoulder blades, across his upper back, meeting at his spine.

He glances at me over his shoulder, eyes swimming with gratitude and something like relief. His fingers absently loosen his tie as he explains the school’s procedure for discipline, and I knead my thumbs into the tight muscles of his neck. His skin is so smooth there, so warm, and it’s a struggle not to lower my mouth and drag it over that soft spot.

He relaxes under my hands as I work, his speech becoming slower, less clipped. By the time he ends the call, most of the tension is gone from his shoulders, but I keep working the aching muscles. Then I get really bold, and drag my nails over his scalp. He lets out a groan. Swiveling in his chair, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his lap.

“You’re amazing,” he says thickly, pressing his lips to my forehead. “If I didn’t have a thousand other things to do right now, I’d undress you on my desk.”

I stroke a hand across his rough jaw. He looks so sexy with his tie loose, eyes glassy and hair mussed from my fingers, that I’m sorely tempted. But we both know doing that in his office is not a good idea.