Read Online Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1) by J. L. White - Free Book Online

seeps into my body and slowly begins to rise with powerful measures. Wide-eyed, I watch her run her fingers over the keys as her music takes me to a higher place. It is a place filled with such marvel and longing that I can only let out a soft exhale.
    As if the music itself leads me to do it, my eyes find Shane Brook’s face once more.
    His eyes come to mine in the exact same moment.
    And in that moment, as we hold each other’s gaze and the music swirls around us, I realize just how deep in I am. This is not just an obsession or a school girl’s crush. I am hungry for this man in a way that makes me ache deep in my bones and in my loins.
    In the near darkness, I think I see the same longing on his face.
    Ashley’s music rises to a crescendo and my heart gallops along with it. She is pushing us higher and higher. My body reverberates with her song and my heart bursts as she concludes the piece with a pounding climax.
    In the momentary pause that follows the ending of her piece, it is only Shane Brooks and I. Alone together in the silence. Then the auditorium bursts into applause, the audience rising to their feet, and the spell is broken.
    I come up on shaking legs, hanging on to Jack’s arm for a moment for support. He puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles. Sam and Chloe clap enthusiastically, shouting out their appreciation with the rest of the audience.
    I feel myself smiling. I clap and cheer with the others. But on the inside, I’m stunned into silence.

Chapter 8
     
    I’ve spent the last two and a half days reliving the evening of the recital, much to the chagrin of my chemistry lab partners who started complaining about my level of distraction. Yesterday I accidentally put sulfur in a mixture instead of sulfite and damn near started a fire in the lab. We had to throw out the mixture and start all over again.
    Now that I’m finally sitting in class, listening to Professor Brooks lecture on the philosophy of religion and Michael Martin’s essay, “The Cosmological Argument,” I’m not feeling much better. He’s acting no differently than he usually does. Even when I contribute a comment to the discussion, he responds to me just as he does every other student in class. It’s not like I expect him to stare longingly into my eyes or anything, but there’s not the slightest hint of... anything .
    I would wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing Saturday night, except that I’m sure I didn’t.
    Even so, the longer I sit here, the more I’m reminded about what we really are: a student and a professor. Nothing more.
    I find that cold, hard reality by the light of day strangely settling. I can’t say that I don’t long for more. I do. But I can’t have it. Knowing that is better than being worked up into the frenzy that’s had me so befuddled for the past few days.
    Right?
    Just as I’m starting to settle for admiring his chest from a distance, he catches my ear when he mentions the working title of his dissertation.
    Did he just say ‘The Philosophical Foundations of Atheist Spirituality?’
    I raise my eyebrows and wonder what my Catholic mother would think of that. I don’t even know what I think about that.
    A minute later he straightens, claps his hands together, says “Alright!” and dismisses us for the day.
    I sigh and gather up my things, hitching my bag over my shoulder. Why, oh why didn’t I take History of Education instead?
    As I’m passing his desk, head down, he casually says, “Miss Nikas.”
    I blink at him and stop.
    There are still a few students packing up their things. “Did you enjoy the performance the other night?” he asks.
    He gives me an easy, professor-type smile. This guy is killing me.
    Fine. Two can play that game. “I did,” I say easily. “My friend Ashley was one of the pianists.”
    “Ashley Morrison?”
    I smile. “That’s right.”
    “She was my favorite.”
    No shit, I think, remembering what happened during Ashley’s piece. But I keep my cool.