Read Online Living in Shadow (Living In…) by Jackie Ashenden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jackie Ashenden
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was only pleasure.
It’s been so long…
In the hallway there were more voices, the group of students passing by her office.
She had no idea what she’d do if they came in because the sexual tension in the room was so thick it was almost visible.
But they didn’t come in, moving past the doorway, talking.
“Did you think this week was easy?” Luc went on, that fierce thread of anger running through his voice. “Did you think I dismissed you like you were nothing?”
She was shaking and she couldn’t deny the fear now. It glowed inside her like a hot coal. “Of course I did,” she said hoarsely, fighting the emotion, trying to hold it together. “You looked through me as if I barely existed.”
“I told you I would. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Intensity burned in him, his anger filling her small office like the heat from a roaring fire. “Tell me, what did I do, Eleanor? What line did I cross?”
And she saw it then, behind the anger in his eyes. Pain. She had hurt him. Jesus.
She pressed her fingertips hard against her desktop, bracing herself on it. “What line?” she repeated. “Do I really need to remind you that you’re a student and—”
“I don’t mean that line. I mean, when I touched you. Did I hurt you? What?” His expression hardened. “Or is this some kind of test? You push me into the truth purely for the pleasure of telling me to fuck off and seeing if I’m as good as my word.”
“No of course not,” she said sharply, unable to stop herself. Because she couldn’t let him believe that. She didn’t manipulate people. It was too much like the games Piers had played with her. Such as telling her about hard limits and asking her what hers were, only to break every one of them.
“Then why?” He took a step forward, closer toward the desk. “Why did you tell me no?”
He was so tall and broad, filling the room with his presence, with his anger and with that strange kind of pain she didn’t understand. And some lost part of her wanted to go to him and kneel at his feet. Calm whatever it was that was hurting him.
“Why?” Her voice sounded strange. “Because I…I want you. And I can’t, Lucien. I just can’t.”
He looked at her, standing straight and poised behind her desk. Today she wore a tailored silk blouse in a soft blue, her light-gray skirt following her figure exactly, right down to the kick pleat near her calf. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Simple, elegant. Beautiful.
And he knew he should feel satisfied that finally she’d given him the truth. But he didn’t. He was too fucking angry.
She would never know how difficult this week had been. How hard it was to pretend that nothing had happened between them. That he hadn’t felt the soft, smooth skin of her jaw beneath his fingertips. That he hadn’t seen her become motionless as he’d gripped her chin, seen the flare of desire in her eyes, bright and unmistakable. He’d been afraid he’d gone too far and yet he’d been so fucking angry at her assumptions he hadn’t been able to help himself.
He’d always told himself he wouldn’t cross that line again and hurt someone, impose his will on them, yet the part of him that hadn’t left the army behind, that was used to being in charge, had taken over.
And so it hadn’t come as any great surprise she’d told him no. He’d fucked it up. Lost his head and forgotten what he should never forget—keep yourself detached.
That didn’t mean the anger went away, though. He’d done a lot of running that week and punching the bag he’d strung up in his apartment. And he’d thought he had it handled.
Until she’d called him in here to fucking apologize. And not only that.
To finally give him the truth he’d been wanting a whole week now.
More anger flared, and along with it, frustration. “You’re telling me this now?” he demanded. “After denying it?”
She was motionless, fingertips resting
It’s been so long…
In the hallway there were more voices, the group of students passing by her office.
She had no idea what she’d do if they came in because the sexual tension in the room was so thick it was almost visible.
But they didn’t come in, moving past the doorway, talking.
“Did you think this week was easy?” Luc went on, that fierce thread of anger running through his voice. “Did you think I dismissed you like you were nothing?”
She was shaking and she couldn’t deny the fear now. It glowed inside her like a hot coal. “Of course I did,” she said hoarsely, fighting the emotion, trying to hold it together. “You looked through me as if I barely existed.”
“I told you I would. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Intensity burned in him, his anger filling her small office like the heat from a roaring fire. “Tell me, what did I do, Eleanor? What line did I cross?”
And she saw it then, behind the anger in his eyes. Pain. She had hurt him. Jesus.
She pressed her fingertips hard against her desktop, bracing herself on it. “What line?” she repeated. “Do I really need to remind you that you’re a student and—”
“I don’t mean that line. I mean, when I touched you. Did I hurt you? What?” His expression hardened. “Or is this some kind of test? You push me into the truth purely for the pleasure of telling me to fuck off and seeing if I’m as good as my word.”
“No of course not,” she said sharply, unable to stop herself. Because she couldn’t let him believe that. She didn’t manipulate people. It was too much like the games Piers had played with her. Such as telling her about hard limits and asking her what hers were, only to break every one of them.
“Then why?” He took a step forward, closer toward the desk. “Why did you tell me no?”
He was so tall and broad, filling the room with his presence, with his anger and with that strange kind of pain she didn’t understand. And some lost part of her wanted to go to him and kneel at his feet. Calm whatever it was that was hurting him.
“Why?” Her voice sounded strange. “Because I…I want you. And I can’t, Lucien. I just can’t.”
He looked at her, standing straight and poised behind her desk. Today she wore a tailored silk blouse in a soft blue, her light-gray skirt following her figure exactly, right down to the kick pleat near her calf. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Simple, elegant. Beautiful.
And he knew he should feel satisfied that finally she’d given him the truth. But he didn’t. He was too fucking angry.
She would never know how difficult this week had been. How hard it was to pretend that nothing had happened between them. That he hadn’t felt the soft, smooth skin of her jaw beneath his fingertips. That he hadn’t seen her become motionless as he’d gripped her chin, seen the flare of desire in her eyes, bright and unmistakable. He’d been afraid he’d gone too far and yet he’d been so fucking angry at her assumptions he hadn’t been able to help himself.
He’d always told himself he wouldn’t cross that line again and hurt someone, impose his will on them, yet the part of him that hadn’t left the army behind, that was used to being in charge, had taken over.
And so it hadn’t come as any great surprise she’d told him no. He’d fucked it up. Lost his head and forgotten what he should never forget—keep yourself detached.
That didn’t mean the anger went away, though. He’d done a lot of running that week and punching the bag he’d strung up in his apartment. And he’d thought he had it handled.
Until she’d called him in here to fucking apologize. And not only that.
To finally give him the truth he’d been wanting a whole week now.
More anger flared, and along with it, frustration. “You’re telling me this now?” he demanded. “After denying it?”
She was motionless, fingertips resting
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