Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

“Are you happy?” I snap, glaring up at Sebastian. He’s pulled the hem of his own shirt out of his pants and I watch him swipe the edge of it over his face. All it does is give me a peek of his ripped abdomen. Jesus wept. This fucking guy. “Now we’re both in trouble.”

He drops his shirt, narrowed eyes staring back at me. “You started it when you tried to neuter me last night.”

“Which you started when you—” I swallow back the word. Kiss. When he fucking kissed me. When he completely bulldozed over all my hard work at not wanting. I bite out a hard, “You know what you did.”

He gives me a crooked, knowing grin. “I know you liked it.”

I gnash my teeth and start down the hall. The last thing we need is to get into it outside Dr. Ross’s room and get in even more trouble. He follows me. Of course he does. This kid is like a bad rash. A handsome, six-packed, chiseled-jawed rash. “Spoiler Alert, Wilcox: If a girl knees you in the crotch, she’s probably not that into your kiss.”

“Or,” he says, sidling up to me, “she’s so into it that she panics and freaks out. You’re obviously scared someone might find out you’re not such an ice princess after all.”

I jerk to a stop, looking behind me and seeing a maintenance room. I try the door and find it unlocked. Thinking of nothing but my inability to afford getting into further trouble, I grab a handful of Sebastian’s backpack and drag him roughly in there behind me. It’s dark and quiet, and I instantly regret it. Trapping myself in an enclosed space with a violent, abusive, entitled prick?

Not one of my best ideas.

He rests his hand on a shelf and grins down at me. “Wanted me alone, eh?”

“Yeah,” I say, discreetly pulling my knife from my bag. “I did.”

He sees the gleam of the metal but doesn’t seem to care. “If you think this whole scary girl vibe is a turn off, I’ve got real bad news.”

“And if you think your whole bad boy vibe is a turn on, then I’ve got news for you, too.” I give him a scathing look. “Not that it’s even remotely authentic. I’ve broken in pairs of shoes tougher than you, Wilcox.”

He leans close, smirking, to whisper, “You can break me in, Sugar Voss. Take as long as you want.”

I scowl back at him but know he can hear the desperation in my voice. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

His eyes dart to my mouth and linger there, even as he shrugs. “I don’t know, but I can’t.”

I rear back, heart hammering at the possibility he might lean in. “Won’t.”

He grins. “That, too.”

“Well, you’d best start trying.” I feel my nostrils flare angrily, but whatever he sees in the fire of my gaze just makes his smile even cockier. “The other girls around here might tolerate your bullshit, but I sure as shit won’t. What happened between us last night was nothing. Do you understand? This is not a mixed signal. I’m not into this!”

He tilts his head, those blue eyes inspecting me closely. “Yes, you are.”

I gawk at him. “Are you deaf? Deficient? Did someone drop you on your head as a small child? I’m holding a knife to your crotch!”

“I’m observant,” he says, gaze roving over my face, neck. “I can see your pulse in your throat. It’s going like a hummingbird. Your pupils are all dilated, and you keep looking at my mouth. Sure, you’ve got that knife to my balls, but your heart’s not quite in it.” He leans in but stops just before our lips can touch. My head is already mashed against the shelf behind me. I can’t get away. His hair is wet, his white shirt splotchy with damp spots. I can feel his warm exhalation when his lips part. “You’re so fucking hot for this, Sugar.”

He’s right.

Of course, he’s right. But he doesn’t understand, and he probably never would. It’s not about him—not really. It’s more about the knowledge that I can’t have it with anyone at all. It’s that shiny, feel-good thing, just out of reach. It’s that I stayed awake until four in the morning replaying that kiss over and over, remembering how it felt to really feel someone else. Their lips, their tongue, their breath. The way it felt to inhale someone. To want them. To be wanted by them.

Of-fucking-course I want it.

But, “Even if I was into dating someone right now,” I grind out, “it sure as hell wouldn’t be you.”

His eyebrow arches. “I d

on’t think what’s going on here is about dating. Which is good, because I don’t date anyway.”

I’m afraid to know what he does do with girls, because I don’t need it. The kiss will probably fuel my libido for the next six months. The way I’m reacting to whatever he’s putting off right now might not really be about him, specifically, but my body doesn’t actually give a damn.

I swallow back that desire—that fiery, tempting want—and tell him what he needs to hear. What I need to hear. “There’s nothing going on here, and there never will be, so whatever game you’re playing, you can count me out.”

I duck beneath his arm and push past him, bolting back into the hallway. I know that leaving Sebastian Wilcox and all his trouble behind is easier said than done, but one thing is clear. That look on his face as I left the maintenance room—eyebrows scrunched low, frown sharp—was disappointment. I doubt he has much experience with it. But me?