Rowan
"Give me a year," Sebastian says, smirking at me while he wipes down the countertop beside the stove after feeding me. His kitchen is incredible. It's big enough to fit my whole class inside it. It's also open, with high ceilings and enough counterspace to make anyone jealous. A big island runs down the center of the room, with barstools on one side and a sink on the other. Pretty globe pendant lighting with interlocking rings of metals hang overhead.
After meeting him yesterday, I kind of figured the rumors about his family were true. His house confirmed them. It's a historical red Queen Anne in Forest Hill that probably cost more than I'll make in a lifetime. It's beautiful inside and out, with vaulted ceilings, a massive fireplace, and hand carved details.
I don't think he bought it because of the price tag though. He went all nerdy on me when he was giving me the tour, going on about the architect and the history of the place. Dr. Sebastian Thorne is hot all the time. But he is something else altogether when he's in history teacher mode. I wanted to climb him like a tree.
"1853," I say.
"Vice President William King died of tuberculosis."
"1909."
"The NAACP was founded, and the naval base at Pearl Harbor opened."
"1611."
"The first King James version of the Bible was printed." He tosses his towel down and prowls toward me, giving me a cocky smirk. "And Shakespeare's The Tempest was performed for the first time."
"You can do this for every year?"
"Most of them." He stops in front of me, placing his hands on the island on each side of my hips. "I spent a lot of time in the library when I was a teenager," he says, chuckling at me. "It's where I met Leslie Holland. It's also where I fell in love with history."
"Why?"
"Did I fall in love with history?"
"No. Why did you spend so much time in the library?"
"It kept me out of the house," he says, leaning in to kiss me. "My parents never had time for me or Killian when we were kids. Our nanny raised us. After our mom died, our father remarried pretty quickly. Our stepmom, Anna, was hands on. She wanted to be a real family. Our dad stopped working so much, tried to be around more. I resented it, I guess."
"I'm sorry," I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. It's always such a mess. He's so put together and composed, but his hair is unruly. "Do you guys get along better now?"
"We get along great with Anna. Our relationship with our father is a little more complicated. He wanted Killian and I to follow in his footsteps, which neither of us had any interest in doing. Money doesn't mean as much when it's the reason you grew up without parents who cared. He can't wrap his mind around why we feel that way."
"That's really sad," I whisper, my heart aching for him. "My dad died when I was a baby. A drunk driver killed him. I don't remember him, but my mom always made sure that he was part of my life. She talked about him all the time."
"My mom died in a car accident too." Sebastian's lips compress into a thin line. "I didn't know it then, but she was high on cocaine. She took a curve too fast and slid off into a lake. They weren't able to get her out of the car in time."
"That's terrible." I wrap my arms around him, hugging him.
He lets me hold him for a moment before he kisses my temple and then my lips. He tastes sweet, like the glass of wine he drank with dinner. He smells sweet too. I sway closer to him on the island, deepening the kiss. His tongue touches mine, teasing mine out to play with his.
His body grows taut, his hold on me tightening.
A hungry growl rumbles in his chest. The sound sweeps me right over the edge into heady desire. I swear, everything this man does is sexy to me. I think I've been a pool of desire since I ran into him yesterday. There hasn't been a second since then when my panties weren't soaked.
"Enough talking," he growls, biting my lip. He sweeps me up into his arms.
I squeak and fling my arms around him, afraid he's going to drop me. But if I'm heavy, he doesn't seem to notice. He holds me close to his chest, striding through the house toward the stairs. When I wiggle for him to put me down, he ignores me.
My boobs bounce as he carries me up the stairs, practically jogging the whole way. By the time we make it to the landing at the top, he's not even breathing heavy. I guess all that gym equipment in his basement really does get used. The treadmill at my house only gets used when I'm hanging clothes on it because my closet is too far away.
I still can't get over how amazing his room is. The back wall is glass, looking out on the balcony and the city beyond. The windows extend up to the vaulted ceiling. Two of the remaining walls in the bedroom are wood. The third is some sort of rock that looks real. His bed is large enough to sleep an entire family, with an ornate headboard and fluffy white blankets. A plush white rug covers the floor.
He carries me straight to the bed before sitting me down and stepping back. He tilts his head side to side, studying me intently. I'm not sure what he's looking at, but his lips curve into that signature panty-melting smile, and I have to squeeze my legs together.
"You look incredible in this room, Paradise," he murmurs, slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Like you belong in it."
I watch him, my heart speeding with each little strip of skin he unveils. He definitely uses that gym equipment. His broad shoulders and upper arms are massive. So are his pecs. The smattering of dark hair somehow makes him more masculine, sexier. So do the hard ridges of his abdomen and the little trail of hair that leads toward his waistband. His body is wide, thick, but cut.
"You look pretty good in this room too," I whisper, swallowing hard when he strips the shirt all the way off, leaving him naked from the waist up. His upper arms are covered in dark ink that seems to extend over his shoulders, but until he turns to toss his shirt over the back of the chair in the corner, I can't tell what it is.
When he turns, I gasp. The tattoo is a massive tree, with the branches twisted so that the skin beneath appears like an owl's face. Ravens fly from the branches on the left side, twisting over his shoulder and down his arm. Owls do on the other. The entire piece is ornate and breathtakingly beautiful.