Kiss Me Like This (The Morrisons 1)

And everything he'd just said about the explosive sparks set off between them when they kissed? Well, the truth was that she was already feeling those sparks again.

Simply by being near him and looking into his eyes.

Last night, she'd been so intent on trying to experience new things that when he'd kissed her and it had been incredible, she'd temporarily forgotten everything but him. And that's what had gotten her into trouble. She couldn't let herself forget again just how hard she'd fought to leave her life as a model behind to come to Stanford and figure out who and what she actually wanted to be. Not just a hanger for designer clothes, not just a blank slate for makeup artists to paint on, but a teacher or a researcher or a writer. Or maybe something else entirely that she would discover during the next four years. The point was that she needed to give herself the chance to find out.

So even if he was one of the most beautiful boys on campus, and he made her heart flutter like crazy--along with other parts of her body that had only come to life with his kiss--Serena would never forgive herself if she let a guy derail her focus. One bad experience at a frat party didn't change the fact that her new life was still full of so many opportunities. She just needed to be smarter about the ones she went for from now on.

Still, even knowing all of that, it wasn't easy to take a step back from him and the delicious warmth of his hand on her skin. "Look--" she began, before she realized she still didn't know his name.

"I'm Sean. Sean Morrison. And I know we got off to a rough start, but if you'll give me another chance, if you let me start over, I promise I won't blow it this time."

"Sean," she made herself begin again even though she was so incredibly tempted by what he'd just said, "I can tell that you do feel bad about what happened, and I appreciate that. A lot, actually. But--"

"Hey, aren't you that famous model?" Another student had been riding past on his bike when he'd slammed on the brakes and skidded around to closely scan her hair and face. "You are her! Serena Britten live and in the flesh."

She belatedly realized she was holding her baseball cap rather than wearing it. She hadn't meant to take it off, not when her long, wavy hair tended to be a dead giveaway. But she'd been so flustered by how earnest Sean's apology had been--and how incredibly alive she felt around him despite everything--that she'd forgotten to stay in disguise.

"Can I get a picture with you?"

Knowing from previous experience that the easiest thing to do was just say yes and smile for the picture--even if the way the guy had said flesh gave her the creeps--she nodded. "Sure. No problem."

"Hey, man, can you take it?" The guy shoved his phone into Sean's hand without waiting for him to respond. "And Serena," the stranger said as he turned back to her and stared straight at her chest, "why don't you take off that big sweatshirt for the pic? You know, since I'm not sure my friends back home will believe it's really you unless they can see your smoking hot body."

Serena knew better than to be shocked. She'd heard plenty of things like that before--it was just the way things went when you modeled bikinis and lingerie for a living. Nonetheless, for a few moments she could only stand there speechless, staring at the jerk who had just told her to put her breasts on display for his friends.

"Here's your phone back, asshole," Sean growled, snapping her out of her stunned state as he took aim with the phone.

It bounced off the guy's forehead and he barely caught it before it crashed onto the ground. "Dude! What the hell was that for?"

"Apologize to Serena."

"For what?"

Sean growled the words, "For talking to her like that."

"What the hell are you, her bodyguard?"

She hadn't realized quite how tall or how muscular Sean was until he took a very menacing step toward the stranger. "No. But I'm happy to be one if she needs it. And she's still waiting for you to apologize."

The guy shoved his phone into his pocket. "I don't need the picture that bad." But it was clear that he was more than a little scared of Sean coming after him as he added, "Sorry," before quickly riding away.

"Jesus," Sean said as he scowled at the stranger's retreating back, "no wonder you don't want anything to do with any of us. We're all a bunch of assholes."

No question, she'd dealt with her fair share of assholes over the years. Only, Sean Morrison no longer seemed like one of them. Because even though he had screwed up last night, she could see how genuinely, truly sorry he was about it. Something told her he'd never, ever do anything like that again. And, she thought with a little inward sigh of longing, if she said good-bye to him for what would surely be the very last time, she was really going to miss the way his kisses had made her feel. As though her heart were whirling and twirling around inside her chest at the sinfully sweet thrill of being in his arms.

And yet...

She still couldn't lose sight of why she was really at Stanford, of all the dreams she hoped to follow. Plus, from the quick Internet search she'd done this morning, it didn't look like anyone had posted a picture of her making out with Sean. Hopefully her luck would continue to hold on that front, because she hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep to be able to deal with a call from her mother--or worse, if she'd really meant what she'd said about never forgiving Serena. Because after all the lessons Genevieve had taught her since she was a little girl about how men couldn't be trusted, Serena shuddered to think how she would react to a picture of her daughter with her tongue down some guy's throat in the middle of a drunken frat party.

No question about it, even the possibility that a picture might leak from last night was a really good reminder not to take that kind of stupid risk again. Which meant she couldn't keep standing here wishing Sean would kiss her. She needed to say good-bye, instead.

"Thank you for coming to say you were sorry. But even if there is some kind of connection between us--" And there was really no p

oint in pretending there wasn't when she knew they both could feel the sparks shooting off between them when they weren't even touching. "--I really need to make sure I stay focused on my classes." Serena was almost positive she was doing the right thing by walking away from him...only why did it have to be so hard? "So if you'll excuse me, I've got a paper to write."

With that, she made herself head into the library to get started on her paper for her Poetry and Poetics class. But all the while, she had to work really hard at pushing the thought of Sean Morrison--and his kisses--away.

CHAPTER FOUR

The following Friday, Serena tried not to flinch as her History and Theory of the Novel professor came too close and leaned over her to point out something in her book.

"Do you see the lyrical way the author uses metaphor to express emotion?" Professor Fairworth read aloud a passage from the classic text, but she could have sworn he was looking down her shirt rather than at the book on the table in front of her.

As several students chimed in, Serena worked to concentrate on the book they were studying. She'd had to fill out a special application for this class, where only fifteen students were lucky enough to study with the Newbery Medal-winning professor. But as the weeks went by, she sometimes found herself wishing for the anonymity of being one of four hundred students in a huge lecture hall, instead. A class where a professor couldn't "accidentally" brush up against her, or stare at her boobs.

Vowing to wear her big, shapeless sweatshirt in class from now on, regardless of the heat in the room, she shifted slightly away from her professor and held her breath as she waited for him to dismiss them for the weekend.

Finally, he stepped away from her. "Good work, everyone."

Serena immediately put on her sweatshirt and was quickly shoving her books and laptop into her bag when he added, "I'd appreciate it if I could have a few more minutes of your time, Serena."

The sound of the door closing behind the rest of the students in her class felt like the locking of a prison door. Telling herself she was being overly melodramatic, she forced herself to relax her tense muscles. "What would you like to speak with me about, Professor Fairworth?"