Page 163 of Burning Embers

Montgomery’s eyes shadow, turning unreadable.

“Desiree, you need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving her?—”

“Desiree!” For a moment, I swear Montgomery’s eyes flash…red.

But then I blink, and the strange color fades.

There’s a beat, and then the door opens and shuts. I don’t even have to look to know that Christian and I are now alone.

“Isabella,” he whispers, and there’s a hint of a warning in his voice.

“You’re mine,” I breathe, grazing my fingers along his jawline. I don’t know where those words come from.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Am I drunk?

But I don’t feel drunk.

My arm begins to tingle beneath my sweater as I grab a hold of Christian’s dark hair and tug his lips down to mine. But I don’t kiss him. Instead, I just hold his head there, our lips a hair’s breadth away, his warm breath fanning across my face. Goose bumps ripple down my arms at the sheer rightness of this moment. Of him.

“Isabella,” he says again as I slowly stand, never taking my eyes off of his.

I take a step closer until my chest brushes against his, my nipples beaded. I can feel his cock through his trousers, hard and wanting.

Our breaths mix.

Each exhale has my breasts brushing his abs, supplying delicious friction to my aching nipples.

I’m on fire.

The flames are everywhere.

And only Christian Montgomery can ease the ache.

“What’s happening to me?” I whisper, wanting to taste him, touch him, feel him against me.

I shouldn’t want that. He’s my vice principal. It’s wrong, taboo, twisted.

Christian swallows heavily. “We can’t do this. Not until you know everything.”

“Know what?” My heart pounds against my breastbone as liquid heat traverses my veins.

I want to close my eyes and surrender to the warmth enveloping me. Surrender to him.

I remember our conversation from only a few days earlier, when he promised to answer any questions I may have.

Will he finally tell me the truth?

With surprising tenderness, Christian grabs my arm and pushes up my sweater sleeve. I’m so confused that I don’t move for a solid minute as I study the arresting man before me, with the blue-black hair, shadowed jaw, and penetrating eyes. It’s only when I follow the direction of his gaze do I realize he’s staring at something on my arm.

Something that most definitely wasn’t there this morning.

“What the fuck?” I breathe as I trace the strange brand on my bicep. It resembles a flame, and directly below it is a diminutive, zigzagging line. “What is this?” My voice trembles.

Christian pushes up his own sleeve to reveal his strong, muscular bicep. His skin is darker than mine but lighter than Ashton’s. The color contrasts beautifully with his dark hair and midnight-blue eyes.