Very Bad Things (Briarcrest Academy #1)(11)

He didn’t speak and several seconds passed, and I tensed up more, fearing that like Mother, he excelled in using silence. But no one was better than Mother, who’d once refused to speak to me for an entire month when I’d come in second at a debate competition. During the first week of that horribly quiet time, I’d followed her around, begging her to talk to me. She’d ignore me and say to my dad, “Silence is golden.” As the weeks had progressed, I’d learned her silence was her speech, her way of saying I was worthless.

“I’m sorry about your car. It was mean and wrong,” I said, not able to stand the quiet. “Please don’t call my parents,” I added, hiding my shaking hands behind my back.

He tightened his mouth. “Fine, who can I call to come get you?”

“Don’t hold it against Portia from the bakery across the street, but she’s my aunt. I’m staying with her.” I dug my phone out of my wet jeans, scrolled down to her number, and handed it to him.

Our fingers brushed when he took my phone, and I jerked, shocked at the unexpected sizzle of heat sweeping over my body. He pocketed my phone and then opened the medicine cabinet, gazing into it for a long time without moving, like he was considering what to do next. I watched him warily, wondering what he had planned for me. Finally, he sighed and pulled out hydrogen peroxide and a handful of gauze.

“Sebastian has a change of clothes you can borrow, and you’ll need an ice pack for your face. It’s going to leave a bruise,” he told me as he bent down to touch my temple with his long fingers. He cleaned my face with cold water and then dabbed it with the hydrogen peroxide, his touch surprisingly gentle even though I could sense his anger just under the surface.

In the bright lights of the bathroom, I let my gaze run over him freely, taking him in, not missing how beautiful he was. He had an unyielding face, with a jaw line that looked like it could chisel granite, matching his well-built, defined body. Yet even with all the hotness in front of me, the one thing that made my heart fly was his icy pale-blue eyes. This close up I could see how the light, almost transparent color contrasted with his tan face, making his eyes glow like the precious opals I’d studied about in science. And right now they were focused entirely on me as he scrutinized my bruise.

“Is this your gym?” I asked, trying not to wince as he patted my temple.

“Yes,” he said, tossing the used gauze into the trash, his arm muscles rippling. He stood up and raked a hand through his wavy blond hair, holding it there as he studied me with those piercing eyes. I returned his look, my breath kicking up a notch at how sexy his naked chest was, how his dragon tattoo seemed to slither and slide over his chest as he moved. My eyes moved down to his taut abs and the way his shorts barely hung to his lean waist, hinting at what was underneath.

Of course, while I’m buzzing, I remembered my bad list and grew curious about having sex with him. Would he be gentle or demanding? Would he like me on top or would he get behind me? Would I enjoy it?

But it didn’t matter if I got off as long as he made me forget. Forgetting was the important part.

It had been months since I’d had sex with someone. Not since that wild weekend in New York with Drew. Even though our relationship had ended badly, I still remembered the sex and how good it had felt to be held by someone. Like I wasn’t alone, like someone cared about me.

I needed a night like that again, to lose myself in sex. I wanted this Viking.

I gave him a fake smile. “Leo’s a great name. Guess you know it means lion,” I said, curving my lips up into an invitation. “It also means bold one. Are you bold, Leo?” I said in a low tone, reaching out to stroke his arm.

He jerked away from me, like I’d scalded him, but it didn’t deter me. True, I was a little younger than him, but what guy would turn down a no-strings-attached night? Drew hadn’t.

I stood up and toed my boots off. “How old are you?” I asked.

“Too old for you,” he quickly retorted.

“I’m not a virgin, you know. I’ve been with other guys, some good at f*cking, some not.” I let my eyes run over him slowly. “You’re older which means more experienced. I bet you’d blow them right out of the water,” I said, putting it all out there and letting bad Nora take over completely.

“I don’t care how many douchebags you’ve f*cked,” he said with a hard face, his eyes gleaming with distaste.

I felt some of my false bravado slip away, but not enough to stop. He was what I needed tonight. I began unbuttoning my shirt, and his eyes followed my progress. “You tell me your age and I’ll tell you mine,” I said in the best teasing voice I could muster.

With nervous fingers, I undid the last button and shrugged out of my shirt, relieved I’d worn the black lace bra. “You like?”

He yanked a towel from the shelf near the door and tossed it in my face. “Cover up, Nora. I don’t do spoiled, rich girls.”

I caught the towel and held it against me, ignoring that remark. Those types of insults never affected me. Not when you hear them every day. “If you won’t tell me your age, I’ll just have to figure it out on my own. And I’m guessing you’re at least twenty-five, maybe twenty-six?” I said.

He shook his head and clenched his fists, not answering me.

I took a deep breath, dropped the towel to the floor and unclasped my bra, letting my size C breasts fall out. Even though I’d been a pudgy most of my life, I’d blossomed into a girl with generous curves. He seemed to like what he saw because he didn’t look away, and I grew wet under his intense perusal. I glanced down at my erect nipples and lightly touched one with my fingertip, surprised by the desire I felt. I brought my eyes back to his face, imagining his tongue on me.