Reflection (The Chrysalis Series) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

Connor slammed the door on his locker and grabbed up his backpack. He hoped to catch Bridget in her office. The hurt on her face had haunted him all day long. He owed her an apology and he didn’t want to wait until they met for dinner.

She had office hours every day after her last class and they’d be finishing up in about an hour. He figured he’d pick up a coffee from Mona’s for her and make it just in time for hours to end. After that, he’d just have to work harder at accepting her position on kink.

When he’d finally managed to put his own desires aside, he’d come to the conclusion that, despite his beliefs, it was Bridget’s decision to make.

When he’d asked himself the question of whether he wanted her in his life without kink or not in his life at all, the answer had been simple. He wanted her in his life. Hell, more than that, he never wanted to lose her. She was it for him. He knew it down deep in his gut.

He was going to tell her too. As soon as he saw her.

A glance at his watch had him picking up the pace. He was going to miss her if he didn’t get a move on.

Bridget glanced at the clock on her wall and did her best to find patience with her student. Her hours were officially over and Clay was determined to press his point. He was a solid student, but he was a whiner and he wasn’t pleased with his lab assignment grades.

She’d already explained to him twice that unless he wanted to repeat the experiment and do an entirely new work-up the grade would stand, but he kept trying to cajole her into giving him a higher mark on the existing lab.

‘Morris.’ The dean’s voice had them both jumping. ‘Professor Ross has made herself clear. Either repeat the lab or take the grade. Your choice.’

Clay turned almost purple with embarrassment at being caught out by the dean. Mumbling an apology, he agreed to keep the grade and hustled out of Bridget’s office.

Grudgingly, she murmured, ‘Thank you, Dean.’

Whittier didn’t bother responding as he walked into her office and dropped an envelope on her desk.

‘What’s this?’ Bridget took up the envelope and unpinned the flap, sliding out a single sheet of paper.

‘Your tenure review information.’ The door lock snicked into place. Bridget’s heart raced as realisation dawned on her. He’d just locked them in together.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was shrill as fear flooded her.

She stood up and rounded her desk, going for the lock, only to be stopped by Whittier catching her around the waist with an iron-hard arm. He pulled her against him so that her back was pressed fully against his body. She could feel his erection.

Not that he was hiding it. He pushed her against her desk and rubbed his dick against her ass.

‘I told you to think very hard about what you were going to do to get your tenure, didn’t I?’

Despite the fact that she was trembling from head to toe, she managed to grit out, ‘Let go of me, Dale. This is assault and if you don’t let me go, you’re going to regret it.’

‘What are you going to do to me? Huh? You’re nothing but a hypocritical little slut.’

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. It felt as if all the individual strands of hair were about to rip right out of her skull. Cold ropes of adrenaline raced through her veins even as fear paralysed her.

The room spun; the rushing in her ears drowned out his words. But nothing could erase the feel of his hands on her body. She heard buttons pop as he ripped open her blouse. The sheer cream silk of the bra she was wearing ripped as he jerked it down, spilling her breasts out into the cold air conditioning.

Her nipples hardened and he pinched one hard. Shards of pains shot through her body and she cried out. He laughed and twisted harder. White-hot pain flooded her veins and chased the fog from her brain. In some detached part of her mind, she noted that she only felt pain, no pleasure. She had no time to digest its meaning, however. She wasn’t going to stand here and put up no resistance.

‘You think you’re going to deny me yet fuck the janitor.’ He let go of her hair to grip her bruisingly around the waist. She felt him fumbling with his zipper between their bodies. ‘If you want that tenure you need so damn badly, you’re going to get with the programme, Ross. You’re going to fuck me and when I’m done fucking you, you’re going to get on your knees and suck my dick. And,’ he grunted as he yanked on his zipper, ‘when I’m done coming in your mouth you’re going to swallow and thank me for doing it.’

Rage coursed through her. He thought he was going to force himself on her and get away with it. He actually thought he was going to use her job to control her.

No job was worth being a victim. No job was worth her self-respect.

‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ she screamed even as she grabbed the fountain pen she’d been using to grade papers and plunged it with all her might into Whittier’s leg.

He hollered, high and long, and fell back. His legs buckled under him and he hit the floor.

Then all hell broke loose.

Connor felt the door cave in under the force of his shoulder. Thank God the doors were old and the locks even older. The coffee was forgotten and currently lay in a puddle on the floor where he’d dropped it when he’d heard the commotion going on in Bridget’s office. The dean was in there, attempting to rape his woman.

There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen.

As the door exploded off its hinges, Connor assessed the situation and saw Bridget, her breasts naked and exposed, and the dean on the floor with what looked like a pen sticking out of his leg.

A small part of his brain was proud of Bridget for fighting back. The other part of him could only think about killing the son of a bitch who thought he’d do something so fucking despicable.

He lunged at Whittier and, straddling his chest, punched him solidly in the jaw. He enjoyed the crunch of skin and teeth under his fist even as he felt the skin on his knuckles give way.

‘Connor!’ Bridget was calling his name. He barely registered it through the fog of anger suffusing his brain.

Eventually, he came to himself and saw what he was doing. Dean Whittier was struggling under him as he choked him. The man’s face was red and his eyes bulging.

Connor wanted very much to kill the bastard but he wasn’t worth a prison sentence. The one who deserved to be going to prison was Whittier.

He dropped him unceremoniously and didn’t even pretend not to enjoy the sound of his head hitting the tile floor. Whittier moaned but didn’t move.

Lurching to his feet, Connor whirled and grabbed Bridget, who’d managed to pull herself together. She was crying and clutching the torn remnants of her blouse together.

‘Baby, are you OK?’

She nodded and collapsed into his arms.

‘Take me home, Connor.’

‘We need to call the police.’

‘No!’ her voice was sharp. Stepping away from him, she walked over to where Whittier still lay whimpering on the ground. With the pointed toe of her stiletto, she jabbed him in the ribs and he curled into the foetal position. ‘No, cops, because the dean here is going to give me my tenure, aren’t you? If you don’t, I have a witness to what you did and I’ll report you to the police so fast your head will spin.’ She kneeled down and smacked Whittier hard on the cheek. ‘You hear me?’

He groaned and nodded.

‘Good.’ She started to rise, but stopped, ‘One more thing, Dean.’ She reached out and gripped a handful of his hair, forcing him to face her. ‘If you ever so much as brush against me, I’ll do a hell of a lot worse. Got it?’ He nodded.

Without blinking an eye, she snatched her pen out of his leg. He screamed and even Connor flinched. Bright blood oozed out of the wound, turning his pants deep scarlet.

Connor stepped over Whittier’s body as if he were so much trash and wrapped his jacket around Bridget. ‘Let’s go.’

He didn’t understand everything that was going on here, but that was going to change. 

Chapter Twenty-seven

She was sleeping peacefully, but there was no peace for Connor. His brain still reeled from everything she’d told him. Skyler was in the kitchen; he could hear her in there, making tea or something from the sounds.

The knowledge of what that sleazeball Whittier was doing to these two women made him wish he’d killed him when he had the chance. The bastard didn’t deserve to draw breath.

He opened the bedroom door and paused to look at Bridget. She looked small and pale against the navy blue sheets. Her red hair spilled across the pillow like coppery ropes and the strain of the night’s events was erased in sleep.

He loved her. He wanted her. But she didn’t trust him.

More than anything, that was what he’d realised tonight.

He’d seen the knowledge in her face when he’d asked her how long it had all been going on. She’d copped to the fact that it had started coming to a head weeks ago, even though Whittier had been a threat long before they’d started seeing each other.

She’d also told him her plan for exposing the dean. Her tenure might be secure after tonight, but Skyler was still at risk.

He gnashed his teeth at the danger she was putting herself in to do it. People like Whittier didn’t take defeat lightly and he could very well retaliate. She hadn’t been willing to hear it, though. She was a mama bear where her student was concerned and he couldn’t fault her. He’d probably do the same thing.

The fact remained that he’d been right. She’d been hiding this from him.

Trust.

One little word that had more meaning than anything else.

They didn’t have it, and without it, they didn’t have anything.

She’d never lied to him, he had to concede, but she hadn’t been honest either. That she’d kept this from him showed that she wasn’t willing to invest in him the same way he’d invested in her. He’d told her everything: his deepest shame, his greatest hopes.

He had to give her credit for telling him about the rape. That couldn’t have been easy, but rather than bringing them together it had become the excuse to keep a distance between them in bed. She wasn’t willing to meet him halfway. She wanted everything from him and wasn’t willing to give him anything.

If it were possible for a heart to shatter, his now lay in pieces at his feet.

He’d tucked her into bed and lain with her until she’d fallen asleep. Tonight had been traumatic for her and despite the cost to himself, he was proud of her for standing up for herself.

That their relationship was over could wait for the morning.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, Connor sat on the porch for a long time, watching the stars and wishing things were different.

Bridget hurt. Everywhere. Her back was on fire and felt as if every muscle were in a knot. Her breasts were sore, especially where Whittier had grabbed her nipple so viciously. Even the soft cotton of her sheet abraded the skin. But, surprisingly, she felt rested.

She’d fought back!

She grinned. By the time Connor had burst through the door, she’d already managed to fight him off.

The thought of Connor had her rolling to face him, except his side of her bed was empty. He’d obviously slept there, as the pillow was indented, but he wasn’t in bed.

Sitting up, she started to call out, only to jump when his voice came behind her. ‘I’m over here.’

Turning, she saw him sitting in the chair across from her bed. He looked like hell. His eyes were lined with strain and he didn’t look like he’d slept at all.

Her voice faltered. ‘Connor? Are you OK?’

For a very long time, Connor just stared at her. Icy cold tendrils of fear began worming their way up her spine. She didn’t know what was going on here, but she didn’t like it at all.

Just as she was about to say something, Connor rose from the chair and knelt in front of her. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hard and hot. He plundered her mouth, licking into it and sucking gently on her tongue and lips. She surrendered to his kiss, letting him mark her.

Abruptly, he lurched away from her and threw himself back into the chair.

‘Bridget, I can’t do this.’

The ice that had receded as he’d kissed her surged through her body, leaving her light-headed.

‘Can’t do what?’ She didn’t understand what was happening here. She gripped her sheets in her fists, trying to find something to ground herself.

‘I can’t be with you when you don’t trust me enough to truly let me in.’

‘I trust you, Connor.’ Her voice was shrill, but she was beginning to panic.

‘No, baby. You don’t.’ He stood and walked over to her window. His voice was quiet, but each word rang out as if he were shouting. ‘You’ve done nothing but keep me at a distance. You aren’t even trying to work through your issue with sex and you hid what was going on with Whittier from me.’

‘I have a right to my privacy!’ She hollered the words without thinking.

He turned slowly to face her and the look in his face sent her heart plummeting.

‘Yes, you do. You even have a right not to want to do anything in bed you don’t want to do.’

He leaned against the window sill and crossed his arms over his chest. He was gorgeous and sexy and so angry he almost vibrated from it.

‘That’s why I came to your office. To apologise for pushing you and to tell you that I love you.’

The room tilted wildly as his words registered. He loved her! Joy seared through her at the idea that she’d gotten this all wrong. He loved her. She opened her mouth to tell him how much she loved him too, only to go slack-jawed as the rest of his words finally sank in.

‘But I realised something last night. You haven’t even tried to meet me in the middle. You want me to come to you, to invest in you, but you haven’t once reciprocated. You didn’t tell me about Whittier. Not because you were worried about what I’d do – even though that’s what you want to believe. You didn’t tell me so you could retain that control. The same way you won’t even consider what I’m asking for in bed. It’s just so you can feel in control.’

‘Can you blame me?’ she conceded, but it felt like the air in her lungs had turned to cement.

He snorted and shook his head, ‘No, Bridget. I can’t blame you. God only knows how it must be to have been raped and to deal with what you’ve dealt with as a result. But I also know that I want more than what you’re offering me.’

He stepped over to the bed and took her hand, bringing up to his lips and kissing it gently.

‘I want it all, baby. I want my woman to trust me enough to take the same risk on me that I’m taking on her. I want us to explore everything that sex can offer us together and, more than anything, I want to know that my woman trusts me not just to protect her, but to know when she needs to protect herself.’

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Bridget clutched at his shirt, but he stepped away and walked to the door.

‘Connor!’ She lurched across the bed, only to get tangled in the sheets and fall.

‘I do love you, Bridget. But I want more. Take care of yourself.’

‘Connor, stop!’ she hollered out, but the only response she got was the sound of the door closing behind him.