Sallinger, Elene - Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

‘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.

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.