Page 107 of The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy 2)
His amber eyes bore into mine, and I find that I can barely breathe.
What is happening right now? I wonder as the floor clears, the rest of the guests stepping out of our way, watching from the sidelines as we spin and twirl. His hand feels hot on my waist, his grip firm but gentle where our fingers tangle together.
My lips are gently parted, my hair fluttering in the breeze off the ocean.
The room is nothing but a glittering blur of dresses and jewels, a world away from anything I’ve ever lived or experienced in my life.
“You really are a natural-born leader,” I whisper, finding my body following the instructions of his without questioning it. The music rises to a crescendo, like frothing waves against a rocky shore, and the intensity between us heats up a notch.
“You like following my orders, Charlotte Carson?” he asks, giving me one last spin as the song ends, and the crowd around us begins to clap. I have no idea how to respond to that question, so I don’t bother. Instead, when Church leads me outside to the garden, I follow.
A new waltz starts up, and the other couples rejoin the dance floor.
Me, I end up being pushed against the side of the house and kissed with a passion I didn’t expect.
Church is so prim and proper all the time, sometimes to the point of being scary. But this? This is the kiss of a man who’s drowning and desperate to breathe again.
My fingers tangle in his hair; his tangle in my dress.
Our mouths dance a waltz of their own until the silver circlet the stylist so carefully placed in my bouncing curls falls out and clatters on the stone beneath our feet, reminding us both where we are and what we’re doing.
“Charlotte,” Church whispers, putting his forehead to mine, his hands curled around my waist.
“Church …” I start, but then we both pause at the sound of a door opening nearby. We exchange a look as he grabs my hand, and we make our way around the side of the house to find Mark and Selena laughing and feeling each other up.
They fall against the side of a fancy sportscar, kissing furiously, and within seconds, Selena’s skirt is pushed up and Mark is driving into her with a grunt.
Um. The fuck?
“Fascinating,” Church says, pulling his phone out to take a short video before tucking it away again. Seeing Mark and Selena together is weird, especially since they’re both on my list of suspects. But again, it could be coincidence.
We make our way back inside to find Church’s parents dancing to a slow, sweet song as they gaze into one another’s eyes. We watch them for a while, and when they make their way off the dance floor, they’re both grinning at us.
“You two are so cute,” his mother says, cupping my face in her hand and making me want to cry for some weird reason. “You’ll take good care of my son, won’t you, Charlotte?”
“I’ll do my best,” I whisper back, and she nods, stroking my cheek.
“That’s all we can ask of anyone, isn’t it?” she says, and then turns back to her son. “Okay, I’ll pull some strings and get your fiancée back into Adamson. I love you more than life, son.”
“More than life,” his father agrees, giving him a kiss on the cheek as Church grimaces and then wipes it away like it’s disgusting.
Deep down, I know he likes it.
“Shall we keep dancing?” Church asks, glancing my way. “After all, we’re engaged now.”
A smile teases my lips that I can’t fight.
“I’d love to dance, future husband,” I joke, and we take the floor for the rest of the night.
By the time Church and I head out to the patio, so I can sit in his lap and watch the sunrise, my feet hurt, and my heart is full.
Uh-oh.
Told you I had a crush on every boy.“Of all the shenanigans you’ve pulled in the past,” Dad scoffs, unloading my bags onto the lawn in front of the headmaster’s house. I’ve been dealing with literal weeks of fighting with him. Whatever the Montagues did, it worked. But I definitely paid a price much higher than just a fake engagement to a cute boy. Archibald Carson knows how to work up my own personal hell, and trap me in it. “This has got to be the most outrageous.”
“I’m …” I start, but I’m not sorry, not really. “You wouldn’t let me come back here. What else was I supposed to do?” This is maybe the hundredth or even thousandth time we’ve had this exact same argument; I’m so over it.
“Fake an engagement to the Student Council president? I mean really, Chuck.” He pays the driver, and then turns to look at me with those blue eyes of his, the ones that are almost a perfect match to my own. “Does that sound like a reasonable course of action to you?”
