Page 11 of Muse (The Forbidden Hearts #1)

THEO

S hadows mostly cloak her features, but I stare anyway. Her pouty lips occasionally twist, but otherwise, she’s been dead to the world for over two hours.

When I found her on the side of the road, drunk out of her mind…

Fuck.

Torn doesn’t even begin to explain the emotional torment I went through in that moment.

I had to stop. I’d stop for anyone… or at least that’s what I tell myself. But would I have, truly?

She looked so vulnerable out there, her dress barely covering her legs. Her body curled into itself, sitting on the curb in the dark. I mean, what kind of man would I have been to leave her there, possibly to be stumbled upon by someone with bad intentions?

The thought makes my stomach churn. Some drunk asshole could’ve seen her, half-conscious, legs sprawled, and decided she was his for the taking. Some sick fuck could’ve pulled her into his car, and she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

The image is too much. I push it away, but it lingers. Tightens around my throat like a noose.

Yes, I did the right thing. Any decent man would have stopped. Any decent man would have made sure she was safe. That’s all this is. That’s all this ever was.

But if that were true, why am I still sitting here? Why am I watching her sleep, memorizing the way her lashes flutter against her cheek, the way her lips part slightly as she breathes? Why can’t I fucking leave?

And then, she was in my car, passed out.

Practically dead to the world. I don’t know where she lives, let alone who to contact to pick her up.

And really, I’d be willing to bet her parents wouldn’t take kindly to her teacher dropping her off in her state at one o’clock in the morning. That wouldn’t look great.

I snort. Because this looks so much fucking better.

I couldn’t bring myself to go up to bed. Too worried that something would go wrong. Or that she’d wake up, disoriented and scared, and freak the fuck out.

So here I am. A fucking creep, watching her sleep. Admiring her beauty when I shouldn’t even acknowledge its existence.

My life has taken quite the turn.

The chair I occupy is firm against my back and growing painful.

I stretch, trying to work out the kinks.

That’s what I get for not moving for almost two hours.

It’s so quiet, I can hear each breath she takes, and it gives me solace knowing she’s okay.

I can probably rule out alcohol poisoning at this point.

But I still don’t move. I’ll be her protector in the night since I can’t be anything to her during the day.

She begins to stir, a small moan escaping from her throat.

Fuck.

My whole body tightens in response. A sound that should mean nothing, that should be just another unconscious noise in the night, instead sends heat curling through my veins.

It’s involuntary. A reaction I can’t control. But that doesn’t make it okay.

I watch as her eyes blink open, those beautiful brown eyes still a bit unfocused.

“What…” she murmurs, before turning to look at me and shooting upright. “Whoa, where am I?”

I grab the back of my neck, tensing. Here we go.

“Sophie, you were drunk. I found you on the side of the road… alone.”

I see the wheels turning in her eyes, her mind struggling to catch up with her current circumstances. I just watch, waiting.

Will she freak out?

Fuck, I didn’t want to scare her. This was a mistake. I’m an idiot.

“Why didn’t you take me home?” she slurs, the alcohol not having worn off completely yet.

I sigh. “I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” she questions, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter in her seat. The blanket I’d draped over her pools around her waist.

My gaze drops, unable to face her. Seeing her like this, half-naked and in my house, on my couch… it does things to me that it shouldn’t. That it can’t .

I push those feelings down and remind myself, once again, that I’m her teacher.

“Sophie… I have no idea where you live. I had no idea who to call. I couldn’t very well leave you there by yourself. You never know who would’ve found you, and what their intentions could have been.”

Her lips part slightly at that, like the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Like she’s just now realizing how different this could have gone .

“And you… what are your ‘intentions’ here, Mr. Hayes?”

I scoff, standing from my seat. I can’t take any more of this conversation.

“I’ll get you some water. You’ll need it.”

I walk past her, nearing the exit to the room. “Thank you,” slips out from her lips, so quietly I almost miss it.

I can’t help but smile.

“You’re welcome.”

I take a few moments in the kitchen to knock some sense into myself.

To talk myself off the ledge and come back to reality.

I’m walking a fine line here. As it stands, I’ll likely be fired anyway if this gets out.

But I can at least remain professional, as much as that’s even feasible in this situation.

Filling a glass of water, I return to find her leaning back against the couch, eyes closed.

I clear my throat. “Here you go. I brought you some ibuprofen too, if you’d like.”

She smiles, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

I swear, if I believed in fate, I’d think it was fucking with me. Who did I piss off in a past life for this attraction to feel so kismet? What a sick joke.

She takes the glass, and our fingertips brush.

I freeze.

Just for a second.

Not wanting to pull my hand away.

Her touch is electric, igniting something I haven’t felt in far too long. It feels like the start of my heart beating again, after being cold and dead for quite some time.

She brings the cup to her mouth, taking the medicine and sipping the water. Her eyes stay on mine the whole time, never once looking away. Her gaze is questioning, like she’s trying to figure something out.

Figure me out .

I’m a puzzle too complicated for even the best jigsaw players to solve.

She’d be better off forgetting about me entirely.

So would I.

I break the moment of intense eye contact and let my gaze drift down her body.

Taking in her bare, creamy shoulders. The curves of her cleavage, dangerously close to spilling from her dress.

The curve of her waist where it meets her hip, just before the red, fuzzy blanket obstructs my view of everything below.

Then I’m moving. Backing up, putting space between us.

I need to get away.

I force my gaze to the floor, hoping she didn’t see my lazy perusal of her body. She sets the cup down on the coffee table and yawns, eyes drowsy once more.

“You should get some sleep,” I choke out, the words like acid in my throat.

She hesitates, long enough that I almost look at her again.

But that’s too dangerous.

Then, very softly, she says, “What if I don’t want to?”

I exhale sharply. “Don’t.”

My tone is laced with warning.

It comes out sharper than I intended. Because if she does, if she continues, this sleep-deprived version of me could be convinced to stay here. To talk to her all night. To let these boundaries between us continue to crumble.

And I can’t allow that.

Her exhaustion wins out, a small miracle, and she’s asleep once more. I cover her back up with the blanket, telling myself it’s only to make sure she doesn’t get cold. That’s innocent enough.

And then I decide it’s time to get some sleep myself.

I retreat from the room, headed toward the stairs, but not before saying one last thing .

“Goodnight, Troublemaker.”

The words slip out before I can stop them and I shut off the light before I can see if she smiles.