Professor's Kiss: A Second Chance, Bully Romance. (Irish Kiss Book 2) Read online

  I had to keep Ailis away from me.

  By any means necessary.

  Using the only way I knew how.

  30

  ____________

  Ailis

  Then – Limerick, Ireland

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes. But I would not cry.

  I would not.

  I spun away from my locker, the glaring red paint of the single stark word still wet.

  Dyke.

  I’d first heard the rumours this morning. By the end of school, the whispers and pointed looks whirled around me like the wind through wheat fields.

  There was only one person—one fucking person—who hated me enough to do this to me. To spread this hateful rumour that I was caught in the back of a car last night with my face in between a girl’s legs.

  I stormed through the hallway, ignoring the assholes who all jumped out of my way, tuning out the heckling from behind me. The fucking cowards didn’t even have the guts to tease me to my face. At least Danny did.

  I slammed through the doors of the guys’ locker room where I knew Danny would be with the rest of the school boxing team. I’d heard that he’d also joined a proper fighting gym outside the school. I’d even snuck into the back of some local matches he’d fought in.

  As well as being an incredible musician, this brutal-looking man could fight. Why that made my insides all hot and my clit throb, I don’t know. The sport was barbaric and violent and uncouth. And so damn sexy.

  Right now, I was ready to give him the fight of his life.

  I scanned the locker room, a few startled males in various stages of undress staring at me, some trying to cover up. Others leering at me.

  “Hey,” someone called, “you can’t be in here.”

  I didn’t give a shit.

  My gaze fell upon a familiar broad-shouldered figure, the very man—no, boy…no, devil—I was after. Danny O’Donaghue was standing by a set of lockers, wrapped only in a towel. He looked to be in the middle of a story by the way his arms were positioned mid-air, a group of lads clustered around him. The eejits of this school would probably crowd around him if he farted just so they could smell it.

  His hair was damp and pitch-black, so he must have just gotten out of the shower. His broad shoulders on display, bare chest leading down to the most incredible set of abs I’d ever seen in real life. He looked photoshopped, the asshole. Further proof that he’d made a deal with the devil.

  Danny’s eyes met mine. A flash of surprise disappearing quickly under what looked like amusement. He was all I could see.

  He smirked. “Don’t worry about her, boys. She’s not here for any of us.”

  Everybody chuckled.

  He said to me, “You’re in the wrong changing room if you’re looking for a ride.” I hated that his use of the slang word for “fuck” made something tighten in me.

  My vision bled, my hands shook by my sides. I was going to kill him. Actual legit murder. I’d plead insanity. He made me insane.

  “Everybody out,” I yelled in the sternest voice I’d ever heard come out of my mouth.

  Nobody moved.

  I tore my eyes off of Danny and glared at the shitheads in the locker room.

  “Get the fuck out. Now,” I yelled. I snapped my focus back to Danny. His eyes were now dark and stormy, the tension ratcheting up and crackling between us like a live wire. “Except you.”

  He was in so much trouble.

  Somehow, I felt like I might be in trouble, too.

  “Do what she says,” Danny called in his authoritative voice, garnering no argument, a hard tone that made a shiver run down my spine. “Now!”

  Everybody sprang into action. Clothes were yanked on, towels discarded, bags grabbed. Within moments the door swung shut behind me and Danny and I were alone.

  I hated how he could do that. Just make a demand and the world fell to its knees for him.

  It also turned me right the hell on.

  Stupid stupid.

  We both moved at the same time, striding forward until we met in the middle, right next to a set of lockers. He towered over me and the heat rolling off his body was dangerous, a drop of sweat already collecting at the base of my spine. But I would not back down. I lifted my chin and glared back at him as good as he gave.

  “So. You have me here alone,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “What do you want?”

  “You spread that rumour about me, didn’t you?” I hissed.

  “What rumour?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  He snorted. “As if I’d care enough about you to do something like that.”

  “Cormac dumped me.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  Danny leaned in, a drop of water coming off his hair and flicking onto my cheek, the coldness so stark against the heat under my skin I was surprised it didn’t sizzle.

  “That asshole was just trying to win a bet. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  I blinked, then took a step back because…fuck, air. I needed air.

  “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing any of it?” My voice was hard.

  I wasn’t begging for the answer. I was demanding it. I was sick to death of his bullying, his murderous stares, the way he taunted me, teased me. He didn’t do it to anyone else.

  “What am I doing?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why are you such an asshole to me—only me?”

  “I’m an asshole to everyone. You’re not special.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. He and I both knew that was a lie. And he knew that I knew that he knew.

  “Because…” he finally said.

  “Because?” I wasn’t letting go of this. I was sick of his shit. I wanted to know once and for all what his problem with me was.

  He shrugged, then made as if to turn back to his locker.

  I grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. I stepped up to him, so close I could smell the sweet mint on his breath, feel it brush against my forehead. He probably—definitely—could have pulled his arm out of my grasp and pushed me aside. Lord knew he had the strength for it. But he didn’t. He just stood there, glaring at me, his intense blue eyes boring into mine, like two pools I was drowning in.

  I almost forgot what I was confronting him about.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” I demanded. “We used to be…friends. Best friends.”

  More than friends.

  I swallowed as the tender memories rose up in my mind, pricking the backs of my eyelids. “Why pick on me?”

  I thought I saw a flash of pain in his eyes before it was smothered by a smirk. “I like to watch you squirm. You go all red in the face like a tomato when you get mad.”

  That’s why he called me Dearg. Because of the way I blushed with my body. The way my pale skin was like a mood ring, broadcasting my anger, my embarrassment, my arousal.

  “Why start that rumour?”

  “Hypothetically,” he continued, “even if I was the one who started that rumour, you should be thanking me.”

  “Thanking you?” My eyes almost bulged out of my head. I shoved at his chest. The asshole barely moved. I barely made a dent in his rock-hard muscles.

  I was going to punch him, right there in his precious rock star junk. He better not want kids one day.

  “You are fucking delusional.” I shoved him again.

  This time he caught my wrist and spun me around, slamming me up against one of the lockers. The air whooshed out of me and not just because he was crushing me between the lockers and his hard body.

  “Yeah, Dearg, you should be on your fucking knees thanking me with that pretty little mouth of yours around my dick.”

  God. The sheer crudeness of his words. It should make me cringe. Slap him across the face. Instead, everything in my lower belly ached, my lips parted and all I could do was blink up at him.

  “The pool for your v-card has been cancelled,” he continued. “That cunt will leave you alone now instead of t
rying like a fucking chump to pretend to be a good boyfriend while just wanting to get in your panties for money and bragging rights. So, yeah, you should be fucking thanking me.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that you told everyone I was a goddamn lesbian to help me?”

  His lip lifted up. “Yeah. Say thank you.”

  He shifted back, just an inch of space, just enough to allow him to drop his towel. He dropped it. Right in front of me. No shame.

  I glanced down before I could stop myself, half mortified, half curiosity raging like a storm.

  His dick was hard. Long and thick and…perfect.

  “Go on, Dearg. What are you going to do with it?” he taunted in a low voice.

  “I…”

  Grab it.

  Lick it.

  Suck it.

  Pull it inside me.

  His arms came up beside my head and he leaned in, trapping me, his hard cock hot and hard against my belly. Dear God. I was going to combust. Or pass out from lack of oxygen.

  “Or,” his lips traced my cheekbone, sending hot and cold shivers throughout my body, “maybe you really are a lesbian.”

  Rage flooded over me, temporarily overriding lust. I shoved him back with both hands and he stepped back, laughing.

  Bastard. He didn’t want me. He was taunting me. Teasing me. Pushing me to the breaking point.

  He almost won.

  And I almost gave in.

  Stupid me, I almost gave in.

  I turned and fled before the tears could break over the rim of my eyes, the sound of his cruel laughter echoing in my ears.

  31

  ____________

  Ailis

  Now – Dublin, Ireland

  I hated Danny O’Donaghue.

  I hated that he saw right through me.

  I hated that he always seemed to be there whenever I was weakest.

  And him showing up just as I’d finished up in one of the college recording studios late at night, determined to work through this stage fright—it was just my bad luck.

  Of course he figured out what I had been doing and why.

  But I would die rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking that his words had any effect on me.

  I had no problem singing into a recorder.

  It was when the spotlight was on me and Danny was near me that caused the muscles to clamp down around my throat.

  I sat up at the back waiting for Advanced Performance & Arrangement to start the next week, my nerves taut. For once, Danny strode in early, brushing off the Irish misty raindrops from his trademark long black overcoat. His gaze scanned the back row, my insides tensing until he found me.

  The memory of the other night flared in my mind. The way he’d pinned me to the practice room door. It looked like he was going to kiss me. But I knew better. I remembered how he’d pretended he was going to kiss me in the men’s locker room that day.

  Bastard.

  He was still toying with me.

  Back in the lecture hall, Danny’s stare rolled over me and anger glittered in his eyes.

  Danny hated me. But he was drawn to me, just like I was drawn to him. Like two stars on the same orbit, racing towards each other, a collision an eventuality.

  I would pay for what happened between us. I always did. Starting now. His lips parted, drawing my gaze to them even from here. He was going to call upon me to perform in front of the class first. He was at least predictable, if anything.

  For once, I was ready for him. I stood up before he had a chance to call my name.

  His eyes widened with surprise, as if he was shocked at my boldness. I took too much strange pleasure in this. Then the cold mask slid back down over his face.

  I carried my guitar in its case down to the stage. Danny walked around me as if we were two fighters circling each other in a ring.

  “So, Ms Kavanagh has decided to be brave today,” he mocked as he lowered himself into a chair in one of the front seats, his gaze fixed on me.

  “And you are as charming as always.”

  I heard a few gasps around the lecture hall—how dare I talk back to our professor—but I ignored them.

  I took a seat centre stage and placed a small CD player beside me on the ground before pulling my guitar into my lap.

  Danny frowned, staring at the device at my ankle. “What is that, Ms Kavanagh?”

  “A CD player.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me you’re going to play a recording for us?”

  “How little you think of me.” I spent an entire summer working to pay for the practice guitar I held in my lap. The familiar weight of it was a comfort as I plucked a few strings to make sure everything was still in tune.

  “Exactly what are you doing?” Danny asked, arms crossing over his chest, his arm muscles bulging even under his long-sleeved shirt.

  I lifted a challenging eyebrow at him. “This is Advanced Performance & Arrangement, is it not?”

  Danny was silent. I thought I spotted a flash of pride on his face, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I pressed play on the recording.

  And I started to play.

  I was good on the violin, not great. It’d actually been the instrument that I’d learned to play when I was younger, my da’s influence, before Danny introduced me to the guitar, which became my true love.

  The strands of the melody I’d pre-recorded earlier on violin reverberated through the silent classroom. I finger-picked along, using the guitar as my “voice”.

  I saw the shock on Danny’s face when he realised I’d rearranged his very own single, “Give Up All the Stars”, his indie rock piece with a classical twist.

  He said he wanted to hear it. I was giving him what he wanted.

  “Why don’t you like classical music, Danny?”

  He snorted. “Violins are for pansies.”

  I hoped he remembered that conversation we’d had when we were teenagers. I was throwing that all back in his face.

  The lecture hall was deadly silent when I finished, the crooning of the violin fading into nothing.

  Ethan, bless his cotton socks, rose to his feet clapping, sending a wave of applause through the hall. Even Veronica gave me a single clap.

  Danny said nothing as I strode past him and back to my chair, smugness swelling inside me. His face a mixture of shock and something I couldn’t fathom.

  Danny, 0. Ailis, 1.

  32

  ____________

  Danny

  That fucking violin.

  I could see from the smirk on Ailis’s face as she stood up from her performance in class that she knew what she’d been doing.

  “Violins are for pansies.”

  Screw her. She’d butchered my song.

  Okay, it wasn’t so much as butchered…it actually sounded okay.

  Fine, it sounded more than okay. The way she’d used the two seemingly different music genres and blended them together into a perfect reimagining of a song that still tore strips off me to hear.

  It was clever.

  Unique.

  Beautiful.

  Just like her.

  I shoved that thought away as I lay across my bed that evening listening to the recording I’d made earlier.

  Her performance had planted a small seed in my head, one I couldn’t get out. An earworm that had dug in and was threading deeper and deeper.

  After class had ended I ran straight to one of the practice rooms and played around with a keyboard, using the violin setting.

  There was a song I’d been toying with for the last few weeks, a song about a small-town boy trying to make it big against all odds. I couldn’t get it to work. It needed grandeur to it, it needed power and volume. A crescendo. But nothing I did with the drums or guitar or bass worked. But now…now…I knew what it needed.

  Vio-fucking-lins.

  The violin piece I’d recorded that evening in the recording studio on that keyboard sounded tinny, their melodies darting along like fish, but it w
as ninety-nine percent there. A live quartet of violinists was all that it needed to be perfect. Fucking perfect.

  One more song down.

  My phone rang.

  Diarmuid’s name flashed up on my phone. I glanced over to the clock reading two a.m. before answering it. “What the fuck’s wrong?”

  Diarmuid let out a snort. “Hello to you too, fucker.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “And you’re wide awake.” He cleared his throat. “What’s that you’ve got playing in the background?”

  Diarmuid rang me at two in the fucking morning just to avoid talking about whatever it was that had him up this late. Typical.

  “Alright, asshole,” I said, a hint of affection in my voice. “We’ll do it your way. It’s something I’ve been working on lately.”

  There was a pause on the other end. He must be listening to the recording that was still playing in the background.

  “It that a violin as well?” he asked.

  “Shite, you actually listen to me when I talk about music.”

  “Only sometimes.”

  I smiled. “Well done, D, it is a violin.”

  “That’s new. I thought you said, and I quote, ‘violins are for pansies’.”

  Ailis’s face, glowing with performance concentration as her fingers flew across the guitar strings earlier today, flashed in my mind before I shoved it away. “Yeah, well…maybe I changed my mind.”

  The song ended, the cry of the violin fading away until there was just silence.

  “It sounds almost cheerful,” he said. “Well, compared to the suicide-earporn you usually listen to.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I repositioned myself up to sitting on my bed. “So, what’s the craic?”

  Diarmuid avoided the question. Looked like he wasn’t ready to spill the beans yet.

  I grabbed a guitar and strummed some chords as I chatted to him about our other best friend, Declan, and his upcoming fight, one that I had to miss because I was teaching. Half my mind was on a new melody I was working on.

  At least until Diarmuid asked, “Any student prodigies this year?”