A Breath of Eyre (17 page)

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Authors: Eve Marie Mont

BOOK: A Breath of Eyre
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“I’m feeling a little ... warm,” I said. “Do you mind if we sit this one out?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ve served my purpose.”
I felt terrible, like I’d used him and he knew it. Ever the gentleman, he took my hand and escorted me off the dance floor.
When we got back to Michelle, Owen sat down next to her and tried to pull her out of her foul mood, but she refused to look at him. It felt like we were all treading on a thin sheet of ice and that at any moment, the whole thing could crack, sending us into frigid waters.
I turned to find Gray and Elise in the crowd and forced myself to watch them dance. It was strange—I knew I should have been jealous, but there was something in Gray’s posture and in the distant look in his eyes that made me think he didn’t really want to be here with Elise. He gave the impression of someone playing a role, an actor.
“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” Owen said, nodding to the dance floor.
“I think I’d rather die, thank you,” I said.
“He might surprise you.”
“You’re one to talk,” Michelle said in clipped syllables.
“What?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said. “Tell her. Tell Emma what you told me.”
“Michelle, I don’t think this is the time.”
“Come on, you were just telling Emma to bare her feelings to Gray, so what better time to—?”
“Michelle, you’re drunk,” Owen said.
“Oh, no, unfortunately I’m sober. And if you don’t tell her, I will.”
Owen stared at her, his mouth agape like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Why are you doing this, Michelle?”
“Oh, right, I’m always the bad guy.” She stood up and scowled at him. “Not only do I have to accept your father’s charity, but I have to deal with this, too? Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?”
People were staring now. Gray and Elise were staring. I felt helpless, like everything was spinning out of control.
“Michelle, you don’t owe me or my father anything,” Owen said. But she was crying now. I wanted to hug her, to talk some sense into her, but I knew I was the last person she wanted to comfort her right now. Owen tried to put an arm around her to console her, but she shrugged him off. “Michelle, let me take you back to the dorm.”
“No!” she shouted. “I want to be alone.”
She walked away from us, lurching into a run as she got closer to the door. Owen ran after her. I didn’t know what to do. This entire ugly scene had taken place in full view of the entire student body of Lockwood. I was moving toward the door, determined to catch up with them when I heard a gravelly voice behind me.
“Let them go,” the voice said. I turned around and saw Mr. Rochester, in all his brooding glory. I felt a sudden rush of emotion that nearly knocked me off my feet as I took in his rangy physique, his untamed hair, the stunning planes of his face. I had to remind myself that this was Mr. Gallagher, my English teacher, not the romantic figure of my wildest dreams, not the fictional character I’d saved from a burning bed.
“They’re my friends,” I managed to say. “I should go with them.”
“Don’t worry,” he said in a gentle but authoritative voice. “They’ll work it out on their own.”
He was probably right. I’d already gotten in the way once tonight. I cursed myself for having cut in on Michelle and Owen, for letting my fragile ego get the best of me.
Mr. Gallagher put a firm hand on my back and led me back into the hall. It was all I could do not to collapse into his arms crying. He led me to a chair and got me a soda, then sat down across from me. “Do you want to talk about it?” he said. I was stifling tears, and I knew if I tried to speak, the dam would break. I shook my head and took a sip of soda.
Mr. Gallagher noticed a tear that had escaped. He reached out gently to catch it with one finger, then took an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and offered it to me. Madame Favier stood by the refreshment table, lips pursed, watching us with her arms crossed.
I wiped my face with the handkerchief, then shook away any lingering tears. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will be,” he said, bending his head down to inspect my face. “Life is confusing at your age. Nothing makes any sense, and everything seems so vital and important. Very little of it is, in the big scheme of things. It isn’t until you get to be my age that you’ll have any real regrets.” He got a far-off look in his eyes that reminded me of Rochester. I wondered if his regrets had anything to do with the reason his wife left him.
I saw Madame striding toward us, to intervene I suppose, but just before she reached us, Gray Newman appeared above me, his eyes fixed on Gallagher. He had taken off his jacket and tie so he was wearing only his tuxedo vest over a crisp white shirt. Standing over us, he looked large and menacing. His eyes radiated malice.
“You okay, Townsend?” he asked as Madame Favier watched on, curiosity seeping from her every pore.
“I’m fine,” I said, feeling terribly embarrassed.
Mr. Gallagher stood up and extended a hand to Gray. “Ben Gallagher,” he said. “Emma’s English teacher.”
Gray paused a moment, then accepted Gallagher’s hand, reluctantly. He then extended the same hand to me. I was confused. Did he want me to shake hands with him?
“Will you dance with me, Emma?” he said. I swallowed loudly, shocked that he’d used my first name. Even more shocked that he’d asked me to dance.
Gallagher got a sheepish look on his face, like he’d just realized he was superfluous. I was still sitting there, stupefied, so Gray took my hand, bringing me to my feet and leading me onto the dance floor.
I felt that familiar urge to cut and run, to flee and run back to my room and crawl under the covers. The DJ was playing a haunting song with lyrics about the sun and the sky, about gravity. And I was drawn like a satellite around Gray’s orbit.
He didn’t tiptoe around me like Owen had but grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close, so my body was thrust against his chest. His neck smelled warm and spicy, like the beach at nighttime. I could barely move.
He guided me slowly back and forth, one hand placed firmly on the small of my back, the other warm and dry around my right hand. “What’s with Professor Snape?” he said, breaking me out of my trance.
“Who?”
“You know, Mr. Gallivant, or whatever his name is.”
“Gallagher,” I corrected him.
“Whatever. When he touched your face, I wanted to kill him.”
“He’s harmless,” I said.
“Oh, really? He’s a teacher, for God’s sake. What’s he doing touching you? If I was your father, I’d kick his ass.”
“Kind of you to be so protective,” I said. “But I can handle myself.”
“Really? ’Cause it looked like you were going to fall into his arms if I hadn’t come over and rescued you.”
I leaned away from him. “So that’s what this is? A macho attempt to rescue me?”
“No. It’s a dance, Townsend. You know, feet moving, body swaying to music?” Just for fun, he tried to dip me, but I wasn’t prepared and staggered. “Sorry,” he said. “Bad move.”
“Go easy on me,” I said. “I’m still shaky on my feet.” His cologne wasn’t helping matters. “Where’s your ... date?” I said.
“She ditched me.”
“No, really,” I said.
“She did. She and her friends went outside to smoke.”
I peered at him skeptically. His eyes appeared almost gray in the dim light, and his jaw looked like a piece of granite. My eyes drifted to his lips, those seductive lips. I really wanted him to try and kiss me again. I promised myself I wouldn’t pull away this time.
“What if Elise comes back and sees you dancing with me?” I said, but he just smiled. His teeth gleamed, and I caught a whiff of peppermint. “She hates me,” I said. “If you really want to rescue me, you should let me go.”
“Why would I want to do that?” he said, pulling me even closer. His leg brushed against my hipbone, and my legs turned to butter. The rational part of my brain kept warning me to walk off the dance floor before Elise came back, but every other part of my body was making it impossible to leave. I drew my eyes from his face and turned to lay my head against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat thrumming against my ear, and my heartbeat responded in kind, crashing fast and hard against my rib cage.
His shirt had fallen open at the collar, and I wanted to bury my head in the warm hollow of his neck. His hands gripped my hips, while his lips grazed my hair. Every nerve ending was on full alert. I was intoxicated by the moment, by the promise of something I’d only ever imagined before. I lifted my head and peered up at him, and his head leaned forward so our faces were inches away, so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my forehead. And just as my lips were floating up to meet his, about to forge some cosmic collision of lust and frustrated desire, the song ended and segued into a mind-numbing techno beat. Abruptly jerked back to reality, I looked past Gray’s shoulder to see Elise Fairchild stalking toward us in rhythm to the music.
“Oh my God,” she said when she saw I was the one Gray had been about to kiss. “You?” I felt foolish instead of triumphant. “Typical that you’d ditch me for Little Miss Innocent,” she said. “Trying to atone for your sins?”
“What are you talking about?” Gray said.
“Guess who I was just talking to outside.” She shoved her way between us and grabbed Gray’s arm. “Dan Brockman. You remember him, don’t you? From Sheldrake?” Gray’s face went pale, and he looked like he was going to be sick. “He’s here with Amber. And he told me a very interesting story about you.”
Gray’s eyes shifted from me to Elise and then back to me. “Emma,” he said, his voice nearly cracking. I stared back, expectant, but he didn’t go on.
Without warning, he broke through the crowd and moved swiftly away from us, heading for the lobby. Elise glared at me for a moment, then turned to catch up with him. I was left standing in the middle of the dance floor, listening to the pulsing beats of the dance song, wondering what the hell had just happened.
I followed them to the lobby, quickly retrieved my coat from the coat check, and stumbled out into the frigid winter air. I knew Sheldrake was the school Gray had attended before Braeburn, but who was Dan Brockman? And why had Gray reacted so violently to his name?
I walked down the Commons stairs and went to stand beneath the enormous chestnut tree, trying to decide what to do. Gray’s deep voice shattered the silence. “Emma.”
“Gray?” I turned, startled to see him standing next to me.
He grasped my arm and stared into my eyes. “What would you do if someone told you something awful about me?” His voice was trembling.
I shivered and took his hand. “I guess I’d want to know what it was.”
“But I mean, would you assume the worst?” he said, pulling my hands into prayer position and then rubbing against my knuckles with his palms. “Would you automatically believe what people told you?”
“No,” I said. “I’d let you tell me, and then make up my mind. Why?”
He shook his head like he was expelling some horrible nightmare. “I just wish we were alone on the beach again, like that day in January.” His eyes seared into mine, and his mouth hung half-open like he was about to say something more.
And then Elise and Amber and two guys I’d never seen before came out on the patio, all of them abuzz with anticipation. Something was about to go down. One of the guys descended the stairs so he was standing directly in front of us, his body language issuing a challenge to Gray. His eyes studied me briefly then dismissed me.
“Gray,” he said, nodding.
“Dan,” Gray said, breathing white vapor into the frigid air.
So this was the mysterious Dan Brockman. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest why his name had given Gray such a shock.
I stood in silence, trying to sort it all out, and Elise strode toward me. “Why are you still here?” she said. My eyes flickered to Gray to see if he’d defend me, but he seemed paralyzed by Dan’s presence.
“I was just leaving,” I said, turning to go. Whatever was about to happen, I didn’t want any part of it. And Gray clearly wanted no part of me. I glanced back at him one last time, hoping he’d come to his senses or tell me what was going on, but he wouldn’t look at me. Disgraced and disappointed, I began walking down to the stables, forcing myself not to cry.
I was such an idiot. So Gray Newman had danced with me. So we seemed to have a moment out there on the dance floor. Big deal. It obviously meant nothing to him. Saving face in front of his friends was far more important than sparing my feelings. As my pace quickened, I let the tears fall, feeling a rush of adrenaline and emotion. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, my face was streaked with tears, my eyes blurry from crying, so much so that I could barely take in the sight before me. Plumes of smoke were coming from the barn. It looked almost cozy at first, like smoke billowing out of a chimney.

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