but she was pushing it too far, and she knew it.
“Last room on the right.” She pointed behind her.
“Return the stolen items,” I said to Carrie. “Quickly.”
As she raced off, I leaned in and put my mouth in the space beside Tinsley’s ear. She smelled like lemon drops and vanilla. And stolen cookies.
“I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.” I breathed in her stillness, her helpless fear. “Mommy Dearest forked over a lot of money for you to be here. You’re stuck with me for a year.”
“The best way to motivate me is to tell me it can’t be done.” She turned her face toward mine, the sputter of her exhalations peppering my lips. “Save us both the trouble and send me home.”
Her mouth was too close. I could taste the sugar, the delicious sin that awaited on the other side of that narrow inch. It was just a twitch away. A short, compulsive motion.
Our gazes held, and in that sliver of impermissible nearness, I felt my teeth tearing into the poutline of her lips. I tasted her blood, heard her whimpers, and saw her beautiful pain.
The tread of footsteps ripped me from the reverie.
As Carrie hurried toward us, I straightened, and Tinsley released a held breath.
“Carrie.” I kept my voice smooth and unaffected. “Explain to Tinsley why Catholics practice fasting before Mass.”
“Physical hunger strengthens our focus and creates spiritual hunger for the Lord.”
“Thank you. You can go. Tell Father Isaac to head to the church. Tinsley and I will be a moment.”
“Okay.” She backed toward the stairwell, tossing me a coy smile. “It’s really good to see you again, Father Magnus. I look forward to your Advanced Calculus class this—”
“Mass started two minutes ago.”
“Right.” She spun and took off down the stairs.
Tinsley leaned against the doorframe of her room and slid her fingers along the placket of buttons between her breasts. “What are you going to do to me?”
“That’ll come later. It’ll be unpleasant, but try not to worry about it.”
“What do you mean?” Her fingers quivered, and she lowered her hand.
Delayed consequences had the best effect. The anticipation, the not knowing, was a consequence in and of itself. But it was nowhere near the punishment she would be receiving this afternoon.
A glance into her room confirmed she had four undamaged uniforms hanging in the closet.
“You have sixty seconds to follow the dress code and meet me in the stairwell.” I strode toward the exit.
“Are there any sharp objects along the way?” she asked my back. “So I can throw myself on one of them?”
“Fifty seconds.” I entered the stairwell and leaned back against the wall, seeking the coolness of the bricks.
As I lingered there, my thoughts tried to twist in a dangerous direction. Fifty seconds was too long to stand idle while surges of hot lust became reacquainted with my body.
My reaction to her made no sense. There was nothing even remotely attractive about the little imp.
The lie pricked my heart. Tinsley Constantine was inconceivably beautiful from every angle, unpredictable at every turn, and had a mouth on her that wouldn’t quit. She challenged me, shocked me, and twisted me up. Even if she was just a child.
She’s eighteen. Legal age of consent. Technically, an adult.
That meant Caroline’s parental rights were nonexistent. Tinsley could leave Sion Academy, screw every male in the state of Maine, and there wasn’t a damn thing her mother could do about it. Except cut her off. Caroline could and would take away Tinsley’s trust fund, financial support, and the roof over her head.
Maybe her mother wouldn’t disown her if she were expelled from Sion, but she was taking a huge risk trying to find out.
I refused to be part of it. She was my student, and it was my job to educate and discipline her. Anything else was an abuse of power.
At the sound of her approach, I realized I’d forgotten to check my watch. Had sixty seconds passed? Five minutes? We were already late. At this point, the only purpose in going to Mass was to teach her a lesson.
She couldn’t manipulate her way around the rules. I was far better at this than she was.
When she reached the stairwell, I inspected her uniform. The shirt was tucked in, the buttons closed from throat to waist. Her knee-high socks were pulled up tight, her loafers the appropriate style and color. In the winter, they wore school-issued cardigans. But it wasn’t necessary today.
“Kneel.” I walked a circle around her, noting the