Teacher (Voyeur #6) - Fiona Cole Page 0,12

like emeralds coated in glass, her full lip pulled brutally under her teeth, the silvery tracks of tears sliding down her pale cheeks was ingrained in my memory.

“Hanna.”

Trembling hands swiped at her cheeks, and she stepped back, shaking her head. “Of course, it’s you,” she muttered. “It couldn’t be a stranger I could pretend none of this happened with.”

Her body vibrated, and I reached out to console her but stopped when I remembered her stiffening under my touch. Instead, my hands hovered around her shoulders, offering any support I could.

Obviously, she was embarrassed, but calming down. I had two ways of going about this. One, I could keep pushing, demand what happened, and not move until she did. Or two, I could act calm, a feeling that felt light-years away and let her tell me in her own time.

Nothing about Hanna said she did well when pushed, so option two it was.

“I can pretend it didn’t happen if you want. Turn around and walk away.” God, I hope she didn’t want that. Too scared she’d take that option before hearing me out, I spit an alternative. “Or you can come to my office for a drink and calm down without the crowd.”

Her shoulders rose slowly before falling with a shaky exhale. Seconds ticked by until she finally tipped her head back and tucked her hair behind her ears. She’d stopped crying but was too pale for my liking.

“Okay.”

I stepped aside, extending my arm for her to walk past. I almost rested my hand against her back, but stopped at the last minute, hovering instead.

Her eyes scanned my office when we stepped through the door even though she’d been there before. While I walked to the minibar in the corner, she remained ramrod straight a couple of feet inside the room, looking too scared to come in further.

“What can I get you?”

“Umm…Tequila?”

“Straight?”

She huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I think I need it.”

One hand remained clutched at her side as the other took the drink, our fingers briefly brushing.

“Do you want to sit?” I asked, nodding toward the couch.

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah.”

She perched herself on the edge of the couch, every muscle ready to bolt, and sipped her tequila. Before she could pull the glass away, she apparently decided a sip wasn’t enough and opened her mouth to down half the liquid.

I leaned back into the opposite corner of the couch, stretching my arm along the back, the other resting my drink on my thigh, trying to be relaxed enough for the both of us. “Are you okay?”

Hanna stared down at her glass, swirling the liquid. A humorless laugh slipped from her lips, and I held my breath, hoping it didn’t shift to more tears.

“Did something happen?” I asked when she wouldn’t look up.

In the moments it took for her to answer, I imagined every scenario possible.

Someone broke into her room and assaulted her.

She never made it to the room, and a patron cornered her.

God forbid, an employee did something to her.

All of these should have been beyond the scope of my imagination. Voyeur had protocols to make every aspect of it foolproof. Absolutely no chance of anyone getting hurt. Yet, here she sat, still shaking from whatever had happened.

Finally, she shook her head, loosening the noose around my neck by a fraction.

“No, and that’s what’s so freaking ridiculous.” She tossed her hand up before letting it slap down on her thigh. “I chose missionary—lame, boring missionary—with some talking, and I lose it.”

She choked the last words out and had to swipe under her eyes to catch any tears trying to make a reappearance. The rope threatening to cut off my air supply was gone. Only to be replaced by one around my heart.

This beautiful woman was scared. Not by anything wrong, but by watching basic intimacy and I ached for her loss. I ached to take away some of her pain.

“Sometimes the talking can be intense,” I said casually, trying to help her relax and feel comfortable. I was sure she had hordes of people who fell over themselves to make her feel better when she was hurt, and I decided to not be another.

“It probably wasn’t. I’m just…Ugh,” she grunted in disgust, her fists clenched on her lap. With another shake of her head, she tossed the remaining contents of her glass back.

“It’s okay to have a negative reaction, Hanna. This was only a test.”

“A test I’ll always fail. I’m so tired of it. I’m tired of the fear. Tired of being