Clutching a handful of damp tissues, she’d stared into the darkness trying to make sense of Patrick’s extraordinary behaviour, and failing miserably. But the chief barrier between herself and sleep was her body’s unexpected and unwelcome response to Jago Marsh’s mouth moving on hers. The warm, heavy throb across her nerve-endings, the stammer of her pulses, and, most shamingly, the swift carnal scald of need between her thighs—all sensations returning to torment her. Reminding her that—just for a moment—she had not wanted him to stop... She’d been caught off guard—that was all, she told herself defensively. And she would make damned sure that it never happened again. When she got to the school, Mrs Wilding was waiting impatiently. ‘Oh, there you are, Octavia,’ she said as if Tavy was ten minutes late instead of five minutes early. ‘I want you to sort out the library this morning.
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