“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, teach.” I wink, lip curling into a grin. Sticking the smoke between my teeth, I light it up and take a drag. The toxic smoke fills my lungs, making my head feel even lighter. Truth is, I only really smoke when I drink. It’s a nasty habit I picked up in high school that I’ve just never kicked.

“Touché. Can I get a light? I must’ve left mine back in my room.”

“For sure.” I bring the lighter up to the cigarette caught between his lips, flicking it until the flame ignites. The closer proximity has his masculine scent wafting all around me. Leather and spice, with a hint of tobacco. My pulse thunders as his piercing brown eyes hold mine. One unruly black strand hangs over his eye as he exhales the smoke.

We’re trapped in this vortex where we can’t look away from one another. I become very aware of the fact that I’m now backed up against the brick wall and he’s mere inches away from me. The alcohol and nicotine swim in my bloodstream, making me want things I shouldn’t, with someone I definitely shouldn’t want them with.

When I place the cigarette back between my lips and take another drag, his attention drops to my mouth for a split second before returning to my eyes. His Adam’s apple bobs against a harsh swallow, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy, filled with gravel.

“The alcohol hit me harder than expected.”

“Mmhmm,” I breathe, nodding my head. “Me too.” It feels like a prelude, a half-ass explanation for what could come. We take drag after drag in silence. The air is thick around us.

He drops his cigarette on the ground, putting it out with his foot, and I mimic the action with my own.

“We should get back to the hotel,” he says, barely above a whisper. “We have an early morning.”

“Yeah, we should.”

Neither of us makes any effort to move. Time stands still, and the entire world around us—all the people, the cars, the music, all of it—disappears. I’m trapped in his hazelnut spell, dying to drown in his depths.

This is wrong.

So fucking wrong. He’s my teacher. I’m his student. Hell, he’s fucking married. But those reasons are being overshadowed by something else entirely that I can’t resist. Something that, while I’d never initiate, I won’t deny either.

When his palm comes up to rest on the wall beside my head and he steps closer to my body, I can’t find it in me to care about any of it. His tongue pokes out, wetting his lips, and my gaze immediately drops to his mouth, my own lips parting slightly.

“We should go,” he says once again, breath fanning my lips from how close we are.

“Yeah…”