The symphony and, the following day, the ballet, are just as magnificent as I hoped they'd be. Seeing the harpist onstage was mesmerizing, definitely something to shoot for.

"If I hadn't already decided I wanted to be a professor, I'd seriously start thinking about making a career out of music." I'm lying on my bed next to Creed, still dressed in the long white gown with the slit that goes all the way up to the hip, while he loosens his tie, and unbuttons his jacket.

"You want to be a professor?" he asks, glancing over at me. We're hanging out while Miranda showers in the other room, my barefoot bumping up against his shiny Barker Blacks as I wiggle my toes.

A smile takes over my lips as I glance Creed’s way, meeting that heavy-lidded stare of his and feeling a small thrill go through me. Don't think of the hot tub, I tell myself, but then of course, that's all I can think about.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm pretty good at school." I shrug my shoulders and then lean back into the pillows. "And I like it, too. If I could, I'd be a professional student for the rest of my life."

Creed smirks and then sits up to remove his jacket, tossing it casually onto the floor. He turns on his side to look at me, propping himself up on his elbow. His eyes trace the neckline of my dress, and I reach a hand up unconsciously to tease my collarbone with my fingers.

"Isn't that what grad school is for?" he asks, scooting just a little closer to me and reaching up with long fingers to pull my sleeve down my shoulder. He leans in and presses a warm kiss to my already heated skin. "Just be a doctor, and you'll be going to school for most of your life anyway." He gives a lazy cat's grin, and scoots a little closer, putting his right arm on the left side of my body so that he’s partially covering my upper half.

"I like the academic environment," I say, struggling to control my breathing. With the way Creed is laying, my natural instinct is to lean up into him, wrap an arm around his neck, and kiss him. "I want to go to Bornstead, and if things work out, I'd like to teach there one day, too. I've already started working on my application." Creed raises his eyebrows, and looks at me like I'm crazy.

"You've already started working on it?" he asks incredulously, some of that lazy nonchalance disappearing for a minute. "Is it that time already?"

"It is if you don't have a legacy bonus," I joke, and I can't help myself, reaching up a hand to stroke Creed's smooth jawline the way Tristan did in the library. As soon as that thought enters my mind, a fresh surge of heat flushes through me, and I catch my breath. "And if you desperately need scholarship money in order to be able to go there."

Creed closes his eyes, and leans in toward me, putting his face in the crook between my neck and shoulder. When he breathes, air flutters against my pulse, light as a butterfly kiss.

"My mom says that if I don't pull my grades up and get into college, then she's kicking me out and cutting me off." He sounds almost ashamed as he admits this to me, nuzzling deeper against me.

"I don't think Kathleen would ever do that to you," I admit, because as much as she's upset by Creed's actions, she loves him too much to see him suffer.

"You don't know her like I do." Creed lifts his head to look at me, putting our lips insanely close together. I can feel his breath fluttering against my mouth, and all I want to do is kiss him. Some big, bad bully he's turning out to be. He looks so soft and angelic in the gold light from the bedside lamp. "She's smart, and driven…" Creed wrinkles his brows slightly. "Kind of like you, I guess. She worked hard for everything she has, and she expects Miranda and me to do the same. I can't disappoint her."

And there it is, the real crux of the situation. Creed is desperate to be a part of his family, whether he wants to admit it or not. He's terrified of disappointing his mother.

"Hey." I cup the side of his face in gentle hands and pull him just a little bit closer, so that when I talk, he can feel my words against his lips. "You've got me as a tutor," I say with a little smile. "so really, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I'll do whatever it takes to whip you into shape. Let's start with this: where do you want to go to college?"

Creed looks up at me, his gaze shifting from the lazy, insouciant mask he wears to the deep burning of bedroom eyes, affectionate and lustful both at the same time.

"Why do you care so much about what happens to me?" he asks, shifting so that he isn't hovering above me anymore. No, it's more like he's lying on top of me now. I can feel him in all the right places, tucked between my thighs and looking devilishly handsome in this charcoal gray tuxedo. "I treated you like absolute shit. So why? Why? What is it about me that you actually like? Most girls like the money, or the prestige of dating an Idol, or maybe they just want to fuck me. But it's never about anything else. Except …" He puts both palms down flat on the bed and hoists himself up, so that he's looking straight down at me. “… with you.”

"You're fiercely protective of your sister," I start, breathing hard, feeling my heart begin to race out of control. I'm suddenly dizzy, and I know that if I were standing up, my knees would give out. "And you love your parents so much, there's agony in your eyes when you talk about disappointing your mom." I take a deep breath as Creed sits up on his knees and begins to loosen his tie, using languid, easy motions as he watches me with an intensity that I've only seen him use during fights. But it's not an angry intensity, or a violent one: it’s determination. "Most of all, I like that you have the guts to admit when you've made a mistake. A lot of people don't ever learn that lesson, not once in their entire lives."

Creed sits back on his heels, sliding the blue satin of his tie through the knot, and tossing it onto the floor. He reaches up with long fingers and starts to undo his crisp, white shirt.

I'm still not exactly sure what we're doing, but I like it. Miranda must be done showering by now, right? But I don't hear anything, and the sitting room between the two bedrooms is dark and empty. Creed climbs off the bed, moves over to the door to close it, and leans his back against the wood. He shrugs his shirt over his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.

"You never said where you wanted to go to college," I hedge, sitting up on my elbows to get a better look at him. It's pretty obvious that I'm trying to change the subject, the tension in the air is so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Creeds lids droop, so that he’s staring at me from these intense blue slits, like shards of sapphire in a smooth, porcelain face.

"Bornstead," he replies succinctly, kicking off his shoes, and peeling off his socks.

My heart feels like it might burst inside my chest, but I manage to keep my voice calm when I ask, "why Bornstead?"

A heartbeat of silence, two, three. Creed moves over to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. His stare is so intense that I have trouble meeting it head-on.

"Because," he breathes, leaning down and capturing my bottom lip between his teeth. He sucks it into his mouth for a minute, teasing it with his tongue and making me moan. He releases me before finishing his sentence. "That's where you're going."

Creed moves back onto the bed, covering me with his body, settling himself between my thighs. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him like I never want to let go.

As things start to get hot and heavy, the thought occurs to me.

“Can I ask you a question?” I whisper against his ear, groaning as he kisses his way along my throat, probably leaving hickeys that I'll have to cover up in the morning.

“Anything.”

Poor Creed. He may very well regret saying that.

“Are you a virgin?” The words slip past my lips before I can think better of them, hanging in the air between us like a cloud, like a comic book speech bubble attached to my big mouth.

Creed Cabot freezes, and then sits up, looking down at me with his golden hair mussed and his beautiful mouth twisted into a frown.

“Why would you even think that?” he snaps and I cringe slightly. It only takes him a minute to figure it out, and his lips purse into a thin line. Creed closes his eyes, and puts two fingers up to his temple. “Fucking Miranda. I have never wanted to kill my twin more than I do in this moment.”

“So … it's true?” I ask, feeling this strange, silly surge of excitement. But there's nothing wrong with that really, is there? It just seems … like it might be easier if we're both inexperienced and don't know what we're doing.

“You and your stupid, asinine rules,” he growls glancing over at me like he isn't sure what to think or do. “No lies, right?”

I smile, touched by his sudden insecurity. It takes all of that smooth, polished perfection of his and gives it a lovable, little flaw.

"No lies."

"Shit." Creed runs his fingers through his hair, and then turns to look at me. "Yeah, it's true."

My heart trips, falls, skins its knee, and gets up again. I feel all bruised and tender, and my cheeks flush with heat.