16. Karolina #2
He gathers up his papers and puts them back in his satchel. I take the last bite of my sandwich and drain the glass of water.
I’m not shaking anymore. Rand was right about the need for protein and hydration.
I’m too tired to be annoyed at his controlling actions. I feel better because of them, so staying prickly about it is stupid.
We walk to the exit, and he holds the door for me like a perfect gentleman. I’m so close to him that I feel his body heat as I slip past.
I’m grateful for the contrast of the cool air outdoors. Light rain is falling, little more than heavy mist that kisses my cheeks.
“Sorry, I don’t have an umbrella,” Rand apologizes.
I tip my head back and welcome more of the cooling rain to fall on my face. “I don’t mind. It feels good.”
“Let’s get you home,” he prompts. “You’ll catch a chill if you stay out here in the rain.”
I sigh. “I’ve decided you’re not an asshole, but you’re still controlling.”
“I’ll take that as a win,” he says blandly. “Practically a ringing endorsement.”
He falls into step beside me as we begin to walk towards my place.
“Don’t let it go to your head, Professor.”
“Too late.”
A minute of silence passes, so I decide to ease some of the awkwardness with friendly conversation. I want him to keep talking to me, even though it’s not healthy to like the sound of his voice so much.
“Where are you from originally?” I ask. “I can’t place your accent.”
He keeps his gaze directed forward rather than looking at me. “My family home is in Yorkshire, about a half hour drive outside of town.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from Yorkshire,” I press.
His eyes flick to me and away again, as though he’s more interested in the ancient architecture than he is in me.
Or maybe he just doesn’t like sharing personal information with one of his students.
“I studied in the States,” he explains. “I think the years at Notre Dame softened my accent.”
I nod. “I thought you sounded weirdly American sometimes.”
He doesn’t offer any follow up.
“Does your family still live around here?” I ask, twirling the end of my ponytail in a slightly anxious gesture.
I don’t like this distance between us.
“No. My parents died years ago. I don’t have extended family.”
My heart tugs toward his as though we’re tethered by an invisible cord.
“My parents died when I was young, too,” I confess. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He shrugs. “Like I said, my dad wasn’t a good man. It’s hardly a loss.”
I purse my lips to hold in questions about his mom. He clearly isn’t keen to share.
“But I’m sorry for what you went through,” he adds, more gently. “That must’ve been difficult. How old were you when they passed?”
“Twelve.”
I never talk about this to anyone. Telling the truth about my old life before I was Lena Williams is risky. I have to prevent myself from revealing more.
“You miss them,” he remarks instead of asking about the circumstances of their deaths.
“Yes,” I admit softly. “I miss them.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder, shrugging off the painful past. “That was a long time ago. I’m fine now.”
“You don’t have to lie to me. I would prefer if you didn’t.”
Of course I have to lie. Even though I’m aching to tell him all about my anguish, that’s completely unreasonable.
Lena Williams’ parents didn’t die in a flash flood. In fact, there’s very little about her past if you look her up online. Most of my digital footprint starts with my fake ID’s social media five years ago, and there are some articles on my university’s website about my academic achievements.
We walk in silence for the next few minutes, but it no longer feels awkward. I’m simply comforted by his quiet presence at my side.
“This is my place,” I say when we arrive at my apartment block. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“I’m taking you to your door,” he counters in that stern tone that messes with my head.
“So bossy,” I tease, even as I allow him to follow me up the stairs to the second floor.
“I think you like it,” he remarks.
My cheeks heat, and I fish in my pocket for my keys to distract myself from his allure. Because he’s right. His bossiness makes something distinctly feminine inside me melt.
We’re treading dangerously close to flirting.
Or maybe we have been all along. Our banter holds an undeniably hot undercurrent.
I put my key in the lock, but his hand closes over mine. My skin tingles where we make contact, and a soft gasp escapes me.
Suddenly, I’m pinned by his dark stare. “Call me immediately if you need anything.”
“I will,” I breathe. “If my stalker texts me again, I’ll contact you.”
His thumb rubs my knuckles. “I’m here to support you. And not just to show up when he’s harassing you. You can talk to me anytime. I know this is a scary situation. You don’t have to go through it alone.”
I lick my lips, and his eyes flare as he follows the traitorous sign of my desire.
“Rand.” I’m far too shaky when I say his name. “This isn’t appropriate.”
“I think we moved past appropriate the moment you stepped into my office yesterday. I know you feel it too. Your pupils are dilated, and your pulse is elevated.”
To prove his point, he touches my wrist.
“You’re my professor,” I counter weakly.
“Barely,” he reasons. “We’re almost the same age.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t change anything. I can’t risk my place on my course. I won’t.”
He slowly withdraws his touch. “I won’t force my company on you. I don’t want you to regret anything that happens between us.”
“Nothing can happen between us.” Why does my whisper sound so strained?
He steps toward me, and my head tips back. My lips part, already tingling in anticipation of his kiss.
He simply stares down at me for agonizing heartbeats, his eyes flicking over each of my features. Finally, that unbearably sexy smirk tilts his mouth.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
He pulls away, and cold air closes around me in the absence of his body heat. My skin pebbles.
“Go inside,” he commands. “And lock the door behind you.”
I obey, darting inside and snapping the door closed between us. His low, arrogant chuckle sounds through the wood. My insides turn molten.
I want my professor, and he doesn’t seem remotely worried about having a forbidden relationship with his student.