17. Karolina
KAROLINA
The next morning, I attend my lecture on medieval art without incident. I’m grateful that Rand doesn’t teach this class. I’ll have to face him again on campus in a few days, and I have no idea how I’ll make it through his lecture without thinking about his hand touching mine.
In our private moments, it’s so tempting to interact with him like he’s my equal, not my professor.
Allowing myself to get swept up in our undeniable chemistry would be beyond reckless.
No matter how he’s consumed my thoughts since our not-date at the café.
Now that class has finished for the day, I can’t even go for a long run to burn off my frustrated energy. Instead, I decide to go for a walk through the more populated parts of town.
This is an excellent opportunity to explore Clifford’s Tower: the ruined keep of a Norman castle originally built on the orders of William the Conqueror.
I stare up at the ancient masonry, which sits atop a steep hill that once served as a defensive bank. A carpet of lush green grass ascends towards the bright blue Yorkshire sky, and the sun is angled low to frame the imposing tower.
I breathe deeply, allowing myself a moment to bask in the beauty of this historic place. Gratitude floods my chest with warmth.
Five years ago, Karolina Taylor was running from the nightmare of her foster home. Despite all the horrors I’ve endured, I’ve built a good life for myself here in York.
I won’t allow my stalker to take this from me.
As though the bastard senses my errant thought about him, my phone pings.
My gut tightens, but I force myself to check the message. Ignoring him won’t keep me safe, no matter how badly I want to pretend he isn’t a threat.
Anonymous
You look beautiful in the sunshine. Did you know you have auburn threads in your hair? They’re shining right now.
I force a breath into my tight chest.
Karolina
I know my own hair color. Fuck off.
Anonymous
That’s my brave girl.
My heart races. This sick asshole likes my defiance.
Replying is only giving him what he wants: access to me.
I find Rand’s contact details and connect a call.
He answers on the second ring. “Lena. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I admit. “He’s texting me again. I think he’s somewhere near Clifford’s Tower.”
“Are you alone?”
“No one’s with me, but there are plenty of tourists around.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Are you that close?” I ask.
York is small, but I assumed he’d be across town at King’s Manor.
“I’m in town already. I’m on my way to you.”
“Thanks.” I’m grateful he’s not farther away.
“No need to thank me. Stay on the phone. Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Tell me what you know about Clifford’s Tower. I’m sure you’ve already read about it.”
I huff to cover how shaky I am. “This isn’t class, Professor.”
“No, but I know you’re passionate about history. So am I. I want to learn about it.”
“Don’t you already know everything?”
He laughs. “Hardly. Although I’m flattered that you think I do.”
“Humility from Professor Hirst? You continue to surprise me.”
“At least it’s not Professor Arsehole anymore,” he quips. “My humility wouldn’t be so surprising if you gave me the benefit of the doubt. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit judgmental?”
“Maybe you’ve earned this reputation,” I counter flippantly. “My judgment is just fine.”
“Clifford’s Tower, Lena,” he redirects me in a chiding tone. “Tell me about it. You have three minutes to educate me.”
I snort. “Who’s the teacher now?”
“Do you want to be the one in charge here?” he drawls, voice dropping deeper. “That can be arranged.”
A shiver races over me.
“I’d prefer not to.” I try and fail to be dismissive.
His low rumble is pure masculine satisfaction. “Noted.”
I press my lips together, too flustered to come up with a reply. I can’t seem to stop flirting with him.
“Two minutes now, Lena,” he prompts. “Don’t disappoint me.”
I sigh and rattle off some facts about Clifford’s Tower. It seems safer than continuing to verbally spar with him.
True to his word, Rand appears a couple minutes later, jogging across the parking lot that surrounds the historic monument.
He’s in his usual academic attire, satchel slung over his shoulder.
“Those shoes can’t be comfortable to run in,” I remark when he reaches me.
“You see the pain I endure for you?” he replies, dramatically aggrieved. “You should be nicer to me.”
I take a moment to consider him. “Yes, I probably should. Thank you for coming to check on me.”
He nods, accepting my gratitude. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “I’ve been better, but I’m not as freaked out as I was last time. He’s mostly pissing me off now. This psycho needs to leave me alone.”
Rand grins. “Is there anything you’re truly afraid of?”
Plenty.
I choose to hold back that vulnerable truth.
“Why would I be afraid when I have a big, bad MMA fighter here to protect me?”
“That’s a far preferable attitude,” he approves. “Much more flattering.”
I redirect the conversation before we get too flirty again. “What do we do now? Have you heard back from your friend? The one who’s good with tech? I really want to get rid of this creep.”
“Walk with me,” he urges. “I’ll tell you about it at the pub.”
I hesitate. “We can’t go to the pub together, Professor.”
He hefts his satchel. “I’ll put some papers out again, and we won’t order alcohol. There’s a small pub tucked away in a neighborhood just across the river. It’ll be quiet at this time of day. We won’t attract attention.”
“I don’t know…”
He lifts his brows. “Would you rather do this at your place? I’m more than happy to come into your flat to talk privately, but I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
I swallow hard. No, I’m not ready for that. I can’t risk having him alone with me in my apartment.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist our chemistry if he’s that close to my bedroom.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s go to the pub.”
We start walking around Clifford’s Tower, making our way towards the river.
My stomach lurches when I think about how Rich’s body was dumped in the dark water.
“Are you alright?” Rand asks gently.
“It’s Rich,” I admit. “He’s dead. This crazy person killed him.”
His jaw firms. “If you’re considering pushing me away again to protect me, don’t bother. I’m not leaving you to deal with this on your own.”
“I’m not going to push you away. You said you can take care of yourself. Will you tell me more about the MMA?”
His gaze cuts away. “It’s not that interesting.”
“Please. I need to know that you can defend yourself if my stalker threatens you.”
The look he shoots me is enigmatic. I can’t read him at all.
Finally, he says, “I’ve been training for several years. I’m not in any danger, Lena.”
“How did you get into it?” I press.
He’s quiet for several long seconds.
“I told you about how things were hard for me after my father died. I wasn’t always this built. I had to learn to become strong to get by.”
“Oh. I’m sorry if it’s a painful topic for you. I thought it was just a hobby.”
His eyes meet mine again. “You don’t have to keep things surface level with me. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
It’s my turn to look away. “It’s not appropriate for us to have a deeper connection.”
“Is that why you keep avoiding more serious moments with me?” he challenges quietly. “Because I’m your professor?”
“Isn’t that reason enough?”
“I don’t think that’s all it is. You don’t want to rely on me.”
I keep my eyes on the path ahead. “I don’t need to rely on anyone. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Because you’re an orphan.” The soft truth hits me square in the chest. “I understand.”
My first instinct is to snap back that he doesn’t know anything about me.
But he lost his parents too. He empathizes with my pain.
“How old were you?” I ask gently.
“Are we ever old enough to lose our parents?”
It’s not a straight answer, but I can hear the years of anguish in his rough tone.
“No,” I agree. “No one deserves that kind of loss as a child. Is that why you learned how to fight?” I dare to press. “To defend yourself?”
He grimaces. “The orphanage wasn’t a pleasant place, but my foster home was worse. I learned how to protect myself.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
Brandon’s ruined face fills my mind, and my stomach lurches. My survival instincts are the reason he’s dead.
Rand’s hand closes around mine in a pulse of comfort. I should pull away, but instead, I squeeze his fingers. Understanding settles between us as we walk through the quiet neighborhood. There’s no one on the street to see our illicit contact.
In a moment of weakness, I allow myself to lean on him for support.
He seems to need my support too.
Too soon, we arrive at the pub, and I extricate my hand from his.
Even his frown is handsome.
He’s as reluctant to release me as I am to let go of him.
In the last few minutes, our connection has become deeper than simple physical chemistry. I should probably be alarmed by it, but it feels too good to deny.
For years, I’ve been on my own, completely closed off from my peers. Ever since I ran away from the burning stables and my hellish foster home, I’ve kept everyone at an emotional distance.
Something about Rand makes me want to let down some of my walls. Maybe I’ve sensed he’s a kindred spirit all along.
At least, I’ve sensed a softness in him since that day he fussed the little dog during our chance meeting in town.
He was definitely an asshole when he was irritated by the mandated icebreaker, but I barely see that rude part of him anymore.
He’s arrogant and a bit controlling, but he’s also protective and sensitive.
I get the feeling he doesn’t show these layers to many people.
“How long have you been in York?” I ask as he opens the door to the pub for me.
“I arrived just before the start of term. I think I mentioned that I studied in America. I’ve only moved to York recently for this job.”
“So, you’re new here too,” I conclude.
“Yes.” He shoots me the crooked grin that makes my heart flutter. “I could use a friend in town.”
I force myself to put a bit of distance between us.