Chapter 17 Reyna
REYNA
Neither of us has uttered a word to each other since we entered the taxi.
I keep thinking someone is going to jump out of nowhere and start screaming that we’re up to no good. It’s not uncommon for students to spend time with their professors. I’ve had coffee and lunch with my teachers and tutors. They were always related to my classes, however.
This time feels different. What’s going on between us isn’t innocent. I should’ve refused.
Do I trust him not to put me in harm’s way? Yes.
Do I trust him with my life? Eh, I’m leaning toward yes as well.
Do I trust him not to get me into trouble? He’s an artist and a bad boy in a suit. Whoever made up the rule that you should never color outside the lines is full of shit, and he knows it.
I’m more nervous about getting caught with him than about wherever it is he’s taking me. But it’s kind of… thrilling.
It’s the same giddy feeling I get before going to a crime scene. It feels like I’m leaping through clouds with electricity in my veins. It’s exciting and frightening all at once.
I keep stealing glances at him as we inch through traffic. Maddox has grown out his stubble, somehow elevating his bad-boy edge.
The driver is humming along to the song on the radio, blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil, and the rising tension—sexual tension.
Every so often I catch Maddox staring at my thighs, and I get the distinct feeling all he wants to do is grab them to bury himself in me—I’m probably making the last part up.
Here I was thinking I couldn’t get any more wound up from the memory of last week, but with a single look—or many looks in this case—my underwear is ruined, and I’m left squirming.
Thank God I’m wearing an actual bra today, or else my nipples would be saying hi to him and every other person in this city.
What would sex with Maddox Shaw feel like? He doesn’t strike me as a selfless lover. I bet he wouldn’t leave me wanting for more. He’d do whatever makes him feel good, and that’d just so happen to be what makes me feel good too.
Glancing out the window, I break the silence, sounding far calmer than I feel. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“That depends. Are you going to learn to listen to instructions?”
“I seem to remember following them to a T last week, Mr. Shaw.” It takes me a second to realize I’ve shamelessly said it out loud.
I’m flirting with him.
His eyes widen. Maddox clearly can’t believe it either.
“Looks to me like you might be the one taking me to places you shouldn’t,” I add, referencing his comment from last week when I can’t take the silence any longer.
He chuckles. Whatever bolstering confidence I felt evaporates when he rests his arm behind my seat, effectively touching me without laying a hand on me.
He’d be breaking our rule with the slightest jolt.
There’s nothing sexual about it, but the level of intimacy involved with the mindless act is making the butterflies in my stomach go crazy.
“I’m curious to know where you think I’m taking you.”
I can’t respond. Not when he’s toying with my hair. I doubt he’s aware that he’s doing it. He’s too casual for it to be anything other than a subconscious action. He’s making it seem like showing me any level of affection is second nature to him.
“Reyna?”
Reyna.
I’m in trouble.
I like the sound of that a little too much.
“I do hope you aren’t bringing me to your house, Mr. Shaw,” I whisper so the driver doesn’t hear.
“I’m a respectable man, Miss Sinaga. I would never dare do something so…” The fingers playing with my hair crawl closer to my roots, rendering me frozen when he tugs on it. “Depraved.”
This cab isn’t big enough for the both of us. Without breaking our no-touching rule, his fingers ghost over the back of my neck. Desire ripples through my bones. If he doesn’t move his hand soon, I’m going to say fuck the rules.
“I expect you to do far worse than that,” I respond, voice breathy.
A grin splits across his lips, and he leans closer, inches away from my ear. “You don’t know the half of it, love.”
I couldn’t be more grateful when the taxi comes to a stop. I’m out of the car and on the footpath before I dare take another breath. I probably shouldn’t have left Maddox to cover the bill, but I’ll be damned if I spend another second in there breathing in his scent.
Maddox strides out of the taxi, buttoning his cashmere coat. Without missing a beat, my satchel is off my shoulder and on his. He plays deaf to my protest, offering me an amused, grumpy side-eye that sets me in a daze.
It only gets worse when he places his hand on my lower back to steer me away from the road and around the corner. If it weren’t for the trench coat, I might be able to feel the heat radiating from him, and honestly, I’ve never loathed fabric more.
I hate how disappointed I become when the hand falls away as we start walking down a street I don’t recognize. Potentially to my certain death. We’re still in the city, although an neighborhood that’s a little quieter.
My pepper spray is now with him, so it’s not like I have much in the way of protection. Coincidentally, I forgot my camera in his office. Somehow, I think the ass intentionally made me forget.
He keeps a healthy distance between us—the amount I’d expect any normal professor and student to walk. A pang hits my chest at that thought.
“If your intention is to murder me, do you mind doing that next week? I have a pizza voucher I really want to use before then,” I say to distract myself.
“No one needs to turn you into art.” He chuckles, referring to the Shadow’s victims.
I roll my eyes, annoyance rising. “Why? Because I’m unworthy?”
“Because you already are.”
New rule. No flirting. Whatsoever. My ovaries can’t take it. Maybe he should go back to being horrible toward me. That way he’s just an asshole with a pretty face.
“Even a child’s scribble is still art.” I grimace at how my killer might convey that type of messaging. It’d take dismemberment to a new level, I’m sure.
“That was truly moving, Miss Sinaga. Really inspiring.” He mock-claps.
My glower falls when I make out the sign of the building in front of us. “You’re taking me to an art museum?” Holy shit?
“What gave it away? The sign or the art?” He points to the sculptures behind the windows.
I don’t have a comeback for that. This is an actual date.
Well, he probably doesn’t think it is. It probably wasn’t his intention either. Nor is it in any realm of likelihood that he’d be doing that kind of thing with his student. But this feels pretty textbook date material.
My throat tightens. He doesn’t know how much this means to me.
“Why?” I step inside when he holds the door open for me.
The walls are emerald green set against cherry wooden floor. There’s a feature wall showcasing a large contemporary piece, and on the opposite end of the foyer, there’s a set of glass doors bracketed between sculptures of Athena and Hephaestus.
At only two stories, Halenbeek Museum isn’t large. Frankly, I didn’t know it existed until three seconds ago.
“Do you have art here?” I ask before he answers my first question.
Maddox nods at the woman behind the counter and continues through the automatic doors without waiting for me to follow. My boots squeak against the wooden floors as I race to catch up with him.
“Don’t you need to pay first?” I stumble, throwing glances back at the receptionist. Capitalism will fall before a millionaire makes their privately owned museum free.
“My painting that was here was recently relocated back to Montana, so not anymore. And to your third question, no, I know the owner,” he answers before I make it beside him.
Soft murmuring filters down the hallway, getting louder the closer we get to the juncture at the very end.
“And the why? You can call it a university field trip.”
I roll my eyes. “I swear, you better not be pulling the everything is a learning opportunity card on me. I’ve done enough learning to last a lifetime. My brain is at full capacity.”
“Is that any different from usual?”
I whip my head his way, ready to feed the man his own scrotum. But the wild grin he flashes my way makes me playfully hit his arm instead. “I’ll have you know that I won my third-grade spelling bee.”
“I’m not sure if it counts if only two people were participating,” he teases even though he doesn’t know that. “But I’m proud of you, love.”
I’m about to fire off a retort when he wraps his arm around my waist and leads me left when we hit the end of the hallway. Sparks fly across my skin. The sensation seems to last a lifetime, when he couldn’t have held me for longer than three beats.
“You can’t touch me,” I breathe out.
Maddox halts us both, rounding on me to invade my space.
“It appears we have a different opinion on the definition of touching.” His hand drops to my hip, grabbing my flesh through layers of clothing.
He brushes the back of his fingers along my jaw.
“This is nothing compared to what I want to do to you.”
“You can’t.” The words come out barely above a whisper.
“Tell me, is it that I can’t touch you, or you don’t want me to?”
“You can’t,” I repeat like a broken record.
His cologne washes over me and makes it hard to breathe.
Maddox steps away, taking his warmth with him.
If I don’t get it together, I’m going to embarrass myself and make everything worse than it is.
I move through the open space, observing the art alongside him, shaking off the desire spiking through my veins.
“I could paint a better portrait than that when I was four,” he whispers, breaking our silence. “I could do it in the dark now, and it would still look better.”
“I’ve seen preschoolers with more talent,” I agree.
Maddox nods at the next painting. “Miss Sinaga, take a picture and print it out.”
“Why?”
“To ensure you never forget what inconsistent tones look like. It’s a novice mistake.”
I bark out a laugh and slap a hand over my mouth when people look my way. “You’re so mean.”