Chapter 15
Dear Mom,
I think he’s the special someone for me, the man I told you before whose gaze sets me on fire. He’s someone I feel an undeniable connection to. Someone worthy of the word “whirlwind.” I think he hides his tattered heart behind a suit of armor, but he’s hurting, just like me. And for the first time in my life, I want to heal him, because I think I understand him.
He sees me. The real me.
We’re all types of wrong. But you’d understand, right? After all, you left your entire world behind to be with Dad, forsaking your wealth, status, your disapproving parents, all for the sake of love, a love that was a whirlwind.
His name is Ryland…and I think…he’s my whirlwind.
Love, Millie
I WATCH THE SKIES dim, the clouds slowly encroaching on the blue. It’s dreary and gloomy outside. The weather app says it shouldn’t rain yet, not until this evening. But the view outside the classroom windows begs to differ. Dammit. Isn’t it supposed to be sunny all year round in LA? I must’ve forgotten how temperamental the weather can be during storm season.
I stare at my dry clothes—a pair of dark blue jeans and a soft cream sweater that’ll be a pain to wash. Ugh. I should pack an umbrella in my bag from now on. El Ni?o is no joke.
Students filter in, excited chatter erupting around me. My prime seating in the center of the front row offers me an unobstructed view of the small stage.
Of him.
“You’re early.” A wry drawl captures my attention.
“Of course,” I wink, “and I saved you a seat too.”
Jocelyn plops down heavily on the seat next to me. She has been half-present in class and at the apartment, but she hasn’t told me why, and I don’t want to pry. But if her dark eye circles and sallow skin are any sign, she must be going through something intense and personal.
“Want some gummy bears?” I take out a small packet from my bag and hand it to her. Maybe the sugar will perk her up.
She yawns and grabs the bag from me before slouching in her seat. “Thanks, girl. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”
Turning to her, my brows crinkle with concern. “Seriously, Joss. Is everything okay? I’m worried about you. You didn’t get home until close to midnight the last few days…not that I’m trying to be a stalker or anything.”
She gives me a sad smile. “I’ll be fine.” She lets out a fake chuckle. “I’ll be even better if I can pass this class.”
“You can do it! I have faith in you. Did you get the notes I emailed you? If you have questions, just let me know.”
“Thanks, girl.” She glances away and scrutinizes her phone.
I frown and turn my attention toward the door, wondering when his tall, imposing frame will cross the threshold.
A nervous energy slithers through me at seeing him for the first time since after office hours last week. My skin feels sensitive, and the fabric on my sweater tickles my skin. The air smells like chalk dust mixed with wet earth. I sit up straighter and glance at the clock on top of the chalkboard. One minute before class begins.
As if on cue, and always on time, the door slams open and the room abruptly silences. Ryland storms in, a burst of crackling lightning and rioting winds, his steps faltering ever so slightly when he sees me. The slight halt to his hurried gait is almost imperceptible.
But I see it.
And my heart skips a beat. The connection from last week. It’s still there.
His eyes flare and his lips part, a muscle feathering his beautiful jawline. He abruptly looks away and walks to a small desk and chair in the middle of the stage. He looks every inch a prince from the fairy tales…or perhaps, the villain, with his tall, dark looks and angry features.
Ryland shrugs out of his suit jacket, dove-gray today, and proceeds with his daily routine of taking out his cuff links, pocketing them, before slowly rolling up his shirt sleeves. It’s like watching arm porn in slow motion.
I wet my lips and sit up straighter, trying to ignore the pulsing between my legs. My laptop is turned on, and I wait with bated breath for what he’ll do next.
Will he address me? Acknowledge what happened in his office last week? Or will he pretend like it was nothing when it was everything to me?
“Class, I’m disappointed with the last papers you turned in.” His stern voice sends ripples over my skin.
Ryland leans forward on his desk and scowls at us. “The average grade was a D, with only two papers earning As. If you can’t even do well in this class, how will you do well in the real world?”
The room is silent, and I see students hang their heads in apparent shame.
“You may believe otherwise, but I don’t wake up each day intending to fail you in class. I’m not here to ‘get’ you.”
He frowns, his head swiveling to take in every one of us. “I want to prepare you for the future when the stakes are much higher. If anything, I want to leave a lasting legacy…for you.”
Legacy.
My heart races at the mention of the word, reminiscent of the conversation we had in his office. I want this to be my legacy.
Ryland’s eyes snare on mine, as if he too remembers our conversation. As if this is a slipup on his end. His jaw locks, and I see his hands clenching into tight fists.
He drags his gaze away and releases a deep breath. “And so, for the first time and most likely the last time, I’ll give you another chance. Rewrite your papers and if you can turn in something more profound, something to change my mind, I’ll use those grades as your final grades for the assignment.”
He walks around the desk and props himself up against it. “Don’t. Disappoint. Me.”
The classroom is quiet as he splits the tall pile of essays on his desk with his TA and they walk around the room to hand out the papers to us. Tracking his movements with my eyes, I twist my fingers on top of the table, gnaw on my lip, and wait for my turn.
The stack of papers thins out over time until he is left with one. He pauses at the end of my aisle, his forehead pinching in concentration, his shoulders taut and raised. He runs a hand over his thick, luscious hair and finally turns toward me.
Our eyes catch and hold, intense grays against dark blues, stormy clouds hovering over deep cerulean seas, and I swallow, my breathing quickening with each step he takes, each step bringing him closer to me.
Hushed chatter fills the background as students talk amongst themselves, no doubt about their grades or comments on the papers, but I don’t really notice. All I see is this hulking man striding toward me with the lethality of a predator in the woods who has identified his prey, his next meal.
“There are rumors he’s a beast in bed and gets off from chasing willing women in their sex clubs. I totally wouldn’t mind him hunting me down.”
My classmate’s words from the first day of class whispers across my mind and sharp heat shoots between my legs.
Tangled limbs. Sweat and bites. Having the control taken from me.
My lips part and my face feels warm. My sexual experiences with Lloyd had been forgettable. Lackluster. The man couldn’t get a woman off if his life depended on it. Somehow, I don’t think that would be the case with the towering man in front of me.
Ryland sets the paper face down on my desk and hovers above me briefly. He releases a deep exhale, one I can hear above the noise in the classroom. I put my hand on top of the paper to take it away from him before he stops me, his much larger hand pressing against mine, his pinkie grazing my thumb.
Leaning in ever so slightly, he whispers, his voice a gravelly seduction, “Good job…Millie.”
My name on his lips. A bolt of heat shoots straight between my thighs.
Unbidden, my tongue darts out to wet my lips and he freezes, his eyes glued to the motion. They darken and smolder, and in that instant, the rest of the room fades into darkness and my world is only him. The tempestuous charcoal pools holding me in place, drawing me closer. The heavy raggedness of his breathing. The small but distinct pressure of his little finger pressing against my thumb. The spicy citrus tinged with a masculine scent of the outdoors that’s uniquely him.
This can’t only be one-sided.My mind is groggy, drunk from the presence of Ryland Anderson.
After another second, he straightens up, his lips curled in a half-snarl, in disgust. Danger. He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and stalks off, taking the maelstrom away with him, leaving me breathless all the same.
I flip over the paper and see his elegant, masculine scrawl on top.
“Strength is the morality of the man who stands out from the rest.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Thought-provoking analysis of ethics and the greater good. I look forward to witnessing your accomplishments in the future. Your mother would be proud. After everything, you’re still standing. Remember, you’re a fighter too, and one day, you’ll achieve your dreams.
- R.
My eyes prickle and burn. He sees me. He understands me. I look up, finding Ryland leaning once more against his desk, the heat of his gaze firmly on me.
Biting my lip, I smile shyly at him, only to watch his face darkening. If he didn’t hand me back the paper himself, I’d think someone else wrote those comments.
Someone nudges my shoulder, and I’m tempted to ignore her.
“Psst. Millie, Millie!” Jocelyn whispers urgently next to me.
My mind still on the man before me, I answer, “Yeah?”
“What did you get?”
“An A.”
She falls silent and I turn to look at her.
Jocelyn’s eyes well with tears and her lips wobble. “I’m so going to fail this class.”
She shows me her paper with a D scrawled on top.
My forehead pinches. “I’ll help you study, Joss. You can do this. We still have time.”
She shakes her head sadly and stares into the space in front of her.
Letting out a sigh, I turn my attention to the front of the room, where his fiery gaze meets mine once more.
Ryland’s attention is unwavering, a solid beam of spotlight in a dark room. I can bask in the warmth of his presence, and I’ll never be cold again. My eyes dart to his message on the paper before returning to his face. I arch my brow. Do you mean it? What you wrote?
He narrows his eyes, like he’s reading my mind before tilting his head slightly to the side and returns a brief cock of his dark eyebrow, the one with the small scar. Of course I do.
He then flattens his lips and crosses his arms before tilting up his head, so he’s literally looking down at me as if to say, don’t overthink this. You’re not that special.
Squaring my shoulders, I thrust my chest out, determined not to cower underneath his scrutiny.
Fragments of our interactions sift through my mind. His gentle caresses. Whispered words. My kiss on his thumb. My fevered dreams and chaotic emotions. This can’t only be one-sided. This intensity. This pulsating chemistry between us. The palpable tension. Things that should never appear between a professor and his student, with over fifteen years of life between us.
I shouldn’t encourage this. I shouldn’t test him. My reputation is at stake. The honors program, my future, everything.
But the whirlwind.
A spark of deviousness tears through me. I want to see what he’ll do next. Leaning forward slightly on my desk, I unleash a vixen I didn’t know was inside me all along. I smooth my fingers over my long, thick hair, and slowly twirl a lock around and around, winding it in circles, curling it over my delicate wrist, imagining it is him doing it.
His eyes focus on the movement, the graphite turning almost pitch black in the distance. Then, I wet my lips again, a move that was subconscious before, but this time, it’s a deliberate slow, sensual lick, feeding into the fire burning in my veins, slithering between my legs.
His eyes flare and the muscles in his arms flex and ripple as I see his fingers dig into the desk behind him, his knuckles stark white. A flush creeps up his tanned skin and his strong chest rises and falls like tumultuous ocean waves. The throbbing vein on his forehead makes a reappearance.
Feminine pride sweeps through me, and I lower my eyes, gazing at him through my lashes, and break into a smile, a warmth spreading through every atom of my body.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He flinches and falters before swallowing again, the vein still rioting against his forehead. A muscle pulses in his cheek and he gives me the barest nod.
It’s not one-sided.
I smile, and suddenly, the incoming storm doesn’t feel too gloomy anymore.