16. Karolina
KAROLINA
“You don’t have to do this,” I say as Rand opens the door to the café for me. “All I need is a walk home.”
He peers down at me, incisive. “Have you eaten today?”
I wave away his concern. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
He sighs. “You’re pale, and your hands are shaking. You need to eat.”
I clench my fists, and he lifts a brow. It’s far too late to try to hide the fact that I’m trembling slightly.
“It’s weird for me to have lunch with my professor,” I say quietly.
That’s a legitimate concern. I don’t want anyone from the university to see us together and get the wrong impression.
He hefts his satchel. “I’ll put some papers on the table. We’re discussing coursework.” He smirks. “Maybe you’re a difficult student, and you need my help.”
I scoff and step into the café. The man is infuriating.
And that smirk does something fizzy to my insides that I would prefer not to acknowledge.
We go to the counter to order. I select a chocolate croissant and a white Americano, which is within my modest budget.
Rand frowns and grabs two chicken, basil, and avocado sandwiches from the fridge.
“Protein,” he says simply. “And make that Americano decaf.”
The barista eyes us warily, reading the tension between us as my will clashes with his.
“Do you want decaf?” she asks me.
Shock blanks my mind when Rand brushes his fingers over mine in a featherlight, brief touch, reminding me that I’m shaky.
I need fuel, not caffeine.
I edge away from him but say to the barista, “Decaf, please.”
“I’ll have the same,” Rand orders.
Before I can pull out my phone to pay, he taps his card.
“I was going to get mine,” I protest too late.
“You seem chronically incapable of accepting help,” he remarks.
“Maybe I just like contradicting you,” I quip instead of allowing the truth to cut me.
He chuckles, and the warm sound chases the last of the chill from my veins.
“Yes, you’re very good at that. If you think I’ll get annoyed and back off, I’m sorry to inform you that it won’t work. I like bantering with you. You’re stuck with me.”
God, that smile. It lights up his handsome face and hits me square in the chest. If I secretly thought his stern frown was sexy, his teasing grin is pure seduction.
I cut my gaze away, but I feel heat creeping into my cheeks.
Damn him for making me blush.
I stride to a corner table and hold my head high, as though he’s not completely scrambling my brain.
He waits at the counter for our drinks, giving me a merciful moment to collect myself.
I’ve mostly mastered my blush when he joins me and sets our coffees on the table, along with two large glasses of water.
I become acutely aware of how thirsty I am after my run, and I gulp down half the glass.
While I’m hydrating, he opens the wrapper on my sandwich and nudges it toward me.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a child.”
His gaze holds mine for several thumping heartbeats. I get the acute sense that he’s studying me; he might as well be devouring me with his stare.
“I can see that,” he replies. “You’re nearly my age, and I’m not a boy.”
The way he says it in that deep tone reminds me all too well that Rand is a man. All six and a half hulking feet of him oozes masculinity. I’ve never shared a lunch date with a guy my age, but even if I had, they definitely would’ve been a boy in comparison.
I shake off that thought. This isn’t a date.
I flick my fingers at his satchel. “You’d better get those papers out.”
One corner of his lips tilts in that sexy smirk. It should be illegal for my highhanded professor to be so alluring.
“Ah yes.” He dutifully arranges a few papers to the side of our lunches. “My most difficult student needs some guidance.”
Even the way he straightens his wire-rimmed glasses is sexy—his hands are huge.
The backs of my fingers tingle with the phantom memory of his touch. I pluck up my sandwich to distract myself.
“I appreciate the pretense,” I say in between bites. “But I’ve gone through most of the suggested reading list for the term already. I hardly need tutoring.”
“I didn’t say I was tutoring you,” he counters smoothly, his gaze still far too intent on my face. “I said you needed guidance.”
“Turns out you’re the annoying one,” I inform him. “Controlling, much?”
He sips his Americano, completely unfazed. “It’s one of my many charms. How’s your sandwich?”
It’s delicious, especially after a morning of deprivation and a fear-soaked sprint.
I only reply by taking a massive bite, conveying sarcastic compliance.
He tips his head in approval. “You’re getting some color back in your cheeks. Good.”
The low praise does something funny to my insides, and my face flushes again.
I keep my tone light and assert, “I earned my place on this course. You’ve made your opinion of my author aspirations clear, but you won’t guide me to a different decision.”
He shakes his head ruefully. “I really was an arsehole when I said that. The mandated icebreaker was irritating, and I took out my irritation on you. I meant what I said: I will push my students to see you succeed. But I could’ve been nicer about it. I’m sorry.”
“Another apology from Professor Asshole?” I say blithely. “You’re full of surprises.”
“I can admit when I’m wrong. Despite your low opinion of me, I’m really not that terrible.”
I consider refuting that I have a low opinion of him, but that would be a lie. At least, it would’ve been a lie a couple weeks ago. Now that he’s showing me this softer, caring side of himself, I’m no longer certain if I completely dislike him, even if he’s controlling.
“I’m sorry,” I admit. “You were rude to me, and I was quick to judge you. I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me. Thank you for coming to check on me.”
He waves away my gratitude. “Anytime. I’m glad you contacted me.”
His expression turns stern again, and I immediately regret referencing my stalker. Verbally sparring with Rand was a merciful distraction from my fear.
“I don’t think you’re going to like this,” he warns, “but I have a contact who might be able to help with your stalker. We don’t know how he’s sending the messages or how to trace them. My friend could look into it. He’s good with tech.”
I don’t like the idea of involving anyone else in this. It’s too dangerous.
“And what then?” I press. “What are you going to do about it if we identify my stalker? I already told you I don’t want to go to the police to get him arrested.”
Rand braces his corded forearms on the table and leans toward me. Even though the table separates us, his raw power invades my personal space.
“I’ll make sure he stops harassing you.”
I’m speechless, completely overwhelmed by his fierce demeanor. My stern professor with his slutty little glasses and civilized academic veneer is gone; the hulking man looming over me is pure predator.
I take a breath and lean back in my chair, as though I can escape his powerful aura.
I’m not afraid of him. That menace isn’t directed at me. He’ll turn it on the man who’s tormenting me.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask quietly.
He blinks and softens slightly. “Do I need a reason to want to keep you safe?”
“I’d like to know, please. You said you don’t tolerate abusive men.”
His gaze shutters. His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t so much as shift in his seat. But he’s withdrawn from me somehow.
I lean toward him, chasing our invisible connection. The loss makes my chest ache.
It’s completely unreasonable.
His white knight behavior is messing with my head. It’s making all of my weakest instincts swoon. It would be so much easier to lean on him for support.
His offer of protection is terribly tempting, and I no longer want to fight it.
I force myself to admit, “You were right. I’m not good at accepting help. I need to understand why you’re here when I’ve tried to push you away.”
Some of the tension in his jaw eases. “My father was not a good man. Because of his sins, I ended up in a situation where I had to fend for myself. I saw what it takes to survive—and what some men are willing to do for their own selfish ends.”
His eyes sharpen on mine again. My breath catches.
“You are innocent. You don’t deserve to be terrorized. This stalker wants you for himself, and he doesn’t mind scaring you if that’s what it takes to have you.”
“You’re wrong,” I counter. “He doesn’t want me. Not really. He wants the control. He wants to make himself feel powerful by making me feel powerless. He’s a sick fuck, and no matter what he does, he’ll never have me.”
Rand’s eyes flare, an enigmatic tick in his expression that I don’t fully understand.
“I won’t let anyone harm you, Lena,” he promises.
I want to ask him more about his father and the situation that forced him to see the worst of humanity.
But that would be far too intimate, and it would probably be painful for him. He clearly suffered because of his dad. I won’t force him to make vulnerable confessions just to satisfy my own curiosity.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “If you think your friend can trace my stalker’s messages, I’d be grateful for their help.”
“Good.” The way he rumbles that single word makes my belly flip.
I ease back a bit. I’ve been completely swept up in him, and I’ve allowed myself to get far too close to my professor. Anyone could see us together and get the wrong impression.
“I should go home,” I assert. “I need to study for next week’s classes.”
A small frown ghosts around his mouth.
“What you need is rest,” he counters. “Give yourself the day off. You’ve been through a lot. You should get some sleep.”
Reflexively, I smooth my hair back into my high ponytail. I probably look like a mess. I barely slept last night, haunted by nightmares about Brandon’s and Rich’s deaths.
Exhaustion settles into my bones. I need a long bath with the comfort of my newest romance novel. If I try to study, I doubt I’ll retain any information.
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll take the day off.”
He tips his head in approval. I long for him to say good again in that lightly accented voice. I like it far too much.