Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Edwina
The morning of the symposium arrived with a weight that settled into every breath I took, each inhale threaded with anticipation, unease, and a restless energy that refused to quiet.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my hands over the sleek fabric of my clothes as if I could press calm into the seams. The black pencil skirt held close to my frame, the fitted jacket sat perfectly against my shoulders, and the white silk blouse caught the light in brief, shimmering glimpses each time I moved.
My heels lifted me to attention, forcing composure I didn’t entirely feel.
My hair, softly waved, fell against my shoulders with a careful symmetry that almost convinced me I was ready.
Today was more than research or presentation; it was the culmination of sleepless nights, countless revisions, and the silent weight of knowing Hayden—Professor Stone—would be watching.
Existing somewhere between the man who had guided my work and the one who had kissed me with a gentleness that haunted every thought since.
Outside, the city moved as though it too understood the gravity of this day.
The sharp rhythm of traffic, the shimmer of sunlight against the glass buildings, even the cold wind that slid down the street carried an edge that mirrored the pulse beneath my skin.
When I finally turned from the mirror and reached for my folder, I whispered a lie to myself: It’s just a symposium.
The symposium hall stretched wide and bright, every corner alive with motion.
Banners from universities across Europe, Asia, and the Middle East hung above the crowd, their colors flashing between the soft glow of chandeliers.
Professors from linguistic institutes in Berlin, Seoul, Milan, and Prague gathered in polished groups, exchanging introductions in a web of accents and scholarly laughter.
Students wove between them, their nervous energy spilling into the air, notebooks pressed to their chests as if holding them tight might keep their confidence from slipping.
My heels struck the marble in rhythmic succession, echoing faintly before being drowned out by the hum of conversation.
The air carried traces of cologne, ink, and the sharp scent of roasted coffee drifting from the corner table where translators and moderators compared notes in hurried whispers.
I tried to absorb the atmosphere, to lose myself in the noise, but then I saw him.
Hayden stood near the main platform, surrounded by a small circle of visiting professors.
His suit, black and perfectly tailored, followed the lines of his body with practiced restraint, the dark shirt beneath it deepened the gravity of his stance.
His hair, brushed neatly back, caught a faint gleam from the overhead lights, while the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose sharpened every line of his expression.
He didn’t disappear into the crowd. Every small movement carried the quiet authority of a man who understood control in all its forms.
He looked distant. He looked untouchable. And yet, impossibly, he still felt like mine.
The moment stretched thin when he turned slightly, the light cutting across his jaw.
His focus remained on the older professor speaking beside him, yet I felt it, the shift in the air, the sudden awareness of his presence consuming every inch between us.
My gaze caught, unable to look away, and then he moved.
His eyes lifted from the conversation and found me across the expanse of the room.
The space dissolved. Noise faded into a dull hum as his stare locked with mine, unreadable but intent.
When his gaze dropped, tracing over the edge of my blouse, the curve of my skirt, the heels that gave my stance its poise, something inside me tightened.
His mouth curved, slow and knowing, an expression that lived somewhere between mockery and desire.
The conversation around him faltered; he murmured something polite, almost distant, to the group before stepping away.
The transition was seamless, practiced, yet every motion carried purpose.
He crossed the floor with the composure of a man who didn’t rush but always arrived exactly when he meant to, each step closing the space between us until the hum of the symposium seemed to fall beneath the rhythm of his approach.
“Edwina,” he said when he reached me, his voice slipping through the noise of the hall, quieter than it needed to be, but carrying the kind of weight that made everything else blur.
His gaze drifted, tracing the line of my skirt, following the fall of my hair before finding my eyes again.
What burned there wasn’t restraint, it was want, coiled and simmering beneath the calm surface he wore for everyone else.
“Professor,” I managed, clutching my folder tighter, my fingers pressing hard against the edges as if that alone could steady me. I prayed no one noticed the way his attention lingered too long, the way the air between us had turned into something too thick to breathe.
He tilted his head, leaning close enough that his words brushed against the side of my throat. “Not here,” he said quietly, the smallest pull of a smile ghosting across his mouth. “When it’s just us, you call me Hayden.”
My pulse faltered. “We’re not alone,” I whispered, though even I could hear the tremor betraying me.
“Then let them look,” he said, the words slow, smooth, threaded with heat. “They’ll see a professor greeting his student, nothing more. They won’t hear what I’m really telling you.”
His fingers grazed mine beneath the cover of my notes, barely a touch, but enough to ignite something that refused to die down. The contact was fleeting, almost invisible, yet it left a trail of fire across my skin, a secret no one else could see.
“You’re distracting me,” I said, my voice trembling in the small space between us.
“Good,” he murmured, a quiet laugh slipping through his teeth. “You’re beautiful when you lose focus. I prefer you that way.”
The tips of his fingers brushed mine again, deliberate this time, hidden beneath the folder I held like a shield. To anyone else, it was nothing, a simple movement, a fleeting gesture, but his next words were meant for me alone.
“You shouldn’t wear skirts that short when I’m near,” he said, his voice low and rough, every syllable drawn tight with control he was losing by the second. “It makes me think about what’s under them, and I can’t concentrate when I’m imagining you bent over my desk.”
My pulse stuttered, my breath catching as I tried and failed to hold my composure. “You look…handsome,” I said finally, the words escaping before I could pull them back.
He caught them, his expression shifting, darkening with satisfaction. “Handsome,” he repeated, his mouth curving, his voice dark velvet. “Say it again, Edwina. Say it when I’ve got you against a wall, and maybe I’ll believe you.”
My breath snagged. “Professor—”
“Hayden,” he corrected, his tone harder now, the sound of it cutting clean through me. “If you knew what I’m thinking, you wouldn’t bother pretending you’re not imagining the same fucking thing.”
The heat rose fast, sharp, crawling from my chest to my throat. Still, I kept my posture intact, even with students brushing past and colleagues moving through the space around us. “You’re impossible,” I said, the whisper torn from me before I could soften it.
He leaned closer, so near his breath stirred the air against my cheek. “And you,” he murmured, a quiet growl threaded through the words, “are absofuckinglutely adorable when you’re fighting a blush. Makes me want to see what you look like when you stop fighting it.”
His lips didn’t touch me, but the look in his eyes burned through the space between us. “If I had you somewhere quiet right now,” he said, voice roughened with hunger, “I’d ruin that perfect hair with my hands and make you beg me not to stop.”
A tremor ran through me before I could hide it. He saw it, of course he did, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, just enough to make it hurt to breathe.
My grip on the folder tightened until the edges bent, the motion the only thing keeping me from leaning into him in plain sight of everyone.
“Hayden,” I whispered, his name slipping out, too soft.
His gaze darkened, his mouth curving in something that hovered between pleasure and command. “Say it again,” he said, the words coiled low, dangerous, meant for no one else. “Say it like you mean it belongs to you.”
The air seemed to thicken, the sounds of the hall fading beneath the thrum in my chest. I should have turned, stepped away, reminded him where we were. But I didn’t. My lips parted, the name hovering there again, trembling on the edge of surrender, waiting to fall.
“Hayden.”
His hand brushed across the small of my back, the touch fleeting enough to appear unintentional, yet intentional enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
He leaned in, closing the distance between us until the faint drag of his fingers burned through the thin fabric of my blouse.
My body betrayed me before I could gather control, heat unfurled low in my stomach, a pulse of want I could neither contain nor deny.
His mouth came closer, his lips grazing just above the curve of my ear, his breath ghosting over my skin.
“Every man in this room will look at you and see brilliance,” he murmured, his tone dark and smooth, the cadence so controlled it bordered on sin. “But only I know what you sound like when you break, and how you taste when you stop pretending you’re in control.”
The words hit harder than they should have. My breath caught, the air moved too slow in my chest. I tried to steady the tremor in my hands. “You shouldn’t say things like that here,” I managed, though my voice lacked conviction.