My mouth curved, slow, knowing. “No?” I stepped a fraction closer, my tone a whisper that found the fragile space between her pulse and mine. “Then tell me, why are you still standing here?”
The air tightened. Her breathing changed. I could smell her shampoo, something faint and clean, the kind of scent that made me want to bury my face against her neck just to ruin it. The irritation at her mouth faltered, replaced by something else, something dangerous.
Then she stepped back. Smart fucking girl.
“I’ll send the file,” she said.
“Good,” I said, quieter now. “I’ll be waiting.”
She reached for her bag, fingers curling around the strap, the mask of composure sliding neatly back into place. I almost admired it, how she rebuilt herself piece by piece before walking away.
“Miss Carter,” I said, stopping her before she reached the door.
She turned slightly, that guarded formality back in her voice. “Yes, Professor?”
I let the silence stretch before I answered. “We’ll meet Friday at the symposium venue. Ten sharp.”
She nodded once, curt, professional, already half gone. But I couldn’t stop myself. The words came lower, rougher, meant for her alone.
“And Edwina…”
Her pulse jumped at her throat. I saw it. And fuck, I wanted to follow that pulse with my mouth.
“Dress warm,” I said first, voice low enough to graze. Then I let the corner of my mouth tilt, the softness curdling into something darker. “Tight, too. As I told you before, I don’t want my assistant catching cold before the event.”
Her hand stilled on the door handle. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. I saw it, the faint shiver that rolled down her spine, the way her shoulders drew in just slightly, the smallest betrayal of control.
Then she left, the click of the door final.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was her. It was her scent, still threaded through the room. Her voice, still echoing under my skin.
I leaned back against the table, arms crossed, pulse hammering deep and uneven beneath the surface. The veneer of discipline still clung to me, but I could feel the cracks forming.
I’d told myself I could manage it, that I could draw the line and hold it. But the truth was simpler and filthier. I was already drowning in her, and there was no way in hell I wanted to come up for air.
Chapter Twelve
Edwina
TheGroveCafécarriedthe same warmth it always did, windows fogged from the breath of winter, steam curling upward in lazy ribbons from half-drained cups, the hum of low conversation fading into the distant whir of the espresso machine. I sat in the back corner, the one closest to the frosted glass, surrounded by papers and half-finished notes that blurred together in a tangle of deadlines and theories. My laptop screen glowed faintly, cursor blinking in quiet mockery, and the untouched coffee beside it had already gone cold.
I reached for the cup without lifting my eyes, trying to wrestle another sentence into order, when the light above my table shifted. A shadow crossed the page, claiming the light with a calm that felt too practiced to be innocent. Then came the voice.
“Careful,” he said, his tone smooth and low, threaded with that teasing patience I’d come to recognize far too easily. “You’ve got a dangerous record with coffee. I thought this place had learned to issue warnings by now.”
My hand froze midair before I looked up, pulse dragging a slow ache through my chest. Hayden stood there, tall, composed, his gaze fixed on me with quiet amusement. The smirk on his mouth wasn’t generous, it was calculated, a small reminder that he never entered a room without already owning it.
“Professor Stone,” I said, my voice restrained but my heartbeat anything but. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you preferred your caffeine brewed with superiority and silence.”
He leaned slightly closer, one hand braced on the edge of my table, his presence cutting through the noise around us until everything else became secondary. “I like this café,” he said, gaze flicking briefly to my untouched cup before returning to my face. “It reminds me of certain students who can’t seem to handle hot liquids responsibly.”
The corner of my mouth curved despite myself. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Why would I?” His eyes traced over the papers scattered across my table, his tone dropping just enough to suggest something more than conversation. “You’ve given me better reasons to remember worse things.”
It wasn’t just teasing. It was deliberate provocation, subtle, quiet, a game he’d already decided I was playing with him even if I hadn’t agreed to the rules.
“I’m working,” I said, forcing my attention back to the screen. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of haunting coffee shops in the middle of the semester.”
