He reached up, slid his glasses off, and placed them on the desk beside me. The gesture was quiet but final, stripping away the last barrier between us. Once his glasses were gone, his eyes held nothing back, the clarity in them striking enough to steal my balance.
“Hayden…” I said his name again, softer this time, unsteady in the stillness.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, a small movement that sent my pulse racing. “Edwina,” he said, my name falling from his lips in a low, rough drawl. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I shivered at the sound, his words sinking deep, filling every breath I took.
“Hayden…” My voice was barely a whisper now. “We’re on campus. We shouldn’t—”
His hand stilled, his gaze darkening. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, and then I saw it, the flicker of something unrestrained, something he’d been burying for too long. The control in him bent under the weight of it.
“I don’t fucking care,” he said finally, his voice dropping low and sharp, every word scraping through the air like a vow. “Do you think I’ve wanted you all this time just to give a damn about walls and rules?”
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t look away.
He leaned closer until his forehead brushed mine, his next words slipping through the space between us, warm enough to sting. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of, Edwina. The only thing I’d destroy myself for if that’s what it took to keep you.”
Before I could answer, his mouth crashed down on mine with unrestrained, carnal hunger. Not with calculated intention, but with raw, primal urgency, a deep, filthy, almost punishing crush of his lips against mine that ignited a flash fire in my core and scorched the very air around us. His mouth plundered mine with unbridled ferocity, feral, biting kisses leaving me gasping before his tongue forced its way inside to taste me, claim me, own me. Every shared breath between us became charged with erotic tension and searing heat as I felt my last shreds of self-control burning away to cinders. I could feel the hard, pulsing length of his arousal pressing insistently against me, sending delicious tingles straight to my aching core and making me slick with want. His powerful hands gripped my waist with almost bruising force, fingertips digging punishingly into my tender flesh, as if only a rapidly unraveling thread of restraint was keeping his basest, most deviant desires in check.
When he pulled back, his forehead remained against mine, our breaths caught in the same unsteady rhythm. His voice came low, worn thin by emotion.
“Out of everything in this fucked-up world, you’re the one thing I can’t unlearn,” he whispered. “And if it meant keeping you, I’d burn every goddamn piece of myself without hesitation.”
His words broke something open in me, sharp and full. Every reason I’d built to stay away fell apart under the weight of what hung between us. There was no logic left, only the heat of his breath, the sound of my name on his tongue, and the pull of something I could no longer fight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Edwina
Themorningofthesymposium 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 bewatching. 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 intothe 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 couldsteady 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.
