But it was a history class, and those had always been my favorite. Perhaps the rain collecting on my lashes and spilling down my cheeks wouldn’t bother me once I slipped through the doors and sunk down into a seat—preferably front row—and got dry. Like most lecture halls at Kilbride, tiered theater seating greeted me, with each orange cushioned seat sporting a tiny desk that barely doubled as an armrest.
The number of people bustling about the room, as early to class as me, was a surprise. I couldn’t miss a prime seat for learning in my favorite subject. The first day of a new class came with the understanding that whatever seat you picked became yours. Part of the routine of class life.
Diverting from routine unsettled me so much that it could ruin my entire day. I had to claim my territory now.
I hustled through the crush of bodies flooding into the lecture hall, students rushing inside and away from the frigid, incessant drizzle outside. Crushed to my chest, I used my satchelas a shield to break through the crowd. Neck craned, and practically bouncing on the tips of my toes, I searched for an open desk in the front row—
There.
One left, right on the edge.
A split second before I pivoted around a chatting group, a boy took off his hat and shook himself off like a wet dog. Droplets splattered across my cheek, startling me out of paying attention to the wet spot on the floor my shoe eagerly gravitated toward. Thesqueakof my heel on slick tile mimicked the embarrassing noise that breached my lips as my arms flailed, and the world shifted beneath me.
Hard as iron, a thick arm belted around my waist. I hovered in mid-air, watching in slow motion as my satchel dropped and papers scattered all over the floor like fallen leaves drifting in the breeze. Time stopped, the world falling into a silent lull as body heat penetrated my coat, seeping into my skin, and a solid frame enveloped me, protected me.
An uncanny shiver zipped down my spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, not like it was when other strangers touched me. This was warmth, security, and strong, assured leverage. I wanted to cling to the sensation.
“Careful,” a rich, deep voice rasped against my neck, his breath hot enough to make mine hitch. Tension skittered over me at all points of contact, which happened to be most of my left side and lower back. He was everything and everywhere; concerningly welcome to hold me for as long as he pleased.
My head turned on autopilot, finding a face a hair’s breadth from mine. Nearly nose to nose, inhaling the air the other exhaled in a slow, thick moment that stretched long enough for me to take in and memorize every detail of a sophisticated and handsome face. Steel-blue eyes, as serious as a raging squall on the high seas, locked on me, threatening to drown me inthe dangerous depths of such an intense stare. I registered his aristocratic features, dark brows, and the sculpted jawline enhanced by his mustache and trimmed beard. A loose curl from his short, wavy black hair flopped over his forehead and caught in my blonde fringe, entangling us.
His full mouth parted, and my insides sizzled as I watched it. A dreamy quality warped the world until I realized his lips were moving. Talking.
“Huh?” I said dumbly.
“Careful,” he repeated, the corner of his lips quirking up for a blink, “the floor is wet.”
Time resumed, hitting me like an unavoidable car crash.
“Oh, yes—right. Yes.” I disentangled myself from his body, suppressing a shiver at the loss of warmth. No one around us stopped, too busy in their own conversations or missions to find the best seat, or simply uncaring. Embarrassment flooded me, thinking of the spectacle I’d made of myself or the potential of drawing further attention. “I’m so sorry. That’s entirely my fault. I should have been watching where I was going.”
Dropping to my knees, I snatched up my felled notes from the floor, praying they weren’t too wet. I dedicated so much of my energy to the care and details of what I wrote down, it would be a shame to waste knowledge gained on the first day.
A large hand shot out to help me.
My focus faltered as my eyes locked onto long, strong fingers, prominent knuckles, and veins on the back of his hand. Mouthwatering fingers my tongue instantly imagined the feel of.
My insides quivered. Oh,lord have mercy.
“No, think nothing of it. These things tend to happen when it rains. Orientation week only worsens the nerves. Especially for new students. I’m guessing a transfer?”
My neck warmed.
“How could you tell I was new?”
He dipped his head before handing over my composition notebook as if shrugging off an easy read. The slow curl of his sensual mouth made my stomach flutter. It was like that grin was a secret, only for my eyes.
“The easy answer? Practice. Lots of years reading people.” Our fingers brushed purposefully as he reached for my pen at the same time as me. The air in my throat caught, and our eyes snapped together. “I haven’t seen you around here before, Miss…?”
“Ophelia,” I breathed, “Um, Ashcroft. Ophelia Ashcroft.”
His brows knitted together, and his mouth pulled to the side as recognition struck. My skipping heart sank a fraction to think of repeating the same interaction as that morning. About how my dad’s sins seemed to follow me everywhere I went. A father-shaped wound, raw and tender in the meat of me. If I could untether him from my blood and differentiate our make, I would.
“Ashcroft? Like the—”
“The CEO who was very publicly caught having an affair? Yes,” I grumped. One of my folders crinkled at the corner as I jammed it into my satchel. I winced and sheepishly slowed to steady myself.
He seemed blindsided by my statement. As if I’d walloped him over the head with my satchel instead of tucking it close. An almost comical reaction on a face that appeared too refined for emotive expressions. “What? God, what have I missed? No. Ashcroft, like the former languages professor. Hunter Ashcroft.”
