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’tguideme 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.
