Page 23 of Unwritten Rules

Exactly like old times, yet poles apart. The innocence of those days has been replaced by something I can’t shake. A soul-deep attraction that I need to get a handle on.

The dream I’d had felt wholly tangible, and it wasn’t until I fully woke up that I realised I’d not been dreaming at all. Just caught in that place between asleep and awake.

Henry continues speaking, wholly unaware of the gamut of emotions I’m running through on my end.

“You’ll watch out for her, won’t you, Hawthorne? Make sure nothing happens to her, right? There’s no one I trust more with the care of my Mouse.”

The fear and uncertainty in his voice make my heart clench. And I know without a doubt that he’s reliving the kidnapping once more, so I fill my next words with as much integrity as I can gather.

“Nothing will happen to her, brother. I promise you, she’ll be safe with me.”

* * *

Having organised to meet at her penthouse at noon the following day, I arrive to find Mila and three medium-sized suitcases ready and waiting by the entrance to her building.

Pulling into a parking space just opposite, I jump from my SUV, dodging traffic to cross the busy morning road. Mila’s head is buried in her phone, so I take a moment to shamelessly devour every centimetre of her beauty.

She’s wearing all white, making her tanned complexion appear even more luminescent than usual. White wide-leg pants with a white short-sleeved shirt tucked in at the waist, her signature oversized Versace sunglasses perched atop her dark head.

“Ready to go?”

She jumps at my voice, raising a petite hand to her breastbone as though to calm her heart.

“I didn’t even hear—” She breaks off, her eyes dropping from my face down my body, all the way to my toes, before meandering back up again. She blinks rapidly before swallowing. “You look—”

Her voice is more high-pitched than usual, so she stops to clear her throat. “You look nice.”

Tilting her head to one side, she narrows her eyes.

“You look different.”

I pucker my brow, confused as to what she’s referring to. She steps forward, nibbling her thumbnail in thought. Her eyes widen when she removes her thumb from her mouth to point her forefinger in my face accusingly.

“You trimmed your beard!”

“I did.”

“And you’re dressed weird.” She prowls closer, looking every inch the Hellcat she is.

“I’m dressed for work. Some of us had lectures bright and early this morning, I’ll have you know.”

She steps closer, her gaze intensifying. “Is that a…cardigan?”

I glance down, taking in my black slacks, white shirt, and buttoned-up dark grey cardigan. It’s functional. Comfortable. Appropriate attire for a professional who doesn’t need young students thinking he’s open to a quickie in his office.

“How astute of you, littlest DeMarco. Go on, then. Rip me to shreds for my utter lack of fashion sense.”

Her eyes slide from mine, down along my face, taking in my heavily stubbled jawline, moving down my chest, flickering along every inch of my body right down to my toes once more before shooting back up, widening when she takes in my confusion.

“Umm…that’s not it at all, Nathaniel. If you must know, I was thinking of how well you wear the damn thing. It’s moulded to your body like a second skin…it doesn’t exactly leave much to the imaginations of any of your hot-blooded female, or male, students. Just saying.”

She swallows roughly, dropping her eyes down my body as a delicate flush covers her olive cheeks.

“And those slacks are downright indecent. Draws a person’s eye straight to your—”

“Alrighty then.”

I was not expecting her to say that, but then again, this girl has kept me guessing from the moment I met her, so why would she stop now?