“I need to get moving. I have class today.” With practiced ease, I stand and walk to the door. Annie follows and leans against the jamb as I step into the hall.

“So who is this mystery man?”

I feel a smile inch across my face at the nickname I had used for Ransom before I learned his real name. “I’m afraid I have to plead the fifth.”

Her brows arch into her hairline. “Is he a secret agent? FBI? CIA? ”

“If only he were so cool,” I chuckle as I begin walking away.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, sticking her head out the door. “I hope it works out for you two. Just remember what I said—talk to him. Tell him how you feel. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

“You sound like a Disney movie.”

“I am a princess.” She smiles and waves before ducking back into her apartment.

As I walk to my car, her words repeat in my head. She has a point. I need to tell Ransom what’s going on in my head. If knowing that I am developing deeper feelings for him scares him away, then I’m better off without him.

I really hope he chooses to stick around, though. There’s still so much about Ransom Scott that I aim to explore.

***

Ransom doesn’t ask why I was absent yesterday, and as predicted, he doesn’t bring up the club or the hotel. The mask he wears is impossible to read. With his dark hair combed back from his forehead and dressed in another pair of khakis and sweater-vest, he’s just an unassuming professor—a real nice guy. If I hadn’t been there to experience it for myself, I would never guess that little more than thirty-two hours ago we’d had some of the wildest, kinkiest sex I’ve ever had.

The way he tied me to the bed frame and tore my body asunder makes me shiver just thinking about it. I have a difficult time putting the two images of this man together. He’s a prime example of how different people can be in the light of day.

Today, the weather is so nice, Ransom has us working outside. We’re gathered on the lawn outside the Art building and he’s discussing art history, which is as interesting as it is boring. I think he feels the same way. Twenty minutes ago, he got animated over the Impressionist Movement, and now he’s discussing Modernism. He sounds like he’s just repeating the words by rote. It’s funny what you can pick up about a person just by observing.

“What I want you to take away from today is that art is everywhere and in countless forms. It’s different for everyone,” he says as he begins to wrap up his lecture. “When you and I look out over this campus, we see different things. For instance, I see baroque influenced by Roman and Greek design. Maybe you see a series of lines and angles or Victorian landscapes. Think about this as you put together your final exam. How do you plan to use your environment to influence others’ visions?”

My mind scrambles. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I am ready to skedaddle. I have a ton of homework ahead of me, and I still have no clue what I’m going to do for my final assignment for this class. He dismisses us and I hurry to finish my notes, and then tuck my books into the crook of my elbow. As I turn to leave, I hear Ransom’s throaty timber call me back.

Waiting for the rest of the students to clear out, I take my time approaching him. “I hope this isn’t becoming a habit,” I say in false warning to help ease the tension I feel inside. “People might start talking.”

The corner of Ransom’s mouth quirks up. “You weren’t in class yesterday.”

“I was taking care of a sick friend. Should I have brought a note?”

His smile grows deeper with my sarcasm. “Does this have anything to do with Miss Guerra’s absence?”

I nod.

His eyes hold mine for a moment longer than is comfortable. His voice is quiet and filled with concern when he says, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and that, uh…” He clears his throat, and the sudden nervous energy he gives off has me curious. “The kiss. I wanted to make sure it didn’t… scare you.”

I study him for a moment, the tightness around his eyes and the firm line of his lips. I remember that kiss fondly. How gentle he was, how sweet it felt. But it makes no sense to ask me this, considering all we did to one another after that. Unless he’s still worried about how this will affect our personal and professional lives.

I consider this. “No,” I whisper, my voice growing deeper as the memories of that kiss plays through my mind on repeat. “Are you?”

His gaze glued to my mouth, he shakes his head slowly. “At first. I have a lot to lose, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it for a second. Your mouth…”

He trails off, and when I glance down, I see the evidence of how much that memory affects him. His words are like the first move on a chess board, and it gives me the confidence to make the second move.

Maintaining a careful and respectful distance, I take a step closer, lowering my voice so no one else can hear. “If I thought I could get away with it, I’d drop to my knees right now and show you exactly what this mouth can do, Mr. Scott.”

He sucks air in sharply through his teeth and draws back. The flames of desire in his eyes blazes back at me. In a single, hard blink, he banks it. Shaking his head, Ransom takes a step back. “You should go now, Miss Hart, before something bad happens.”

I smirk because I knew he’d be the one to draw the line. I wonder if he realizes how transparent he is. Carefully Controlled Mr. Scott by day is nothing like Uninhibited Mr. Scott by night. “Afraid someone will catch us?”

His chest is pressed against mine in an instant, heat rolling off him in waves. With his lips against my ear, he growls, “The only thing I’m afraid of is that I’ll lose control and shove my cock so far down your throat, you’ll choke on it.”

Holy shit. The smile falls from my face at the mental image, replaced with a near-crippling desire to drop before him and taste his hard flesh between my lips. As it turns out, it’s me who draws the line.

“I should go,” I say thickly, because someone has to be the voice of reason, before we both end up in trouble.

He watches me as I back away with a mocking smile. “Yes, you certainly should.”

ELEVEN

I’ve managed to stay away for a solid week. Having a class with Ransom makes this a nearly impossible feat—like reaching the summit of Mount Everest without a guide and lacking any survival skills.

To keep myself busy, and my mind off anything having to do with him, I throw myself into my studies. On the days I have to work, I use dancing to distract myself, which is also harder than hell, because every few minutes I find myself searching the corners for a pair of familiar dark eyes.

Thankfully, Ransom keeps his distance, too. I don’t know if he was trying to scare me off, but it works—kind of. Try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about him, about the kiss, the sex. Everything. He completely dominates my every thought. There’s no escape.

It’s driving me crazy, wanting to touch him, but forcing myself to stay away. It’s better for both of us this way. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I just wish I didn’t have to see his face every day.

That’s why I’ve ditched yoga for running. I’ve found that it helps me clear my head far better than the downward facing dog. For just a little while, I can get lost in the steady rhythm of my feet slapping the pavement and the whirring of my breaths in my ears.

I don’t have a lot of stamina, but I can get a good mile in before I have to take a break. This morning, I hit the streets early while it’s still cool enough out to break a comfortable sweat. The path I take circles the campus. I pass a couple runners while I’m out, but it’s still pretty early, which means I have the trail mostly to myself.