I’m wasting time being angry with her, but I don’t know how else to deal with everything I’m feeling inside of me. So, for now, I’m keeping my distance.

When class lets out, I gather my books and hope that I’ll get lost in the wave of students leaving the room, but Annie is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I get there. I’m not ready to talk to her yet.

As I reach the last step, an uncertain smile grows on her face, and a low hum starts up inside my head. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Annie wears her emotions on her sleeve, so it’s not hard to tell that she is hurt by my behavior. Still, as much as I want to reach out and pull her in for a hug and assure her it’s going to be fine, I don’t. The excuse falls from my lips before I know it’s coming.

“I can’t. I have to talk with Professor Scott about the final project.”

Her eyes are locked with mine, searching, and I know she can tell I’m lying, but she lets it slide. “Okay, well, maybe we can catch up later then.”

I smile tightly, because we both know it’s unlikely. But it’s nice to pretend. “Sure.”

Annie doesn’t leave right away, making it impossible to keep up my ruse. If I linger, the lie will be exposed. Maybe that’s what’s she’s going for. Maybe she’s trying to beat me at my own game. I catch her giving me a sidelong look as she stacks her papers neatly into her backpack, and that’s all the confirmation I need. The little devil is cleverer than I thought.

Realizing I have to follow through with my bogus excuse, I slowly walk toward Ransom’s desk, where he is seated, his head down, as he quietly flips through an overlarge art book.

I clear my throat to get him to notice me, and when he lifts his head, his smile is bright. Too bright. I dart my eyes over my shoulder and he follows the movement, seeing Annie. His smile instantly turns professional.

“What can I do for you, Miss Hart?”

I hadn’t intended to tell him. My plan was to wait until the last possible moment and then slap my name at the bottom of the project list, but Annie has put me in a tight position and I can’t think of anything else right now.

Drawing in a deep breath, I say in a rush, “I signed up to pose for Mrs. Jackson’s modeling class for the final project.”

Ransom’s expression flattens out, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. From the corner of my eye, I see Annie paused just outside the door, and when I glance up at her, she grins and shoots me a thumb up. I can’t help smiling back. She’s the one who pushed me to do this. Even though I’m mad at her, it feels good to share my secret with her and to know that she supports me.

When she’s gone, I refocus my attention on Ransom, who is studiously avoiding my gaze. “I thought your friend was going to do that.”

“She was, but she changed her mind. Since her spot was open, and I hadn’t settled on anything, I decided to fill it.”

Leaning back in his chair, Ransom stares me down as his thumb repeatedly clicks the pen in his hand. The longer he does it, the more I feel the tension between us grow. He’s upset. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that.

“Why would you choose to take off your clothes for a roomful of people?”

I freeze because he’s got to be kidding. Out of everyone on campus, why wouldn’t I do it? It’s right up my alley. Some might even say that it’s a natural progression. From partially nude to fully naked.

“I’m not ashamed of my body,” I tell him. “Plus, it’s a paying gig.”

“So you’re doing it for the money?”

“Every college student needs extra money wherever they can get it, right?” The fire snapping in his eyes tells me he doesn’t agree.

“If you needed money, you should have asked me. You don’t have to subject yourself to a bunch of horny frat boys to get it.”

I laugh. “Do you really think frat boys would take an art class just to see a naked chick? All they have to do is snap a finger and girls everywhere will drop their clothes at their feet.”

“I think you’re missing the point here.”

“What, that you don’t agree with my choice? I disagree,” I reply smartly. “I think the message was pretty clear.”

His dark eyes narrow at my tone and I glare right back. As his next class begins to file in, I toss back my hair and adopt a carefree attitude. “Can I borrow your pen for a minute? I’d like to add my name before I forget.”

After writing my name down, I return the pen to his desk. Ransom doesn’t say another word as I leave the room.

I’m not the least bit surprised to see him lurking in the shadows when I walk onto the stage later that night.

My stomach flutters in nervous anticipation as my song ends and I step off the stage. I half expect him to barge into the dressing room like he did last time, but he doesn’t do that either. By the time I’m through freshening up and head back out onto the floor to begin serving drinks, I’m confident that I’ve figured out his game.

He’s going to make me sweat.

Ransom’s a master at playing head games. He likes to watch and wait. Make a girl shake before he goes in for the kill. I love and hate this game. It’s a constant adrenalin rush that’s hard to come down from. My hands tremble as I carry an order of drinks to a table positioned only a few feet from his.

Once again, he’s cloaked in shadows. I used to wonder why he did that. Now I assume it must be because he worries he’ll be recognized. A professor in a strip club probably isn’t the best image to put out there.

I feel his eyes on me as I slide the drinks in front of my customers. Two men, middle-aged, with touches of gray in their hair. They’re dressed in paint-splattered navy overalls, suggesting they came directly after work. A lot of men do that. They come for a few drinks and a good show to help them unwind.

“How are you fellas enjoying your evening?” Gripping the back of one of the chairs, I lean into one hip. The position pushes my butt out, creating a nice S-curve in my back. Ransom loves that. What he doesn’t love, though, is another man’s hands on his property.

I learn this lesson pretty quick when the man whose chair I am holding winds his arm around my waist and plants a firm hand on my right butt cheek.

His coffee-stained smile is gone in an instant and so is mine as I am jerked backward and Ransom steps in to take my place.

I would have fallen on my ass had he not reacted so quickly and grabbed ahold of my arm at the last second. Turning ferocious eyes gone black on the man, who now wears a look that is a cross between surprised, pissed off, and a touch frightened, Ransom growls a warning that makes even me shiver.

“If you ever touch her again, I’ll rip that filthy hand off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll spend the rest of your life wiping it with a stump. Are we clear?”

The man nods, his wide eyes unblinking. Ransom holds his gaze for a few beats more, and then he turns on me. With his hand still firmly wrapped around my arm, he hustles me away. The bathrooms are just beyond the bar, and I muster a half-hearted smile so Bernice doesn’t sick security on us.

Fear is a very real factor here as I am bundled into the men’s bathroom. An older man stands in front of the sinks, washing his hands, and when Ransom aims his death glare on him and tells him to hit the road, he doesn’t waste a second thinking about it.

Once we’re alone, I am crowded against the wall. Ransom’s tall, solid frame is heavy and borderline oppressive. But when he gathers my hands over my head and begins tearing at my skirt until it is gathered around my waist, my labored breaths are no longer a result of fear.

“Are you mad at me?” I gasp as his fingers find my hot center and plunge inside, working my internal temperature up so high I feel as though I could combust.

Burying his face in the curve between my neck and shoulder, he rasps against my skin, “I’m mad at that fucker for putting his hands on what’s mine.”