Page 5 of Forbidden Obsession

I pretended not to notice her stare, slipped my hands inside the pocket of my Ferragamo slacks, and moved away from her. Slowly, I neared the end of the row, and her figure appeared at the opposite end I’d just walked from. I held back a smirk. There she was, observing me, still curious, even when a part of her soul feared me.

When she had tried to seduce me in my office, I’d grabbed her by her throat, planted her against the wall, and cut the flow to her oxygen with the strength in my fingers. It was enough to make her run away from me; I needed her to fear me. But here Penelope was, following me as I strolled row to row, pretending to look for a book that didn’t exist.

I turned left and went down an aisle that took us further away from the front of the library. When I’d gotten further enough away, I paused, lifted a book suddenly, then turned and ran into her.

“Oh!”

I gripped her arm to keep her balance. My forehead creased as I squinted, my nostrils flaring as her citrusy scent hit me like a Mac truck. Heat ran down my body straight to my dick, and I locked my jaw, inhaled, and exhaled—trying to release the craving that filled my bones.

“Ms. Cattaneo.”

“That is you,” she responded, her voice filled with dark desire.

“It is. And it’s you, too.”

She smiled, but it quickly faded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat, lingered, and her gaze covered the full length of me under a sweep of her fluttering lashes. Penelope was trying to get a feel for me, to see if I was the scary monster who’d run her from my office, or if I was the calm advisor I’d been known as around campus.

“Excuse me, Ms. Cattaneo. I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, it’s my fault.”

My brows arched. “Were you following me?”

“Uh…” she smiled, and the gesture upended the surge in my heartbeat.

“Following is such an invasive term.”

“Oh, yeah?”

My gaze dropped to her pouty mouth, and I traveled through a naughty visual of me shoving my dick down her throat. Yearning hit me in my gut again, and I locked my jaw and attempted to control my libido.

“Yeah. I prefer to call it curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Penelope.”

She sucked in an audible breath as my reference must’ve brought her back to our initial meeting and what happened when I’d responded the same way. My brows dipped, and my gaze stroked her from head to toe.

Blue jeans fitted her figure, hugging her curvy hips, and she wore red ankle boots on her feet. The blouse was a soft blush color. It was short sleeved and revealed the tattoo between her arm of a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly. Her jewelry—a gold necklace, bracelets, teardrop earrings, three rings on one finger and two on the other—highlighted her striking features.

“Goddess.”

Her brows rose, and pleasure ripped through her face. “What?”

I held steady. I’d misspoken, which never happened, but I reiterated because I could own up to my mistakes.

“I said, you’re a goddess, Penelope.” Inhaling her scent, I let the aroma linger between my nostrils longer than I should’ve. “Excuse me.” I stepped around her. It was time to get away from Penelope.

“Professor!”

I paused, her desire to call me professor instead of advisor arousing me as if she’d licked up my shaft.

I looked back at her, and she walked up behind me. “You can’t just tell me I’m a goddess and leave.” Her voice was laced with yearning.

I turned to face her. “Yes, I can.”

Her eyes twinkled. “No, you can’t.”

“Who’s going to stop me, Penelope?”

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