Page 38 of When Hearts Collide

I smile, and suddenly, the incoming storm doesn’t feel too gloomy anymore.

Chapter 16

It’s wrong.

This craving, bordering on obsession.

But like an addict, I can’t stay away. And it’s getting worse, lecture after lecture, the temptation taking on a life of its own.

My eyes unwittingly find her in the sea of students. My ears automatically pick up the light, sweet voice, just like the meadowlark’s song. My fingers…well, they itch to be near her, to feel her soft skin, which blooms into a pink flush in my presence.

The students are clustered in small groups today, preparing to present an argument on a case study, where I’ll poke holes in their positions.

Why? Because that’s what the business community will do to them when they’re out in the workforce. To succeed, not only do you need to make the best choice for the situation, but you also need to defend your position against critics.

My attention is captivated by her, this water nymph who seems so delicate and vulnerable and yet so strong at the same time. A mesmerizing contradiction. Life has been rough to her, if what she told me in the office before was true.

My mind drifts to the most erotic and anguish-laden fifteen minutes of my life again for the thousandth time this past week. The way she brought in the sunshine from the outside and yet seemed so cold. How her soulful, sapphire eyes were so sad, but she tried to hide behind a practiced, fake smile, one I recognized immediately because it is something I often wear myself.

Then she told me about the loss of her mother, a pain I felt viscerally because at that moment, we were the same person, both trying to mend a hole in our hearts, a hopeless, fruitless task. And her tears…the liquid marring her brilliant eyes…they were speared into my chest, and I could feel its impact wrenching the air out of my lungs.

Nothing could prepare me for the burst of possessiveness, the burning compulsion to protect her at that moment. The ethics of the situation, our age gap, the complete power imbalance, all reasons I’d repeat to myself every time before class, before I knew I’d see her, flew out the window, merely mist vaporized into thin air.

This has to stop. This madness. This rumination.

I stare at her right now, knowing I shouldn’t. She’s laughing at a group mate, a slim Asian girl I’ve seen her sit next to from time to time.

There’s a lightness in her frame now. She is still standing before me, head held high, her effervescence not dimmed one bit. In fact, she seems even more determined to prove to the world nothing can snuff out her spirit.

It’s a beautiful sight to behold.

Her fingers absentmindedly trail over her cheek and curl a lock of wavy hair behind her ear, and my own fingers twitch.

I remember every little thing about our interaction in my office—how soft her cheeks were, the creamy skin tinged with swaths of pink, which darkened with every second I kept my hands on her under the guise of wiping those tears from her face.

How, even during her pain, she was able to comfort me when my darkness leaked out. How she seemed to truly understand and wanted to set me free. Then there was that tentative swipe of tongue on my thumb, the sharp pleasure shooting straight into my veins.

I wanted her then. To wrap her in my arms and protect her from the elements, from the rain, so she’d never have to be a water nymph again.

Every moment in class with her ever since last week has been torture.

I want to wind those luscious strands around my hand, much like she did earlier last week when she was teasing me with her coy smile. Then there was the incident with the erotic sound clip she was listening to, and fuck did I want to act out that scene with her. I want to pull her head back to expose her throbbing pulse, then—

This is wrong. Forbidden. You’re a fucking ethics professor. Stop it, Ryland.

Her eyes flicker to me, as if sensing the darkness in my thoughts, and whatever she sees causes the smile to slide off her face. Her chest swells and falls, and that enticing pink flush is spreading across her skin once more.

Tearing my gaze away, I check my watch and clear my throat. “Time’s up. Group one, you’re first. Who have you chosen to represent you in this debate?”

The cluster of students in the first row all turn their heads and stare at Millie. She does the twisty fingers thing again, but this time, her eyes hold a spark of deviousness, like she knew the darkness of my thoughts just moments before.

“I’m representing group one, Professor.” She steps away from behind her desk and stands up tall.

A fire churns in my gut and I fight every impulse to step back or stalk toward her. With a flick of my hand, I motion for her to proceed. “The floor is yours, Ms. Callahan.”

“The case study revolves around the pricing of a new medicine that’ll stop the progression of kidney disease in patients and can decrease the likelihood of patients needing dialysis or a kidney transplant in their lifetimes,” she begins, her voice wavering as we all focus our attentions on her. Her fingers continue to pull and twist with each other.

“Gentech Pharmaceutical has been criticized about the exorbitant prices of this lifesaving, miracle drug.” She looks at her teammates, who are nodding in apparent encouragement.

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