Page 53 of When Hearts Collide

Ryland freezes when he sees me. His eyes widen in shock.

God, he has grown more handsome in the last year and a half, his presence larger, more encompassing. The sharp angles of his face are more pronounced. His normally clean-shaven jaw is covered in a short, sexy, meticulously groomed stubble, the perfect, perpetual five o’clock shadow. He’s dressed in a slim navy suit, which encases his muscular body, a body which has grown bigger and stronger than I last remember. Those piercing eyes of his are twin flames of quicksilver.

My memory hasn’t done them justice. I’ve forgotten the searing heat of his stare, the banked power in his eyes, and how it feels to bask in his attention. I’ve forgotten the way he sucks the oxygen out of a room with his presence and how the currents pulse between us whenever our gazes connect.

The same electricity crackles in the air now, and my heart skips several beats before sprinting in my rib cage. My hand flies to my chest, feeling the rapid thumping underneath my shirt. My face feels heated, my head heavy, as I stare at him.

Time has dulled nothing. The banked fire comes roaring back in an inferno.

The briefcase in his hand slips out of his grasp, clattering on to the floor, its contents spilling across the dark hardwood.

My heart hiccups. The reversal of the day we met at ULA when I was sprawled at his feet isn’t lost on me.

The silence is loud as he glares at me, a myriad of indiscernible emotions flickering behind those passionate eyes. A chair scrapes across the floor, the sound slicing through the trance I find myself in. An awkward tension fills the room.

Ryland seems frozen in his steps, unable to move.

“What on earth?” Chloe breathes next to me as we stare at the imposing man, a picture of brimming power, who doesn’t seem to notice the mess on the floor.

Unbidden, I leap out of my chair and kneel before him, helping him pick up his things from the floor—a black folio I recognize from ULA, a few pens, a slim laptop, and a—

I clutch the softness in my hand, my gaze darting up to him standing over me.

A navy, cable-knit scarf with a thick center twist.

My scarf.

It’s summer though. Why is he carrying it with him?

“Ryland?” I whisper, gripping the scarf tightly in my hand. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine reuniting with him like this, once again in a professor and student capacity.

My voice jolts him out of his stupor. He quickly bends down and snatches the scarf out of my hands before stuffing it back into his briefcase. His face is flushed and his eyes skate over my face desperately, like he’s been starving in the desert and I’m his first sight of food and water. Then, as abrupt as a sudden cold snap in the middle of summer, his eyes chill and his jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists.

Slowly, I stand up, my fingers twisting against each other, my pulse shaking in my ears.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Absolute chaos. Insanity.

“Ms. Callahan,” his rasps, his voice thick and hoarse. “Please go back to your seat.”

My legs trembling, I make my way back to my chair, my mind disoriented, my breathing rapid, like I’ve been hit with a blow to the head.

Or to my heart.

“What was that?” Chloe asks, “Do you know him?”

I stare at Ryland, who’s stalking up the steps of the elevated stage, the intensity radiating off him like a category five hurricane, obliterating everything in its path, wreaking catastrophe in its wake…

Pulling me straight back into the eye of the storm.

Chapter 21

My first class at NYUC was a disaster.

I was distracted, unnerved, my mind a cluttered mess of emotions and restrained impulses.

Destructive impulses along the lines of striding to the front row, hauling a certain brunette from her chair, and dragging her to a dark corner of the room. Then I’d clamp my hand around her slender neck and find out how her plump lips taste, if they were as sweet as they look.

---