Page 62 of When Hearts Collide

“Anything else, Professor?” My voice is sickly sweet, like those artificial hot chocolates I hate with a passion.

Ryland glares at me, his nostrils flaring. His tall frame is vibrating with coiled energy. I see his hands slowly clench and unclench, like he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for me, from unleashing himself on me.

My skin feels hot, and the swirling heat is spreading throughout my body. Goosebumps form on my arms, and suddenly, everything feels sensitive.

Taut. Achy.

My nipples bead against my tank top and I see his eyes darken as his gaze slips to what, no doubt, is an indecent display of want on my chest. But I don’t cower. I don’t flinch. In fact, I thrust out my chest a little bit more just to taunt him. A sharp current of lust flows between my legs and my lips part in an exhale.

His gaze returns to my face, the slate-colored irises darkening to charcoal. His nostrils flare, his breathing sounding labored.

“Anything else, Professor?” I repeat, but this time, my voice is a breathy whisper.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?” Chloe plops in her seat next to me before flashing a light-hearted grin. But I don’t let that face fool me. Her eyes are full of questions. She turns to Ryland. “Hey, Professor. We’re almost done. We got this.” She tosses out a wink.

Ryland tears his gaze away before he pinches the bridge of his nose. His mask of indifference slips back on, and he turns to me again. “I don’t want to have this conversation again. Take this class seriously, Ms. Callahan.”

Slowly, he crouches down, picks up the scattered sheets of paper from the floor, and gently sets them on my desk.

I’m suddenly reminded of the way he fixed my daffodils that day in ULA.

With a heated glance at me, he walks away, no doubt to terrorize someone else.

“What an ass,” Fred mutters.

Chloe nudges me and cocks her brow as if to say, you need to tell me what the hell that was.

I shrug, noting Ryland is back at his desk, his attention still searing on my skin. If he thinks he can treat me this way, well, he’s in for a big surprise.

Chapter 24

He’s pacing in his glass office, a phone against his ear as he rubs his temples in apparent frustration. His white shirtsleeves are rolled up, his dark navy suit jacket hanging on the coat rack behind his desk. He’s the god Jocelyn mentioned back then, hurling thunderbolts in every direction, punishing all those who dare defy him. His Royal Highness, as the press calls him, is very much in his element.

The lava scorches through my veins.

For the last few weeks, his demeanor toward me has been colder than the arctic and I’ve put up with it because I know he has his misgivings about me. I’m here to prove him wrong, to show him I’m not the cheater he claims me to be. I refuse to be lumped into the same wretched category of human beings who have offended him so.

I’ve been patient. I’ve worked hard. Even harder than before.

And to be subjected to his behavior in class earlier today? I don’t think so.

Gritting my teeth, I stomp toward him. He hasn’t noticed me yet. He’s facing the floor-to-ceiling windows now, a scowl on his face.

Knock. Knock.

I don’t bother waiting for his response before I step into his office and close the glass door with a resounding bang.

Chilly eyes meet mine as he slowly turns toward me. His nostrils flare when he sees me standing before him and he mutters something into his phone before turning it off. His lips flatten—nonchalance clearly reflected on his face—as he strolls to his desk and carefully places his phone on top before sitting down in his leather chair.

He steeples his fingers in front of him and lifts his brow at me. “How may I help you, Ms. Callahan?”

I huff out a breath and stride to the other side of his large oak desk. I toss my messenger bag on the chair and don’t even bother sitting down.

Pressing my palms on the desktop, I lean over, the fury unabated in my veins.

“Professor Anderson,” I grit my teeth, “I want to discuss your behavior in this morning’s class.”

He sits back and shrugs, his fingers twirling a fountain pen, like he has no idea what I’m talking about. “What behavior?”

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