Page 15 of When Hearts Collide

Large, doe-like blue eyes, the color of the brightest sapphires, framed by the lushest lashes, long espresso hair curling around the heavy swells of her chest, partially hiding the protruding nipples plastered against her thin, wet shirt, which left little to the imagination. The plump, pillowy lips parted on a gasp when she saw me approach her after she barreled into class like an act of God, the beautiful meadowlark lying at the foot of a beast.

A water nymph. Seductive yet innocent at the same time.

Heat rushes to my groin as my senses relive the sensations of seeing Millie Callahan at my feet on Tuesday. The woman whose penetrative gaze sees too much, whose aura is innately seductive at the same time.

I remember my sharp anger and frustration at the latecomer crashing into our class halting abruptly when my eyes took in the vixen bringing the elements indoors. My lungs froze mid-inhale, my eyes unable to drag themselves away from her.

The brief minutes between us seemed heavy, ripe with tension, the thumping in my heart intensifying, my skin sizzling when I grabbed her wrist when she looked like she was about to faint after standing up. The bolt of anger that seared me when I saw the jock flashing a smile at her as he handed her the laptop lying at his feet.

I clench my fists at the barrage of unwanted sensations churning inside me and lock my jaw.

Fucking insane. Completely inappropriate.

She’s over fifteen-years younger than you.

She’s forbidden.

She’s your fucking student.

It was an off day, that’s all. Effects of the electrical storm.

“How many of you have worked as a delivery driver? InstaEats? Delivery Dash?” I unbutton my suit jacket and lay it over the back of the wooden chair by the desk in front of the classroom.

The class is silent as I prowl back and forth, waiting for a brave soul to answer. I know my reputation—hard-ass, cold, stickler for rules. The real world is much harsher. They might as well get used to it now.

“Are you all deaf this morning? Too hungover from partying?”

I pause my pacing, my eyes skimming over the sea of orange and white—there’s a school rally today, but the party began yesterday, and the collective hangover of the students is starting to royally piss me off. They’re here to learn, to understand their roles and responsibilities in society, not to cruise through education and expect the world to be handed to them later.

A few hands raise in the air. Finally.

I try not to look at her. The woman who saw through me in the unrelenting storm.

She’s a girl, barely a woman. Get your fucking shit together.

She’s sitting in the second row today, her posture ramrod straight, eyes bright, like she’s excited to be in class, like she’s so fucking happy to be here, to listen to me. Her hair, no longer the wet mess from Tuesday, is a tapestry of browns and caramels, the silky strands long, shiny, and thick. My groin twitches as I admire those luscious locks.

Perfect for grabbing onto after I chase her in the woods, feeling the wind on my face, the exhilaration in my veins. Then I’d wind them around my hand and tug, jolting her to a stop. I’d put them against my nose and take a whiff because I’d be craving a hit of her sweetness. Then I’d haul her toward me—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I flinch, my eyes darting away at the nonsensical, completely inappropriate, intrusive thoughts. I need to get my ass back to The Orchid and book a scene. I’ve been without sex for too long and it’s messing with my brain.

I point to a redhead with her hand raised in the front row. “You. What’s your name?”

“Ashley,” she replies, her voice raspy as she bites her bottom lip in a motion I’m sure will bring many boys to heel. It just fucking annoys me.

“Tell me, is your pay mostly from your wages or your tips from customers?”

“The tips, of course. I do pretty well for myself once the guys see me when I drop off their takeout.” She gives me a wink and thrusts out her ample chest.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and fight the urge to roll my eyes. I love teaching, but this incessant fawning rankles. I can already imagine the coy glances and sly invitations these girls will give me after they get their exam results to see if I can give them “extra credit” to help them pass the class.

Cheaters thinking they can get ahead and not put in the work beforehand.

Cheaters with ulterior motives.

Sydney’s face floats in front of my mind and I grit my teeth, shoving the image away. “Do you get medical benefits from your company?”

---