Page 42 of When Hearts Collide

He freezes for a beat before turning around, his fingers quickly buttoning his shirt, hiding his broad chest from my view. I catch a glint of silver, a pendant of some sort, before that gets hidden from me as well.

“Yes?” His face is aloof. I shove the box toward him, and he frowns before taking it from me. “What’s this?”

“Thanksgiving is coming up, and I was doing my holiday shopping earlier and saw this and thought of you…to thank you for your tutelage this semester and your support.” When I was crying in your office. When you offered me your umbrella.

For seeing me.

I fiddle with the hem of my jean jacket. “I was going to give this to you before winter break, for Christmas, but with the weather and everything, I figure you can use it now.”

Ryland stares at the package in his hand, his brows pinched, before opening the lid. He takes out the scarf I spent hours knitting—a navy cable pattern with a thick center twist. This is my third attempt. I started on the project after the disaster with the mittens.

I slide my fingers into the pockets of my pants to hide the redness on my fingertips. I poked myself so many times with the big needles as I hurried to finish it last night.

“I-It’s cheap. Just a small token of thanks. For e-everything,” I stammer and lie, watching his long fingers curl around the soft yarn, kneading the material.

“I figure it’s cold and rainy and sometimes I see you without an umbrella.” Standing so lonely in the rain, so I hope this gives you warmth.

I don’t say those words. I know we can’t cross this line. Unlike many things in the real world, this isn’t remotely a gray situation. This is black and white. We cannot get involved. His reputation and mine, his career, and my future.

It’s a nonstarter.

“The rain makes me feel alive,” he murmurs, his fingers slowly stroking the scarf.

My heart hiccups at the longing in his eyes. “And you feel you aren’t alive right now?”

He stills for a beat before resuming the stroking. “No. I’m merely living.” He doesn’t stare at me. “I sound like an asshole, don’t I?”

“No. You’re only human. Perhaps people from the outside only see your name, your net worth, but wealth doesn’t equate to happiness, and sometimes…” I pause and bite my lip, waiting to see if I’ve offended him. He doesn’t speak or move. “Sometimes, I think wealth comes with a price, with responsibilities and shackles average people don’t see.”

Ryland’s nostrils flare and he slowly lifts his gaze. Penetrating. Haunting. Aching. The heat of his stare on me, like I’m the center of his universe, is so intoxicating. My fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to smooth the furrow of his brows, the lines around his mouth.

I whisper, “So, no. I don’t think you’re an asshole. I think you’re someone who’s tired of paddling in the deep ocean and wishing there was a life raft near you.”

His eyes darken and glitter. He swallows, the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbing up and down.

Maybe I can be your life raft. My pulse riots at the thought.

He clears his throat and sets the scarf down.

“Thank you,” he replies, his voice gruff.

Ryland’s gaze remains on me as he grabs a long scrap of black silk from his desk and wraps it around his neck—a traditional self-tie bow tie. His face is impassive, but his fingers tremble slightly as he attempts to fashion the fabric into something presentable. His motions are stilted, uncoordinated, and those piercing gray eyes of his flash in frustration, in anger.

I walk around the desk and stand before him, tentatively reaching out.

“M-May I?” I motion to the thick silk ribbon he’s murdering with his hands.

Another second passes by, and those eyes of his grow darker as he gives me a curt nod.

Stepping forward until I’m a few inches before him, the first time I’m so close to him since that day in his office, I’m hit with his unique scent of nature and oranges, mixed with his own manly fragrance, and a hint of minty aftershave. Goosebumps form on my skin as I slowly loop the silk around his neck, my fingers grazing his heated chest, feeling the tension radiating from it.

We’re standing so close and yet it feels so far apart. Our breaths mingle in the tiny sliver of space between us and my pussy throbs. I feel my nipples prickling underneath my thin bra, and I pray they aren’t showing through the sweater. His breathing is harsher, louder, like he too is having a difficult time with this proximity.

I finish knotting the silk into a perfect bow and press my hands on his hard chest, stealing a quick touch from him. His muscles ripple underneath my palms and I quickly let go before stepping back.

Looking up, the expression on his face takes my breath away. His charcoal pools are pitch black and affixed to my lips, his cheeks and forehead are tinged pink. Those perfectly refined lips are parted. A tongue dips out. It’s almost like he’s imagining how I taste.

My core clenches, and I feel wetness seeping into my panties.

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