Page 49 of Hate To Love You

I don’t know. Would Ryker even want to? I know he feels the tension between us when we’re together. I know he’s made comments here and there about me and us, but does he mean them?

Ryker should be here any minute now to finish his side of the presentation, and I don’t know if I can think straight with him in this small space. I should leave now; tell him I’m not feeling well and that he’ll have to finish on his own. But something inside me makes me stay in my seat.

I shouldn’t be thinking about this, shouldn’t be thinking about him. This project is so important, and Professor Whitely will be so upset with me if it’s not perfect. I can’t be distracted right now. Yet, Ryker Steele has been consuming almost every thought I’ve had since my birthday.

The sound of the door creaking open catches my attention and makes my nerves skyrocket. I don’t turn around, instead deciding to keep my focus on my laptop screen.

When he passes me, I can smell his cologne and a hint of his aftershave. His face is clear of the stubble that had been there just the other day. His green eyes look intense and stormy, like they’re hiding a lifetimes worth of stress and secrets. The dark bags under his eyes make me think he hasn’t really slept much lately, eliciting a pang of sadness through me.

I don’t know how I got here. Caring about a guy I hate, but maybe… maybe I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how it happened. But here I am, craving the touch of a man I no longer seem to hate.

Ryker sits in the chair across the table from me, sets his laptop on the table in front of him and doesn’t say a word to me as he begins to work. He hasn’t even looked at me.

Okay… what’s his problem?

I peer at him over my laptop, and this time I don’t try to hide it. I blatantly stare at him until he clears his throat and fidgets in his chair.

“Do you need something?” he says with a sharp edge. My eyes search his face, wondering why he’s being like this.

“N…no, I was just-” he finally looks up from his laptop.

“Just what?” Ryker shuts the laptop as his eyes bore into mine. His tone makes me shiver. My eyes catch on his hand which is covered in cuts and bruises. My eyes narrow, and then they widen. What the hell happened?

“What happened to your hand?” I ask. Ryker quickly pulls his hand under the table.

“Nothing,” he tells me, never taking his eyes off of me.

Did he go after Ashton after I told him not to? “Ryker, what happened to your hand?” I ask more sternly.

Ryker watches me, studies me for what feels like forever, before he slowly rises from his chair and leans on his hands as he stands above the table. He looks angry, frustrated, but I don’t know why. Why won’t he tell me about his hand?

“You don’t need to know everything, Guinevere.”

“Why won’t you just tell me? Did you go after Ashton?” I ask in an accusatory tone. Ryker’s eyes flash with something that reminds me of guilt but also a bit of something I don’t recognize.

He steps around the table, and its reminiscent of one of the first nights we worked together. I don’t move or back away when he gets so close I can feel his body heat. I stay in my seat and watch as his forearms cord as he sits on the table and leans back.

“And if I did?” he challenges. Jesus, what is wrong with him? Why is he acting like this?

Ryker leans closer to my face like he has many times before, his long, strong arms landing on the chair at either side of my head, and my breathing quickens.

“What would you do about it, Gwen?” his head tilts in question. What could I do about it? I can’t control what he does. I can’t make him do anything. Ryker’s the kind of guy that will do whatever he wants, no matter the consequences.

His eyes travel from my face down to my chest as it heaves up and down in a fast rhythm, my cleavage noticeable at the top of my green Ellington U tank top. Slowly, he peels his gaze away and lands back on my burning face.

He’s so close, I can smell him. I can feel his heat. I can see the large bulge in his pants as it seems to grow harder. I swallow hard, looking back up to see his glazed over eyes.

One of his hands traces up my neck softly, gently sliding over my cheek and staying there for a brief moment as I relax into it. His touch feels so good, and I want more. I need more. There’s no doubt my panties aren’t completely soaked through at this point.

The ache between my legs becomes more prominent as his thumb tenderly caresses my cheek, sending goosebumps all over my body. When his hand moves, I almost want to pout. But instead of leaving me completely, he cups the back of my head, lacing his fingers through my hair.

And then, without warning, Ryker fists my hair and pulls my head back, forcing me to look him in the eye. The dull soreness in my head isn’t even noticeable when Ryker stands to straddle me over my chair, pushing it and me away from the table.

Even though there’s no one here in the library right now, this feels so wrong. This feels like a disaster waiting to happen.

“What, no more questions?” he asks derisively, a smug smirk crossing his pink lips.

My eyes narrow because I know he’s realized his little plan to distract me worked. But I haven’t forgotten what began this game that he’s started.

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