Page 6 of Wicked Little Secret

For a beat afterward, the two of us stand still and gape at the mess in silence. My jaw’s dropped open while his has clamped shut tight, like he’s holding in his outrage.

It’s not until the shock washes away that I reach for my bookbag, fumble for a moist towelette, and begin dabbing at him.

It’s not until I’ve stepped so close I can pick up his woodsy, spiced scent that I realize what I’m doing.

And who I’ve run into.

TheProfessor Theron Adler.

I freeze, blinking dumbly up at him, the towelette in my hand still pressing into the tweed fabric of his blazer.

Professor Theron Adler is known for his strict and uncompromising standards. He’s one of the professors in the law school—on the entire campus—most students dread. Considered a subject matter expert on criminal law, he was once a practicing defense attorney who won numerous high profile cases.

Somehow, he’s evenmoreintimidating in person.

Moreattractive.

He’s tall, with the natural build of a runner. Thin but toned in all the right places, his shoulders wide but his waist trim. The tweed blazer fits him to a T, clearly professionally tailored that way. The once white button-up shirt he’s wearing underneath—now stained with coffee—has developed a sheer quality to its fabric.

See-through enough that I can tell he’s sporting some seriously drool worthy abs.

I blink several times, forcing my gaze back up to hisface, only for mine to warm. He’s scowling at me, the square black frames of his eyeglasses knocked slightly askew. But they could never block the dark mystery that is his eyes.

Darker than my own. A mahogany brown that’s almost obsidian. That holds a permanent shine in them and mirrors my mortified reflection back at me.

The rest of his face is like a composite of all the features women tend to like—a strong jaw that’s hardly disguised by fast-growing stubble and an aquiline nose that complements his wide cheekbones.

His hair’s floppy and slightly unruly, straight but with subtle silver hairs threaded through the naturally dark strands.

He’s so handsome, it almost makes up for his brutal personality.

As if sensing my thoughts, he clears his throat and raises both of his thick brows.

The hoarse sound zaps me out of my trance-like state. I drop my hand from dabbing coffee off him.

“I… I’m so… sorry,” I stammer out lamely.

His jaw clenches tighter. “What’s your name?”

“Oliver. Nyssa Oliver. I’m… I was… the year one law orientation…”

Oh god. Nys, could you sound like a bigger dumbass?! UGH!

I can’t tell what he’s thinking except to conclude it can’t be anything good. A flicker of something—distaste, dislike, general judgment—passes in his dark gaze as he spends a couple seconds surveying me. He takes a step back and gestures to the mess on the floor.

My books scattered everywhereandthe puddle of coffee.

“Clean this right now,” he snaps. “Then hurry up to the orientation. You’re late.”

Before I can even utter the wordyes, Professor Adler’s walking around me, brushing past to continue on his way.

I sigh and kneel to pick up my things. Dread pits in my stomach. I’ve not only made the worst first impression imaginable; I’ve just put a huge target on my back.

And made my crim law professor hate me.

2

THERON

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