Page 11 of Savage Surrender

I saw him working on something in the grand library, jotting notes. Failing to remember a single line of the geology text I was trying to study was a moment of frustration.

Every. Freaking. Where. If the man wasn’t following me, something was up for him to constantly be near me like this. And he couldn’t have been following me. I would’ve known if he were. While my father’s guards kept a consistent distance from me, they were there. And they weren’t untrained idiots. If anyone was actively stalking me, they’d know, and they’d report on it.

As far as I could tell, Professor Remi was just… a professor. Dry, cool, emotionless, but so fine to gaze at. Particularly as he wentthrough a series of reps near the free weight area. I was a “lazy” athlete, doing the bare minimum of a jog on a treadmill and dabbling with some calisthenic type moves that were probably actually Pilates maneuvers.

His muscles bulged and tensed as he lifted then lowered the dumbbells. When he moved on to the machines, more of his tendons and veins popped up and showed.

Compared to the younger men exercising around him, students my age, he looked so damn mature. Older, but not ancient. Powerful, but not hyped up on steroids and protein powder substitutes.

Professor Remi, whoever the hell he was beneath the icy demeanor and no-nonsense style of lecturing, was hot, buff, and experienced. Even in the gym, as he moved from one thing to another, it was so evident that he was a man at ease with his body, with his strength.

This man was no newbie. He wasn’t playing around and passing time. He was here to do business, and I couldn’t stop admiring his confidence and experience.

I couldn’t stop admiring him at all—until I had to. Mid-rep, he glanced up and made direct eye contact with me through the reflections in the mirror.

Caught staring, I couldn’t look away. Doing so would prove that he’d caught me. All I could manage was maintaining this eye contact, running on the treadmill and locking in on this blank expression so he wouldn’t know how much I lusted for him.

You bastard. You teasing bastard.

Not lowering his gaze as he lifted the dumbbell, he stared right back, trying to play my game of indifference. Or maybe it wasn’t indifference on his part. Maybe he really did loathe me and want me to see that almost-scowl of annoyance on his face.

Our stare-down only ended when a couple of girls approached him, asking him stupid, mindless questions about what he’d covered in our last class. Twice, I’d sat through his lectures, and twice, I’d had to refrain from rolling my eyes at the inane questions some of my classmates asked all so he would look at them and speak to them directly. That was how desperate they were to get his attention, how deeply he could distract the entire class from focusing on lessons.

Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the sexy prof from my mind when he showed up everywhere I went. Even off campus.

At the end of the second week of classes, I got word of a party happening at an apartment off campus. Parties weren’t my thing. They couldlooklike my idea of fun, but I hated them. Going to any social events always came with the caveat that I’d be a spy for my father. Or I’d be a diversion for him while he carried on a meeting with a rival. I’d never attended a gathering or social event purely for the sake of just being there. In the same vein that I had to make “friends” for the sake of blending in and pretending to fit in so people would talk to me, I had to force myself into situations where others could think they were partying.

No matter where I went and what I was doing, it always had to serve a purpose for my father.

Tonight was no exception. After getting word that a man who dealt drugs would be hosting a party, I knew I had to go. So far, I wasn’t getting anything to report to my father. And he wouldask. He would demand a report on what was happening on the drug front at campus. He would expect me to tell him what members of rival families were doing at the school.

And to date, I had nothing to tell him. Kelly wouldn’t say anything about Eva, and even if she hadn’t been closed-lipped and told me something, I’d fudge those details to make the “news” sound relevant. I wouldn’t go out of my way to save her. I wasn’t that much of a martyr, except where Maxim was concerned, but I wouldn’t let my father have any more intel about Eva or Lev. They deserved their happiness.

Maybe something will happen at this party and I’ll have something for him.

Even if it was just the usual same old of people buying and selling, the known users and dealers who’d already made their identities known on campus, it would be a nugget of intel.

For the first hour, as I had a beer and mingled and danced with a couple of outgoing girls I knew from a few of my classes, I realized I might have jinxed myself. Nothing was happening. This party—if it could be called that—was really low-key. Boring, even. Uneventful. Yet, I was glad I’d come to do my part and spy. If I didn’t, and if Igor thought I was slacking, he’d punish Maxim.

“Funny seeingyouhere.”

I whipped around, nearly dropping my half-full beer bottle at the sound of that rich, gruff voice so close to my ear. I hated that I recognized it already after just two classes. I detested how my body reacted to the thought ofhimbeing so close to me.

Sure enough, as I completed a spin and faced him, I was treated—or cursed—to the close-up view of Professor Remi. Viktor Remi, according to the scant bio on the college’s website.

“Oh?” I pretended to sip my drink, refusing to let him see how surprised I was to see him here. “How come?”

He stepped closer to me as a couple of people danced behind him. That minor closeness felt like both a threat and a lure. This much nearer to him, I was trapped under the hit of his body heat, the taunt of his cologne.

Oh, fuck.

I was almost flush against him, and for the first time in my life, I worried my mask would slip. That he’d see how much he affected me.

“I’ve been suffering from a specific optical illusion lately.” He lifted his drink—not beer but liquor, proving again that he was an older, wiser, and more experienced man versus these beer-loving frat boys—and set his lips on the rim. I was beholden to stare, locked in watching him swallow the liquid. Gazing at his mouth and wondering what else he could do with it heated me up. Desire flooded me as I wondered if he would also be a different lover compared to the men on campus. Older, wiser, and more experienced to rock my world and kiss me everywhere I could dream of.

Stop! Snap out of it!I furrowed my brow, hating how much he got to me. “What kind of an illusion?” I asked, proud that my voice was as cool and chilly as ever.

“An illusion of you—showing up everywhere I fucking look, Ms. Petrov.”

---