Page 116 of Take Me Home

“Kind of warm in here,” he pointed out.

She pushed up her sleeves. “You can take my sweater, but you’ll never take this scarf from my neck.”

His eyes lit up with mischief.

“What’s that look?” she asked, wary.

“I have a fantasy like that. You in your scarf. Just your scarf.”

She blushed. “Really…”

He nodded, trailing one exploring finger under the edge of the scarf, from one collarbone to the other.

She bit her lip, and a ragged breath ghosted out of him. “God, I missed you,” he said, voice low and eyes dark. Then, his perfect, hot mouth found her neck around all that material, and she yanked him down on top of her.

Epilogue

Four Months Later

The sign on Hazel’s office door was flipped toCLOSED.Beside it, a schedule clearly listed her available hours, which Ash knew was exactly the allotment she was required to offer and not a minute more. She didn’t see students on Fridays at all because that was the day she conducted interviews at the women’s prison for Dr. Tate’s lab. “Boundaries” was a new mantra for them both these days.

He rapped one knuckle against the door, nudging it open so he could see her, face bent over a book, loose curls freed from her usual bun and tumbling down over one shoulder. She’d expanded her wardrobe to include this new gray vest she liked to wear over a white button-down. He wasn’t sure why the more buttoned-up she was, the hotter he found it, but the effect was undeniable.

“My office hours are over,” she murmured, head still bent.

“Please? It’s important.”

He’d caught the twist of her lips, an irritated tic at the interruption, before she recognized his voice. When she looked up, though, her face was deliberately impassive, playing along. “Is it, though? Let’s hear it.”

He bit his own smile back. Which way to play this? He wanted to know what she was wearing under that desk, but aquick scan of the book in her hands and the others stacked beside her sent him in a different direction. “Piaget,” he said.

One eyebrow arched up. “You have a question about Jean Piaget?”

“More of a comment than a question.”

He nearly got a laugh, but she schooled her face. “Go on.”

“I find his work on developmental stages fascinating. The concept of schemas. Assimilation. Equilibration.” He was just saying terms he’d seen on student papers she’d been grading this week, but he could tell from the tilt of her face she was mildly impressed he recalled them. “The Zone of Proximal Development.”

Shetsked. “So close. That one’s Lev Vygotsky.”

“Gesundheit.”

This finally broke her, and she laughed, shaking her head at him. “What are you doing here, Asher?”

“Had to meet with my new advisor about summer classes. Thought I’d walk you out, steal you for a study date.”

“I can’t go to your apartment,” she said reluctantly. “We don’t get any work done there.”

He couldn’t help his wolfish grin, and she rolled her eyes.

This might have been a good time for the question he was intending to ask her tonight—if she had a plan for when the lease at her place ended soon, if she would officially move in with him. He would have asked her weeks ago, but it seemed too soon. Not that itfelttoo soon. It felt like he’d been waiting for Hazel for years, not mere months. But he had a plan. It was best to stick to the plan.

“Luckily for you, I meant the café, although we are going to my place after.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Optimistic,” he corrected.

---