Page 54 of The Obedient Lie
I couldn’t help it. The silence was unbearable. The weight of him—of this whole assignment—pressed down on me like it was made of stone.
“I’ll do it all,” I said quietly, trying not to shake. “Seriously. Just tell the professor you’re contributing. I’ll submit everything under both our names. You won’t even have to look at it.”
That’s when it happened.
His hand moved under the table—strong, warm, possessive. It landed on my thigh and dragged up to my knee, squeezing just enough to stop it from bouncing. Just enough tomake me freeze.
I gasped quietly.
He leaned in. Not much. But enough for me to feel the shift in the air between us. Enough that I could smell the fresh storm still clinging to his skin from outside.
“Stop offering to disappear,” he said, voice low, words edged with steel.
My heart slammed against my chest.
His hand stayed on my knee.
Firm. Still.
I blinked at him. He wasn’t even looking at me—not really. His eyes were sharp and fixed on the table, jaw clenched like he was furious with himself for speaking at all.
I didn’t ask why he followed me back to the dorm.
Didn’t ask why he grabbed the assignment folder from my hands, or why he dropped onto the couch beside me with a bottle of something amber and expensive like he did itevery night.
He hadn’t said a word since the library.
Just poured a drink, leaned back against the cushions, and watched.
I tried to focus. Really, I did.
The file was open in front of me, laptop balanced on my thighs, notes highlighted in perfect shades. But every time I felt his stare—sideways and steady—the cursor blinked emptily on the page.
I shifted.
He didn’t.
He was sitting too close.Closer than necessary.
That was the first thought that made my pulse stutter.
He could’ve sat across the room. There were two armchairs by the window. The desk. The bed.
Instead, he’d chosen here.Beside me.
So close I could smell the sharp edge of his cologne over the bourbon.
So close that the inside of my arm kept brushing against his thigh every time I typed.
My fingers hesitated over the keys.
He took another slow sip, glass tipping lazily in his hand. “You’re shaking.”
My head jerked up. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I pressed my hands flat to my thighs to still them.
