Page 14 of Price of Victory
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, grabbing my bag from where I’d dropped it. “I was just leaving.”
I could feel both of their eyes on me as I walked away, but I didn’t look back. My hands were shaking, and I needed to get somewhere private before I did something stupid.
Like march back there and finish what we’d started.
The hallway felt too small, too warm, like I couldn’t get enough air. I pushed through the exit doors and out into the late-afternoon sun, but even the fresh air couldn’t clear the scent of Rhett’s cologne from my senses.
I pulled out my phone and stared at the missed call from my father’s assistant. I should call back. I should find out what was so important that it couldn’t wait until evening. I shouldprobably call my father directly and have the conversation I’d been avoiding for months.
Instead, I shoved the phone back in my pocket and started walking toward the parking garage. I needed to get out of here, needed to put some distance between myself and the memory of Rhett Morrison standing close enough to touch, looking at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
Because the worst part wasn’t the anger or the frustration or even the sexual tension that had been building between us for weeks.
The worst part was that for just a moment, when he’d been standing there with his defenses down and his carefully controlled mask slipping, I’d seen something in his eyes that looked almost like understanding.
And that scared me more than anything else.
SEVEN
RHETT
The first chillof late September hit me as soon as I stepped out of the gym, cutting through my hoodie and making me wish I’d grabbed a jacket. Lennox had pushed us through an extra hour of conditioning, and my muscles were still burning from the workout. Most sane people would be heading back to their dorms for a hot shower and maybe some leftover pizza, but I needed to swing by the library first.
“You sure you don’t want to grab food?” Lennox asked, shouldering his gym bag. “Oliver’s making pasta tonight. There’s probably enough for three. Or ten.”
“Thanks, but I really need to get these books,” I said, pulling the reading list from my pocket. “Professor Martinez is expecting us to have read half of these by next week.”
“Your funeral,” Lennox said with a shrug. “Try not to fall asleep in the stacks.”
The library was one of those old brick buildings that looked like it had been there since the university was founded, all gothic arches and leaded windows that made studying feel like some kind of scholarly ritual. At nine in the evening, it was mostly empty except for a few dedicated graduate students and the occasional undergraduate cramming for an exam.
I made my way to the literature section, scanning the familiar rows of books for the titles on my list. The place had that particular library smell, old paper, dust, and the faint scent of coffee from the café that had closed hours ago. It was comforting in a way, like intellectual sanctuary.
That’s when I saw him.
Aiden was sitting at one of the study tables near the back, surrounded by what looked like the entire business section of the library. Stacks of books towered around his laptop like fortress walls, and there were crumpled balls of paper scattered across the table and floor like he’d been fighting a war with his own thoughts.
From behind, he looked nothing like his usual polished self. His dark hair was disheveled, sticking up in places like he’d been running his hands through it. His expensive sweater was wrinkled, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was hunched over his laptop like he was trying to will words onto the screen through sheer force of will.
I should have kept walking. Should have grabbed my books and gotten out of there before he noticed me. But something about the scene drew me closer, maybe morbid curiosity about seeing Aiden Whitmore looking less than perfect.
As I approached, I could see his laptop screen over his shoulder. A blank page stared back at him, cursor blinking mockingly in the white space. The only thing on the entire document was a title at the top: “Corporate Restructuring and Stakeholder Impact: A Case Study Analysis.”
“Professor Williams really doesn’t show any mercy with late submissions,” I said, unable to resist the smart-ass comment. “Hope you’re planning to turn that in by tomorrow.”
Aiden’s shoulders went rigid, and he turned around slowly to face me. His green eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under them that even his perfect genetics couldn’t hide.But when he saw me, his mouth curved into that familiar smirk, like he was slipping back into his armor.
“Funny you should mention submission, Morrison,” he said, his voice carrying that lazy drawl that always made my pulse quicken. “You seem like you’d be good at it.”
Heat rushed to my face so fast it was probably visible in the dim library lighting. Images flooded my mind. Aiden’s naked body in the locker room, water running down his chest, that confident smile as he’d toweled off without a care in the world. The idea of submitting to him, of letting him take control, made me feel like I’d swallowed pure fire.
“Fuck you,” I said, angrier at myself than at him for the way my body was reacting.
“That’s the spirit,” Aiden said, clearly entertained by my discomfort. “I love it when you get all flustered. Makes those pretty brown eyes go all dark and dangerous.”
I could feel my face burning hotter, and I hated that he could read me so easily. He knew exactly what effect he had on me, and he was enjoying every second of it. It was just another game to him, another way to prove he had power over me.
“You know,” he continued, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world, “if you wanted some practice with the whole submission thing, I know a nice quiet spot between the philosophy stacks. I really am as good as I’m claiming.”
