Page 11 of The Professor's Possession (Crystal River Billionaire Brothers)

I am instantly blushing.

“I’m sorry...” I fumble at him, the rain drenching my face. I am full of apologies and have to practically shout to be heard over the downpour.

The stunning man doesn’t react in any noticeable way. I train my eyes on his own as he simply opens his mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asks me calmly.

I nod.

I glance down at his full perfect lips as he speaks.

He’s wearing some kind of dark suit. Something expensive. Tailored. I notice a tie in the darkness. The suit swathes his athletic build with an elegant flair. What is he doing out here at night in the rain dressed like freaking James Bond?

It’s like this man has stepped out of a fantasy into this wet and wild night from the pages of a book.

A dark, mysterious Byronic hero in a gothic novel.

The kind that gives you shadowy, sensual nightmares.

“I am okay, thank you,” I splutter to the man in reply. “I’m sorry to run into you. I don’t know what I was thinking when I sprinted around the corner. It’s pretty miraculous that you didn’t end up on the ground like me. You’re very...stable.”

I’m really blabbering on now. Like a buffoon.

“You were running pretty fast in the rain,” the man remarks slowly. Unlike me, he isn’t shouting, but I can still hear his deep and resonant voice despite the heavy rain.

He’scertainly not blabbering on.

I shrug. “I was panicking,” I explain with a sigh. “You see, I am kinda lost. Well, I’m actually notkinda. I’mverylost.”

“What are you trying to find?” he asks.

“The university dorms for CRU. Do you know where they might be?”

The man doesn’t say a word. He simply points behind me.

At a recognizable building down the street. The one with the obvious lights and the sign that says it’s CRU.

He’s pointing at the freaking dorms I am looking for that are not even a hundred yards away.

“Oh,” I mutter, my blushing somehow growing stronger. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” the man says, his blue eyes still trained on mine, barely blinking.

“I’m such an idiot,” I reply.

“As long as you’re okay,” he says. “That’s the main thing.”

I let out a nervous giggle. “I’m okay. It’s just the shock of falling. I can be so clumsy sometimes. I am so sorry for running into you.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.”

I then realize I’ve been holding onto the man’s hand all this time since he pulled me up from the ground. I haven’t let go of him. I glance down awkwardly at our touch and loosen my grip on the poor man.

What am I even doing? Why am I such a mess?

“Sorry,” I mutter again.

The man doesn’t reply. If my sustained handholding has made him uncomfortable, it doesn’t even register on his handsome, stony face.

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