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Gina was right. He helped convict my father eight years ago when I was fourteen, and he was a young lawyer in the DA’s office then. The win got him promoted. My mother told me about Ursin Miller. She knew everything there was to know about him.
“Still. That’s young. He must have graduated high school at sixteen.”
“Well, he’s an asshole.” The venom shot out like a whip, and it shocked her like it shocked me. I was normally very controlled. I knew how to keep negative feelings inside. Apparently not when it came to Mr. Miller.
“Whoa.” Gina grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad before.”
I dropped my hand to the hem of the minidress Gina demanded I wear and pulled. Air hit my legs, and I just felt exposed. Hiding behind my maxi-skirts and dresses was my comfort zone. As was wearing my Teva sandals. But I wasn’t in my sandals, because they didn’t go with the cobalt-blue minidress. Instead, my feet ached in four-inch silver strappy sandals, which were wasted on me.
“I’m not mad, really. I’m frustrated.” I drew in a breath and leaned in because hearing myself and Gina was getting harder with the booming music playing. “He’s been giving me unfair grades, and I’m worried my GPA will suffer if I don’t get at least a B.”
Just then, I moved my gaze over the ever-growing crowd. It was only ten and nowhere near capacity. I hoped to be gone well before that happened. A flash from the left caught my eye, and I zeroed in to the space of people, mostly women, surrounding a tall man, whom I couldn’t see. My body warmed in attraction to the figure. Gina spoke, but I couldn’t decipher the words—I was too intrigued. And just as I was about to tear my gaze away from the tall man, his profile came into my clear view. My heart raced.
Mr. Miller?
I’d never seen him dressed that way. All sleek and black and rich. No. It couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t go to a club like this. I would expect him to frequent a cigar bar or a posh hotel lounge with other politicos and society types. But I had to find out if my senses were right.
I turned to Gina. “Hey, I’m just going to run to the ladies’. Be back in a minute.”
I didn’t wait for a response, I just left. I moved in the direction of Mr. Miller—if it was indeed him, and I didn’t stop until I stood at the bottom of the stairs to the VIP section. The women were gone. He was gone too.
Laughing, I lifted my hands to my cheeks. What was I doing? This wasn’t me. The dress, the shoes, the impulsiveness. The desire for the forbidden. And the lies. Because I was lying every time I woke up and went to Mr. Miller’s class.
I sobered quickly. I wanted to go home. This environment made me careless, even with no intoxicants. And I could be snatched up by a man with a vengeance against my father. I could be what my father did to people. I could be—
“Are you looking for me?” The voice I knew well came from behind, but so close. He was in my ear, warm breath on my exposed neck.
My breath halted, and there was no mistaking the weight at the bottom of my ponytail. He’d wrapped it around his hand.
“You found me.” Mr. Miller pulled hard, and I yelped, and he said, “Now, what do you really want?”
Chapter Eight
Ursin Miller
It was one of those things a person with obsessive-compulsive disorder couldn’t control. My level of obsession went beyond the norm. The urges couldn’t be pushed down. The desires seduced and consumed me to insanity. Anya was my fixation. And when I saw her, I wanted to act on the very thing I told myself I wouldn’t.
But now that I knew she was the daughter of the man who killed my father, I wanted to make her pay.
“Mr. Miller,” she said, breathy, her throat completely exposed.
“How did you know I was here?” The thought thrilled me. There was no doubt we had some desire-hate thing between us. I wanted to hurt her as much as I wanted to pleasure her. How fucked up was that? There was no rationality to whatever was between us. All my logic with her went out the window.
“How did you know I was here?” she retorted, pulled herself out of my hold, and turned to face me.
She was right. How did I know it was her? She looked like someone else, like a sex kitten on the prowl for a daddy. And she was so fucking gorgeous. Anya was a knockout. If I wasn’t so fucked up in the head and heart, I’d want her as a normal man would want a normal woman. But we weren’t normal, were we? Nothing in this lifetime would make us normal. Only death, because everyone died.
“You don’t fool anyone with that outfit, Anya.” My comment offended her, and I got much satisfaction from it.
“And you? You think you’re fooling anyone with that get-up?” She crossed her thin arms over the low-cut bodice of her tiny dress. “You look like a drug dealer.”
Her eyes dropped. I didn’t miss the emotion flicker over her face. She knew exactly who I was. I had no doubt. Yet, she still stood there? She was still in my class?
My intrigue tempered my need for vengeance.
“I’m the opposite of a drug dealer, Miss Sanchez. But I can be just as cruel.”
Our gazes met in the dark, hazy, loud space of the club I’d been to many times. I was VIP, and on the way upstairs when I spotted her. Her dark soulful, sad eyes gave her away.
