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“For fuck’s sake.” I raked a hand through my hair, still damp from the third shower I’d taken since I arrived home at two in the afternoon. “I’ve made you fucking come.”
“Sir?” Her dark eyes widened, cheeks pink, getting pinker.
“When we’re alone, call me Ursin.”
She dropped her gaze. Goddammit. Why did she let me bully her? Jesus. We bullied each other. Except she was more nefarious. She terrorized my mind and my emotions. I merely taunted her physically. She proved she brushed off my words as if they had no affect.
She wasn’t fucking scared of me. She knew exactly what she was doing. And I was obsessed with her.
“Ursin…” My name was obscene on her plump, glossy lips.
Oh, she wore makeup just for me. Little bitch.
Anya stepped closer, her lean, tanned legs flexing beneath the tiny denim shorts. I was right about the shorts. She touched the V point of my V-neck t-shirt, and her eyes lingered there for a moment. “Maybe I should call you Sin?”
I grabbed her finger, stopping her. If I didn’t, those denim shorts would be on the floor, as would every garment she wore. And her knees.
“Don’t.”
Frowning, she pulled back her hand and dropped it to dangle at her side like the other. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Jesus. I didn’t know what I was doing. But I turned and walked down the entryway, spine straight, head up as if I knew. “Follow me.”
Once we were in the library, I marched toward my minibar and poured two fingers of scotch in a glass.
“Do you want a drink?”
Anya watched me, her legs crossing on the club chair facing my desk. My gaze moved to her feet. No sport sandals. Instead, she wore plain black flip-flops, the straps delicate, and her toenails painted bright pink. Damn. I looked away, back at my drink.
“No,” she finally said. “I don’t drink.”
Right. I remembered her saying as much at the club during our first real dangerous incident. “So, it’s true then.”
“I won’t lie to you, Ursin.” She paused. “I wouldn’t.”
I took in her words. But she had been lying to me. After I replaced the crystal topper on the decanter, I walked back to my desk and sat, facing her. In her overt nervousness, she smiled, but it faded.
“Get real with me, Anya.” I drank, surveying her, ignoring all my urges to take her in my arms, and kiss her senseless. My primal need to be inside her and fuse with her was a hair-trigger away from being reality. But we needed to say the things we weren’t saying before anything else could be explored.
She dropped her gaze, the color then draining from her face. And I just waited.
“I know you, Mr. Mill—Ursin. I mean, I’ve known of you for a long time.” Her eyes shifted up and met mine. “I know you were part of the DA’s team that put away my father, Gomez Montelongo, for life. But I didn’t know it was you until after I’d already signed up for the summer session lecture. I thought another professor was going to teach it.”
Every word she said was truth. I could attest to the validity. And yes, I was supposed to teach the afternoon lecture class but was switched last minute to the earlier one.
She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with my silence. I used the sit-back-and-listen tactic many times. People normally hung themselves when given all the space to talk.
“My mother didn’t want me involved in the case or anything to do with my father’s trial, so I lived with my grandmother the whole time.”
I took another sip.
“And the thing is, I think you knew it was me, and that was why you’ve been an absolute dick to me from the first moment we met in class.” Her lips pressed together, though she might as well have been smirking.
She fucking knew I knew. And she was right. About everything.
“Am I right?” Her voice wasn’t timid then.
But did she know he killed my father? Where was that in her confession?
