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Chapter Three
“Shit, shit, shit!” I’m late and lost. I have my schedule in one hand and - dork alert - the map of the school in my other. Now I really wish I’d taken Michael up on his offer to go over my schedule and have a tour with him last night. However, I overslept and took so long on my face and hair that I missed breakfast and the chance for Michael to show me where to go.
My head’s bent studying the confusing labyrinth of passageways when I slam painfully hard into something. Seriously, it feels like I just hit a concrete wall and I’m slightly winded. Staggering backwards, I teeter on my heels, and it’s only a strong masculine tattooed arm shooting out to wrap around my waist that stops me falling on my ass. Great. I know I should’ve been watching where I was going, but what was this guy’s excuse?
I huff out my frustration, stepping out of his powerful warm embrace and smooth down my skirt. I quickly rub my chest, which smarts from the impact of hitting… whatever it was. It couldn’t be human; that’s for sure. I’m flustered, and my papers are all over the floor. Without thinking, I bend at the waist and scoop them up. I hear the person who rammed into me give a sharp intake of breath. Oh, good one, Rae. You haven't even met, and already you’re flashing him, I scold myself.
I look up at the mass of solid muscle I’ve just been crushed by, and my heart stutters, skipping a beat before I attempt to compose myself and get it beating back on track again. The blood’s pounding so loud in my head that I’m sure he can hear it. The playful smirk on his lips makes me think he can, and I have to suppress a scowl; I hate being laughed at. Mind you, who doesn’t? Comedians and clowns, I guess. Focus Rae! I shake my head and snap back to the present.
The guy in front of me can only be described as a mountain. He’s easily 6’6”. Maybe more. My eyes barely reach his chest even in my heels, and wow what a chest it is. This guy’s so broad I wouldn’t even be able to get my arms around him. The pain still smarting in my sternum tells me that it’s all muscle, though. This guy’s built. He’s wearing the school requisite slacks and shirt, which looks like it’ll be shredded to pieces if the guy even sneezes, but it’s undone over a plain white T-shirt. That’s it, though. No tie. No blazer. It’s seriously so tight that I can see his pecs and the sexy ridges of his abdomen clearly outlined. My eyes drag down to the enticing V between his hips, making my mouth water uncontrollably. Somehow, I manage enough self-control to keep my eyes above his waist.
His arms are wider than my head, and his strong hands look like they could crush my skull in a single squeeze. It’s weirdly thrilling. Dark inked tattoos cover every inch of his arms, but not his hands, the ink disappearing up into his shirt. The thin material hints that they continue down onto his chest and stomach. Everything about him screams dangerous bad boy. Holy Christ on a bike. Wetness floods my panties instantly. Now, this guy is my type.
I actually have to step back to see all of him. It feels like I’m looking up forever before I finally see his face. This guy absolutely dwarfs me. He’s gorgeous, though. I’m sure my jaw’s hanging, my mouth open to catch flies. I snap it shut quickly and stare intently at his face.
His face is angular and tanned with a strong straight nose, chiselled cheekbones, and a sculpted stubble-covered jaw. His hair’s dark and short at the sides, slightly longer on top, and sticking up messily as if he’s been running his fingers through it. I’d like to do that. Lips that are plump, full and made for kissing highlight his perfectly white straight teeth. The downward slant of brooding dark eyebrows frame his eyes perfectly. And I’m lost all over again in his gaze. Whoa. His eyes are unexpectedly the colour of a warm amber cognac and framed by lashes so thick and dark it makes me want to weep. It’s not fair, guys have no need for lashes like that. My eyes feel naked in comparison.
“Holy fucking shit balls,” I stammer out. “Are you made of fucking granite or something?” He chuckles at that, a deep rumbling growl that starts low in his chest and slowly works its way up to escape from his lips. It reminds me of the distant rumble of thunder and makes me want to step forward and lay my head on his chest to feel the vibrations. I don’t of course, but damn I’m sure it would feel as good as it sounds. “Seriously, I’m not one to bruise easily, but you should come with a fucking health warning, mister.”
A slow sexy smile spreads across his face as one eyebrow raises, and when he speaks his voice is a low bear’s growl. “Oh, I do, little girl, just not for the reasons you’re thinking.”
At his words, my heart does that weird stumble-stutter thing again, and I’m seriously contemplating going to the nurse to get it checked out. Maybe I have a heart murmur or something. I’m not even prepared to think about the state of my panties. Nope, not going there.
“Excuse me, I’m late, and I’m lost.” I try to step around the mountain, but he deliberately sidesteps, blocking me. I huff in annoyance and try to go the other way, but he blocks me again. I’m starting to feel like the mouse that’s been caught by the cat, only the cat wants to play before it devours its prey. It would be sexy if I weren’t already so wound up. What was this guy’s problem? I tap my toe in annoyance and fold my arms across my chest while I glower at him.
“I know, little girl.” I scowl and try to look fierce. “I was sent to find you.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap. “My name is Raven.”
“Ah, so you’ll be my little bird then.” Ugh. I usually hate the bird analogy but being called ‘his’ anything is surprisingly fine by me. “Come, you’re in my chemistry class, and unlike you, I know the way.”
Now that I’m not wrapped up in the gravelly growling timbre of his voice, I notice his accent. “Hey, you’re a SoCal guy?” I ask in shock.
“Yup. I’m impressed. Care to guess the county? Most girls just ask if I’m an American,” he snorts derisively, mimicking a high-pitched female air-headed voice.
“Santa Barbara? But maybe near the border. It’s not quite right.” I’m not one hundred per cent sure, but I almost recognise the twang. It’s hard to tell though because his voice is so deep and gruff.
“Ding ding, get the lady a prize,” he drawls with a lazy grin. “How’d you know?”
“I have family there. What are you doing here in the UK?”
“There’ll be plenty of time to ask me questions when I take you out this weekend, little bird.” He grabs my arm and starts to drag me down the corridor in the opposite direction to where I was headed, and although I try to protest, in the end, I just have to give in and go with it. Trying to stop this guy is like trying to stop a tsunami with an umbrella.
He drags me through the maze of corridors, and I know I would’ve never found the place without him. Stopping at the right door, he knocks and enters before anyone tells him to. I follow, quietly closing the door behind me.
“Ah, Mr Lennox, you took your time.”
“Sorry, Miss, our new student here got herself properly lost. We might not have seen her before Christmas if you hadn’t sent me to the rescue.” I scowl at the back of the granite mountain, unamused by his exaggerated brag. It wasn’t that bad. I’m sure I would’ve found someone to point me in the right direction. Eventually.
“Take your seats you two. As you’re already acquainted, you can be lab partners for the year.” The teacher’s voice is firm and stern. But when I peek around the mountain, I notice an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. I follow Mr Lennox over to the only remaining free bench and slide into the stool closest to the window, mountain sitting on my right.
“So, do you have a name, or do I call you, Mr Lennox?” I whisper to him, not wanting to piss the teacher off even more. He shakes his head, grimacing.
“My father’s Mr Lennox. For Christ’s sake, don’t call me that. Call me anything else.”
“Ok!” I wink at him teasingly. “Granite mountain it is then.” He chuckles but doesn’t correct me or say anything, so I dig my pen into his ribs to try and force an answer from him.
“Stop that,” he warns, but I do it again. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment now too. “Little bird-” his threatening rumble has me squirming in my seat.
