but the moment he does, the deep grooves I’ve left in his desk come into focus.
And he was worried about hurting me in the throes of passion?
With that question, I’ve answered my first one.
I’m not thinking here at all. And that’s the problem.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should go.”
I right my dress, slip out of his grasp, and grab my clutch from the shelf by the window.
I can’t even look at him. I can’t say goodbye. All I can do is run away.
Chapter Eighteen
Maximus
It’s not the fact that she’s bolted from me—again—and left me with more questions than ever before.
It’s not even the lust I’ve been battling all night because of her, or how she’s made me believe, more than ever, the color red was created just for her.
It’s more than that. Because now, we’re more.
I’ve seen more than just her bare skin and her slick arousal. More than her succulent mouth parting for the hungry invasion of mine. More than the heat of her breathtaking body as she opened for me, waiting for me to taste her rich depths.
I’ve seen her secrets.
Some willingly given. But others, including the revelation that made her flee, not so much. So as the sun crests over Alameda’s campus and I finish grading the last term project proposal on my desk, I’m as frustrated and furious as I was eight hours ago when I watched her tear out of here like she was on fire.
Fuck. Me.
Was she on fire?
What really happened last night?
I’ve replayed it all in my head. The perfect minutes that won’t stop tormenting me, threatening to punch a hole through the slacks of my wrinkled tux. The parts that have me restlessly pacing through the morning sunbeams, wishing they were moonlight all over again. Burning for a chance to relive it all—but with the knowledge I have now.
Which is what, exactly?
The taunt of my brain has me stopping with a sharp jerk. I’m done with this pathetic mooning. There’s a truth here as glaring as the sunlight in my eyes and the charcoaled dents in my desk. Getting to Kara’s secrets won’t be as easy as unveiling her passion. But I’m not a stranger to challenges. I’ve faced a huge one called self-control every day of my life.
And now I’ve got a major clue to jump-start my quest.
An hour later, bearing a stack of every screenplay Giovani Valari ever wrote, I make my way toward the farthest corner of the second floor in Alameda’s library. The building is as quiet as a tomb right now, due no doubt to a lot of people still sleeping off hangovers. Fine by me. There’s enough noise in my head from all the questions still burning through it.
What’s the core of my connection with this woman? This pull that seems to defy biology, chemistry, rationality?
Why does she keep acknowledging the bond—only to run when I plead for more ties to keep it together? Why does her family keep emerging as a logical explanation for that, and how deep do their hooks extend into her?
What’s the explanation for the fire—literally—in her eyes?
Why does she keep hiding? What is she hiding?
It’s time to start yanking every thread I have here. Hard.
The second-floor research corner is my special hideaway in this place, rejected by most of the students because there are now brighter, newer spaces. With the opening of the new wing—which reflects Veronica Valari’s tastes in every shiny social media–ready way—I suspect that’ll be even more the case. I’m not complaining. Now I have even more space to spread out and—
“What the hell?”
My grumble has my best friend lifting his head and flashing his trademark smirk. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Jesse drawls. “I thought you’d be waist-deep in a stack of term project proposals by now.”
“And I thought you’d still be in coffee-and-cuddles mode with the redhead who couldn’t keep her tongue out of your ear during last night’s festivities.”
“There are advantages to sleepovers with girls, you know.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Or maybe you don’t have to?” He shoots a knowing glance at my worn-out formalwear. “Still had working eyes in my head, Professor, even with that sweet gal’s tongue knocking on my tympanum. You bugged out from the gala fast. And—surprise, surprise—Kara Valari was hot on your heels, even in those red stilts she was rocking.”
My stare narrows before I can help it. “Did you really just get scientific Latin-y on me while referencing your sexual foreplay and Kara’s shoes?”
“Few things finer than