“Damn.” Aron whistles. “I’d nut within seconds if I ever got close to her.”
Gwen pulls a face, and he does a double take before throwing his arms wide and nearly knocking my water bottle out of my hand. “What’s that look for? She’s hot as sin and also fucking scary, okay? At least I admit it, unlike Casanova here”—he jerks his chin in Benny’s direction—“who thinks he stands a chance.”
“Hey, I could last long enough to satisfy a girl like her,” he argues, and Aron snorts, shaking his head.
“Boys, let’s not argue,” Brittany says, biting back a laugh.
Just then, a shadow falls over me, and I look up to see Dominic glaring down at Aron with enough venom in his eyes to make the toughest of men cower. “Move.”
With one fleeting glance in my direction, Aron scoots over as an awkward silence settles over the group. Dominic focuses his burning gaze on me, and my nape breaks out in a cold sweat. I steel my spine, unsettled. “What do you want?”
I’m not used to his full attention like this. Dominic has always avoided me at every turn for as long as I can remember. Now he invades my space as if he has any right to suck the oxygen out of the muggy air. His big build settles between me and Aron, and his arm against mine sets me on fire. “Is that any way to welcome your brother, Sis?”
There’s a cold bite to his tone, a warning that makes my breath catch. The others exchange uncertain glances until he asks them questions to put them at ease. Dominic has always excelled at working the crowd and could fit in anywhere, like a chameleon. This is no different.
I crumple my empty bottle of water and glare at the side of his face until his amused, dark eyes slide in my direction. But I’m prepared for their full-scale invasion this time. Pulling some deep-rooted longing from the depths of me like an anchor from an ocean bed, I rise to my feet and walk away.
I refuse to let him steal this good thing from me. He can use his stupid charm on someone else, not my friends.
His masculine scent follows me as I enter through the front doors. I’m instantly assaulted by the faulty, rattling AC overhead, which should be blowing out cold air but blasting me with heat instead.
“Camryn,” he shouts behind me.
I quicken my steps as I escape around the corner, but I’m not fast enough. He grabs hold of my arm and shoves me against the door behind me. Dark eyes lock onto mine, his grip tight enough to induce a pinch of pain that makes me come alive. I focus on my breath and the rise and fall of my chest.
“He has his eyes on you.”
“Who?”
“The black-haired one.”
“Aron?”
Grinding his molars, he clamps his hand over my mouth. “Shut up.”
Confused, I stare at his rugged face as he slides his hand from my mouth to my neck, feeling my pulse thud heavily beneath his touch. “I don’t want to hear his name on your lips.”
I swallow roughly. “Why do you care all of a sudden?”
“I don’t,” he states, so matter-of-factly that fiery anger rises within me. Instead of cowering, I whisper,“Aron,”and draw out each vowel to provoke a reaction from him.
It works.
He clamps his hand over my mouth and whacks my head against the wall. Then he snarls in my ear, sounding more animal than human. He’s just about to open his mouth when a voice interrupts our silent battle of wills.
Mr. Jones, the human sciences professor, puts his hand on Dominic’s shoulder, and he stiffens against me.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Mr. Barker?” The professor’s firm tone leaves no room for arguing. Dominic’s cold eyes pierce mine for a heartbeat too long. Finally, he steps back,shifting his intense glare to Mr. Jones. Without another glance in my direction, he turns and walks away, leaving a chill in the clammy air.
Mr. Jones watches him leave with a deep-set line across his forehead. Then he turns his attention on me, lingering long enough to make me grow cold despite the heat.
I shrink back against the wall as he removes his hand from his pocket and runs it down the length of his navy tie. He moves closer, his lips curving in a small smile. “Your brother is awfully interested in you.”
“He’s not my brother,” I clarify, looking around, surprised to see the hallway deserted. An overhead light flickers intermittently, yellow and glaring. My head whips left again, trying to locate the sound of a dripping tap.
Mr. Jones hums, his sickly scent of sweat and tobacco mixing with something else. Something that draws my attention back to his pock-marked face and graying beard.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trapped against the wall with nowhere to escape.
