Page 64 of Stranger to Love

A faint, almost cruel smile touched my lips at her stubbornness. “I am always serious, darling. Especially regarding the concept of deferred gratification.”

Lifting my hand from her neck, I lightly brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, my fingertips briefly tracing the precise outline of the healing cut. A gentle, physical reminder of who had spent the weekend preserving her health. “Remember your concussion. And remember your promises. We possess all the time in the world for this.”

That specific phrase hung in the air between us like a contract.

I deliberately released my hold on her hip. The contact dissolved completely, and I caught the exact second she shivered, looking momentarily unsupported and dizzy without my weight pressing her into the wall. I did not offer her a hand to steady herself.

Pivoting smoothly on my heel, I returned to my desk with that same unyielding, regal composure I utilised to command a lecture theatre. I slid my chair out and sat down, picking up my leather briefcase and adjusting my laptop as if nothing more substantial than a routine academic Q&A session had just transpired.

“You may go, Alex,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet hers. I made the stare clinical, cool, and entirely detached, systematically erasing every trace of the demanding predator from seconds prior. “And do attempt to keep your blouse properly fastened for the remainder of the afternoon.”

She simply stood there, staring at me with a breathless, heavily frustrated heat radiating from her posture. She was still completely cooked by the encounter, her pulse visibly throbbing in her throat. I held her gaze, my expression unreadable, waiting for her compliance.

With a slow, stunned shake of her head, she finally pushed off the plaster. She snatched her bag from the floorboards, her hands trembling noticeably as she flung the strap over her shoulder. She didn't afford me another look as she marched toward the exit, her fingers fumbling awkwardly with the brass lock.

The mechanism clicked. But as she pulled the heavy timber open to step into the corridor, I decided to deliver the final boundary.

“And Alex?” I called out, my voice low, dismissive, yet carrying a razor-sharp edge. “No more looking at Ms. Davies.”

She stopped dead in the doorway.

The realisation hit her instantly—the absolute certainty that the department aid had been the true catalyst for her being dragged into this room. She pivoted back slowly, looking at me across the immaculate expanse of my glass desk. The defiant, bratty anger was back in her eyes, sharp and incredibly possessive.

“And if I do?” she challenged, unable to resist one final, foolish push against my authority.

I knew exactly what was happening in her arrogant little mind. We aren’t dating. She hasn't bought me. She truly believed she wasn't beholden to anyone.

I didn't even blink. I leaned back slightly in my chair, locking her in a stare that promised absolute ruin.

“Then you will find yourself right back in this office,” I stated, my delivery smooth and entirely devoid of emotion. “And trust me, darling, the punishment will be far less pleasant than the last time you misbehaved.”

I watched the swallow catch hard in her throat. She felt the full weight of the threat, but I didn't miss the undeniable spike of excitement that flared in her pupils at the prospect. She didn't utter another syllable.

She turned, pulled the heavy door shut behind her, and the latch clicked into place, leaving me alone in the silence of my office with the lingering scent of her perfume and the absolute certainty that I had her completely under my control.

Chapter 15

Alex

Dr. Fucking Carter.

It had been days since she basically fucking attacked me in some sort of jealous, possessive rage. And then, nothing. Barely a glance at me, like an ice queen or like she had fucking amnesia. I had tried to just ignore her, ignore it all, and focus on my work. Tried to pretend it was just a mind-blowing moment and that was all. Didn’t matter. Wouldn't be the first snog I’d had that didn’t lead anywhere; I was just enjoying it for what it was.

That was what was on my mind on a loop right then. It was just fun. It didn’t mean anything. And if she came to pick me up that night, it would be normal, and I wouldn't order myself not to think about her threatening whispers into my ear. Nope, I definitely wouldn’t.

Mia bumped my hip to get my attention, a devastating smirk on her face. “Dr. Vixen has ruined you, and she has barely touched you,” she whisper-shouted over the music as she glided past me to the ice.

“Fuck off,” I retorted as I leaned over the bar to listen to the drunk fresher. That guy wasn’t drunk to the point where I had to wave Steve over, but the drink I was about to serve him was about to push him over the edge. Oh well. I wasn’t his fucking mother. So I hopped back onto my feet and started pouring out the shots he had ordered.

As I swung the card machine around to charge him, Mia pushed up behind me, her hands on each side of my hips on the lower part of the bar where we prepped drinks. She leaned down and whispered into my ear, “So, what are you going to do about Dr. Vixen tonight?"

I rolled my eyes before elbowing her away, shooting her a glare as I turned around. “Nothing.”

Her jaw practically dropped, and she started laughing as she went to serve the next group of guys at her till. She kept looking at me and laughing again, and it was pissing me off. I wasn’t going to do anything. What was I supposed to do? I had never been in that weird fucking situation before. I didn't even know if I wanted her to pick me up that night.

“Oi, sweetheart, three pints of Moretti,” some chirpy fucking guy shouted, hovering right by my till while I cleaned up a mess the newbies had left behind. I glanced up, holding up a hand to signal for him to give me a second while I tossed the soggy, beer-soaked paper towel into the bin.

“Take your time,” he grinned, leaning back to watch.