Page 5 of Notorious Man on Campus

“You know better than that. You’re the last girl on earth I want anything to do with. That’s why I’m here. To ask you to leave.”

Boom. And there it is. My heart hammers and the fear looms up larger than ever. Until I remember my resentment and force my anger forward.

“No.” I fold my arms across my chest, which has the double effect of communicating my firmness and covering my jutting nipples.

“Why not, Nyla? There are a million colleges and universities out there you could go to. Why this one? Are you still chasing me after all these years?” I itch to slap the smugness off his face, but I see the vulnerable boy in his eyes, the fear fueling his hate. He’s still that little boy who doesn’t trust women, who fears rejection so much he doesn’t give any female a chance.

I roll my eyes. “Everything’s not about you, Brick. I wish I had a scholarship somewhere else, anywhere else, but I don’t. Get over it.”

His jaw goes tight and he stays silent a few beats, the intensity of his eyes mesmerizing me. He’s a an unusually intuitive guy, especially for someone who rejects so heartily emotional entanglements. I wait him out, trying not to let the raw maleness of him get to me in the meantime.

“Then I’ll tell you how this is going to work,” he says conversationally, reverting to his cool, distant self. I should feel relieved that he doesn’t threaten to tell Majik he’s changed his mind. He has the power to do it as president of the house. But his emotional withdrawal jars me, leaves me feeling empty and wanting. “We don’t say a word about our past, no matter who asks, including Majik. Not one word. Got it? You’ve already said enough. We’ll leave it at that. You worked for my family and dated my brother for a short time. Then you didn’t.”

I nod.

“Not one hint about why you didn’t.”

I hold up my right hand and say, “I swear I won’t tell even if I’m tortured.” I can’t help giving him shit and a pop of joy hits me at the instant frown I cause. Not so indifferent after all.

“This is serious, Nyla.” He moves closer. It feels like the whole room shrinks, like the floor moves under my feet and the air gets sucked from me. I hold my breath.

“Why?” I don’t know why I ask because I know the answer, know what he has to lose. “Why would I want to keep your secret?”

“It was the agreement.” His voice is flat. He’s a breath away and the springtime soapy scent mixed with his male essence rushes through me, seducing me. I shake my head. “You don’t want your mother to know about what happened, do you? You hid Jimmy from her back then.”

I nod. It’s not even half of what I fear. He doesn’t know my mother doesn’t know I’m living here with him. But he’ll figure it out if I don’t change the subject.

“You’re right. I’ll keep our past a secret. But it’s unhealthy to keep it bottled up. We should at least be able to acknowledge it between us.” I don’t know why I insist, except the knots in my stomach tighten, requiring something from him. Some acknowledgement of reality, that what happened was real.

“No. You and I need to stay in our lanes. You cook. I play football. When our paths cross, which they will regularly, we’re nothing to each other. That’s the way it has to be, Nyla.”

I know he’s right. The look in his eyes is as much pleading as determined. I raise my chin, but I can’t bring myself to say yes or no. His eyes flash with anger and I can’t help the thrill I get from raising his emotions, even if it’s bad for me.

He stands close and runs a finger down my cheek, his intense blue-green eyes holding me like they always did. The anger slips to lust, the resentful and mean kind of lust. Licking my lips because they’ve suddenly gone dry, I try to remember the sad little boy he must have been, the innocent lost little boy he was before he grew into this damaged dangerous guy.

Maybe he can read my mind—or more likely my body—because he backs me against the door and whispers in my ear, low and raspy and hot, making me tremble with as much anticipation as fear. I can’t afford the anticipation of what he has to offer. Fearing the power he has over me is healthy.

“I wonder if your kisses still taste sweet, if your lips still—”

“What are you trying to prove, Brick?”

“That I’m fully under control and immune to you. You’ll never get away with seducing me.”

“Seducing you? Me? Seducing you?” I have to laugh, but my heart hammers, telling me there’s nothing funny about it. “Is that what you want?” I taunt him, knowing the danger, knowing the reward. “A test? You can have it.” The words slip out as I breathe into his mouth as nothing else matters but the tiny space between us and the need to show him I can give as good as I take. That I could make the hot dreams that haunt my nights, and sometimes my days, come true.

I press my mouth against his slightly parted lips and the sharp intake of his breath sends a zing through my core. The here and now thrill takes over as I run my hands up his chest and take his face in my hands to devour him, holding him as if I know he’ll try to get away, that he’ll run as fast as he can to avoid what’s between us. No, don’t think of that. Not now.

Now all I want to do is revel in the sizzling heat between us as he kisses me back. His mouth opens and his tongue tangles with mine like they’re old friends saying they’ve missed each other, saying they want each other. He breaks the kiss abruptly, pulling back from me, leaving me instantly cold.

“This is why we steer clear. There can be no more regrets between us. You’re off-limits even for a fling. Besides, I wouldn’t want to poison your hot innocence any more than I already have.” His words sting, but I understand why he’s throwing my relationship with his brother between us again. Off-limits. A word I’ve grown to hate because it’s resonated through my brain for four years.

He turns to go, as if I’ve agreed to his terms.

“But what about all the rest of what happened between us, Brick? It wasn’t all about this.” I wave my hands around between us, indicating our ridiculous chemistry.

“Forget it,” he says, dismissing what we had, dismissing me.

“What about the letter?”