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His feet slide into my view, stopping just beside my desk. I don’t want to look up. I don’t want him to see the pink flush of arousal in my features. Instead, I hold my palm out to accept the papers, my eyes locking on some distant viewpoint as if lost in thought.
The papers brush my palms. I curl my fingers around the edges, but he doesn’t release them. The throbbing in my throat bids a tiny farewell to the world. I am one skipped heartbeat away from fainting, but I lift my gaze to meet his.
A spark flashes across his jade-colored eyes, the whispered desires of a man restrained by the audience watching us. Heat prickles up the back of my neck. I feel completely exposed. Have others noted the sudden hitch in my breath? Or only his curious green eyes now growing cold as stone?
“Ms. McKenzie, I presume,” he says softly. I am surprised by how even his voice sounds. I, on the other hand, can’t even force out a squeak to confirm his claim.
I nod.
“You and Jackson Riley will be working on your proposals with me for the apprenticeship,” he adds, his tone a little colder than before. Anyone watching us now could not mistake the pure animalistic longing I have for him. But with his clipped words and indifferent stare, it would be hard to interpret those feelings as mutual.
“I have a few suggestions for your proposal that we can go over later,” he says, finally releasing the paper.
I’m still trembling by the time I pass the stack of printouts to the person beside me. Long after Zachary Hawthorne has passed my chair. What a nightmare.
Not only will I have to spend the next two months working through my proposal with this man, pretending I don’t want him more than air. He’s going to rip all my hard work to shreds. Which means I will probably bawl my eyes out in front of him or hold nothing back in proving him wrong.
You’ve already scolded him once.
I didn’t need the reminder.
I lean into my hands. Why of all people did it have to be him?
I draw one long, deep breath.
The kind that’s supposed to center you during a meditative cleanse. This is fine. I can do this. All this means is that I have less to focus on. Right? No need to worry about a man coming in and ruining all my plans, consuming all my time with thoughts of how I’m going to get over my fear of intimacy.
This works much better. Much less of a headache.
Aly McKenzie. Vestal virgin for life.
Chapter Eight
Aly
How did I even get into this mess?
I just tried to do my job, earn the apprenticeship, and live happily ever after.
So what happened?
Fate had another plan in mind. A horribly unnerving plan that has me turning into a puddle of hormonal desperation at the sight of my professor. Mydrop-dead-gorgeousprofessor. Who, might I add, has ridiculously high expectations.
A small corner of my chest collapses onto itself, the part already so tender from allowing myself to hope there could ever possibly be something between us. Even if he wasn’t my professor, there is no way this man would ever be interested in me. Someone with his levels of standards likely possesses very specific requirements for a lifelong partner, right down to the measurements, hair color and clothing style. Someone with his level of attractiveness, and clearly wealth, would have no trouble at all finding his perfect person.
And that person is not me.
I’ve only been waiting outside Professor Hawthorne’s office for fifteen minutes, but it feels like an eternity trapped with my thoughts.
Professor Hawthorne. Zach.
The nameless customer from my wild little fantasies now has two names to call him by, and neither one feels right to use.
The door to his office swings open. Relief floods in on a tide of paralyzing uncertainty. So no longer left with my thoughts, but now I must face the man.
I steel myself to the voices rolling around in my head. I earned this chance at the apprenticeship. I am an excellent candidate and have monumental plans in mind that will hopefully change lives for the better. I will not be intimidated by a pair of hard chiseled pecs and a reputation for crushing the hopes and dreams of final-year Berkeley students.
Professor Hawthorne steps out from around the entrance of his doorway and sees me. He smiles, but it is no longer the genuine tilt of admiration and understanding I’m accustomed to seeing.We’re already off to a great start.
