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An hour into my shift, Keith and I are hunched over my fluid mechanics textbook on the back counter when someone clears his throat behind us. Shit…a customer.
I whip around. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in,” I say, lifting my eyes.
It’s Kohl.
Hands in his pockets, he glances up at me, and I swear to God, my heart stops beating for a second. He’s wearing a black, long-sleeved polo, unbuttoned at the neck, and dark-blue jeans. He looks sleek, powerful, and so goddamn delicious I almost groan. And here I am wearing an old baby tee, no bra, no makeup, and my hair is pulled up into a messy bun. Fuck. Of course.
His blue eyes narrow on Keith’s back for a split second before they drift back to me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He smiles at me—that sexy, enigmatic smile that turns me inside out. This guy is no good for me. All it takes is a smile, and I’m already wet and ready for him.
“Would you believe I was thirsty?”
I shake my head and wait. He fixes that steady, unsettling gaze on me again and that flash is there…that determination.
So this is him not giving up. And not taking the firm “no” in my last email for an answer.
“You didn’t answer my email,” he said.
“Wrong. I did answer your email.”
His smile deepens. “It wasn’t the answer I wanted.”
Is this guy serious?
I have a few choice words for him, but I hold them in, barely. First and foremost, the entire world does not fall at his feet. He may be a god on this campus, but that doesn’t mean I’ll bow to his every command—or kneel to it. Not. Happening. And second, what good would dinner do? I’m not interested in his proposition, period.
“You want a different answer, ask a different girl,” I say, quoting Working Girl, one of my favorite movies. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”
“Madeline.” My name rolls off his tongue with that beautiful accent, and I can’t help it, I melt a little inside. “Have dinner with me.” He lifts a brow. “Unless you’re afraid.”
Annoyance pricks at me. I am afraid. I’m afraid of how he makes me feel. I’m afraid of how much I want him. But most of all, I’m afraid of opening up to someone, only to get hurt again. And while this might just be a business arrangement for him, I’m not sure I can make that same promise.
“My answer is still no, Mr. Kohl.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance. I pull off my apron and move around the counter. “I’m going on break,” I call to Keith.
I head toward the short hallway that leads from the coffee shop into the bookstore. There’s a women’s restroom there, and I make a beeline for it. The only way to deal with Kohl is retreat. Men like him don’t give up, and I’m not about to go toe-to-toe with him in the middle of the campus coffee shop.
The second I push through the bathroom door, I release the breath I’d been holding for what seems like hours. I glance in the mirror and groan. It’s worse than I thought. Not only am I completely makeup free, but there are dark circles under my eyes that give me a charming zombie-like appearance. Great.
Seconds later, Kohl pushes through the door. I whip around to face him, my breath caught in my throat, barely able to believe his audacity. I open my mouth to say something, but I’m shocked speechless. I watch him shut and lock the main bathroom door and turn toward me. The look he gives me is hard, predatory, and it makes my nipples harden.
I’m trapped in here with him, and fuck if that doesn’t both excite and terrify me. This time, I don’t know if I have it in me to say no.
And that hungry wolf look in his eyes is clear—no isn’t going to be an answer he’ll accept, anyway.
Chapter 10
Trapped
I swallow nervously as Kohl’s hot gaze rakes over my body, before settling on my hard nipples. Fuck. I curse the fact that I went braless today. This tee is thin and—when covered by the apron—perfectly modest. But through it, he can see everything. He licks his lips, lifting them into a sexy half-smile, and he advances on me. I’m a cornered animal, briefly contemplating a mad dash to one of the stalls. But I discard that idea. My instinct is to step back, but I hold my ground. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.
Once he’s close, I smell him again. And I’m instantly reminded of that feeling in his penthouse hotel room, in the garden when he was looming over me. That cold, electric thrill. That frenzied excitement stirring in my blood. He reaches out to brush his thumb across my cheek, and my eyes flutter closed, my breath stuttering. I crave his touch. I crave the feel of his skin gliding across mine. I hate how desperate he makes me feel, but try as I might, I can’t block those feelings.
Threading his arm around my waist, he pulls me against his body. Muscles flex beneath his shirt, and it feels so damn good, I moan.
The finger that was on my cheek drops, and suddenly he’s toying with my nipple through the thin shirt. It tightens even more, into an erect, painful bud. The pleasure from that touch zings through my entire body, weakening my legs.
