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I needed to get drunk or high-as-motherfucking-shit to deal with this kind of a day, but I had a feeling that none of my weed and none of my booze had been packed in my suitcases.
Nothing about this made sense. The provost—oh excuse me,Dr. Ryker Willenger—had not only functioned as my glorified babysitter for the entire car ride, but when he had looked at me, I’d felt like he was going to either hit me, fuck me, or eat me—like eat me-eat me, like with fries on the side.
His bold stare had roved over me, stripping me bare as though I was wearing nothing at all. When his green-eyed gaze flicked to mine, there was a deep, ravenous hunger swirling within it, and I got the feeling that he was just barely holding onto a very tenuous control.
I didn’t like how that made me feel.
Mostly because it makes your nips hard and your panties wet. Doesn’t it, you little hussy?
I scoffed and fisted my hands on the bed, trying to figure out whatever this million-piece puzzle was. Nothing came together in my head, and a billion more questions spun around like one of those crazy, fucking spinning top rides at Six Flags.
It was like those green eyes, the kind of green that blanketed a forest floor, were burned into my brain. The yellow flecks of his gaze had turned increasingly more vivid, like the sun glinting off of a solid gold nugget in the middle of a flowing river.
I fisted my hands into the bed again, quite literally snarling with anger, frustration, and this weird bubbling sense of arousal that was building up deep within my belly. I refused to acknowledge its existence, attempting instead to shove it deep somewhere where I would never feel it again.
It didn’t work.
I didn’t understand why they hadn’t brought me back to the dorms. This whole change of plans stunk even more than the whole ‘let’s ship her off to California and then Europe’ plan that had hardly made any sense in the first place.
Sure, this mansion or whatever it was had turned out to be pretty nice, but that was beside the point.
When we’d arrived, Dr. Grumpy Pants had herded me out of the car like I was some sort of meek little sheep, and I’d gotten my first look at the place.
Truthfully, it was really freaking nice.
The enormous white mansion stood proudly amidst a sea of green. Massive oaks draped with Spanish moss lined the driveway. It seemed to have been plucked from the pages of a Southern Gothic novel. The architecture was a testament to a bygone era of opulence, and the well-tended grounds surrounding it hinted at a hidden world of splendor.
The mansion gleamed in the warm Louisiana sun, casting a radiant glow that seemed to accentuate its reigning elegance. Majestic columns lined the front entrance, reaching skyward like sentinels of the lush gardens of the bayou. As my gaze traveled upwards, I couldn’t help but draw in a sharp breath at the ornate wrought ironwork gracing the mansion’s balconies and railings, a stylish contrast to the pristine white walls.
The sprawling front lawn was meticulously landscaped. Lush magnolia trees framed the scene, their fragrant blossoms a testament to the beauty of the Deep South. Blooming azaleas added vibrant purple splashes of color to the landscape.
This place probably cost a fucking fortune.
Apparently, the university could afford it, or more specifically, Dr. Hawthorne and Dr. Willenger could.
After I’d gotten a good look at the place, Dr. Grumpy funneled me through the front door. I noted that the grandeur of the exterior was nothing compared to the interior. It was really fucking beautiful.
The foyer was a vast space with marble floors that seemed to stretch for miles, and a crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, casting prismatic rainbows across the room. Gilded mirrors adorned the walls, reflecting the sheer extravagance of the space. Antique furniture with plush velvet upholstery added a touch of timeless elegance.
“Up the stairs,” Dr. Grumpy said gruffly, and he walked ahead of me.
I wrinkled my nose in his direction. I would have stuck my tongue out at him, but he looked over his shoulder a fraction of a second before I could. I swallowed back my humph of annoyance and followed him.
I hated that I was being an obedient little puppy. I wanted to kick him in the shins and tell him exactly where to shove it, but I was smarter than that.
I wasn’t equipped to take on a man built like a linebacker, at least not head-on.
He turned back around, and I made another face at him behind his back.
Without another word, Dr. Grumpy directed me up the grand staircase. The banister was a work of art, a swirl of carved wood and delicate spindles that spiraled gracefully upward. The walls were adorned with oil paintings in ornate frames, portraits of people from past generations who seemed to gaze down at us with subdued judgement. Honestly, it was kind of creepy.
One of them even had the kind of eyes that followed you when you were walking, and I skipped up the stairs that much faster. At least Grumpy could protect me, if need be, or he’d provide abig ol’ distraction while I ran away as fast as I could. I’d at least give him that.
At the top of the stairs, he strode down a hallway complete with more creepy portraits and stopped at the door of what looked like a master bedroom. He opened the door and did the same overzealous arm sweep as Vana White, which seemed a bit odd coming from him.
I stopped and stared at him for a few devastatingly long seconds, feeling brave enough to meet those forest-green depths. For a long moment, I lost myself in them, feeling as though I was navigating through the lush brush of the jungle before I remembered myself and replaced the curious look on my face with a defiantly angry one.
His eyes darkened, and a nervous feeling billowed up from deep inside my belly.
