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“Not a classroom, sir?” I ask. The idea of being in that small, dark office alone with him makes me anxious.
His back turns rigid as his steps away falter. “All the classrooms are full this period.” There are a few moments of silence. “Follow me.”
I swallow hard, following him in silence out of the cafeteria and down a dark corridor toward his office. The click-clack of my crutches on the cobblestones is the only sound that echoes through the silence. My palms are already sweaty, and my heart is practically drumming against my rib cage with each step I take.
This man is too intimidating and too beautiful to be alone with. He both scares and thrills me. The way he watched me earlier today in leadership class was bordering on predatory.
He comes to a halt outside of his office, slipping a hand into his jacket and pulling out a key.
I watch as he slides it into the lock, turning it slowly. The click echoes through the cold, stone corridor. The thought of being trapped in his tiny office with him for an entire hour makes butterflies take flight in my gut.
“After you,” he says, his voice as smooth as butter. I hate that his voice sends a prickle of goosebumps rising over every inch of exposed skin.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I walk past him, closer than I should as my arm brushes against his jacket. The click of the lock turning behind me sets me on edge. That toe-curling, masculine scent of him infuses the air, making desire shoot right between my thighs.
Why would he lock the door?
I lean on my crutches awkwardly in the center of his office, waiting for him to tell me where to sit.
“Have a seat here,” he says, pointing to the sofa.
I swallow hard and stumble over, gently propping the crutches against the sofa before sinking into it.
He sits down next to me, closer than I expect.
“I don’t think I have any books for this lesson, sir,” I say, keeping my gaze on anything in the room but him.
I notice a photograph in a frame of a beautiful, blonde woman smiling. An ache ignites in my chest, one I can’t understand. I wonder if that’s his wife and don’t know why I care whether he’s married. It’s none of my business.
“No, Eva.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, warning me of his proximity. “This is a practical lesson.”
I whip my head around, meeting his gaze. My brow pulls together. “What is that supposed to mean, sir?”
His jaw clenches again, and he shakes his head. “I’d prefer you call me Oak, Eva.”
My heart flutters in my chest at his request to call him by his first name. “That seems a little inappropriate.” I meet his intense gaze.
He chuckles, and the sound turns me into a molten puddle of desire as I clench my thighs together tightly. His attention moves to my legs as if sensing how aroused I am right now. “No, what is inappropriate is you calling me sir all the time.”
My brow pulls together. “It’s polite, not inappropriate.”
He growls, his face turning dark. “Discipline doesn’t come easy to you, does it, Eva?”
I realize at that moment that his asking me to call him by his name was my first test, and I failed. “No,” I reply, my head hanging. “I guess it doesn’t.”
He clears his throat. “I’m the authority figure in this room, and if I tell you to call me Oak, what should you do?”
I lick my dry lips. “Call you Oak,” I reply.
“Good girl,” he says, and his praise heats my blood. He tilts his head. “Do you maintain this silly pretense that you didn’t make out with your high school janitor?”
The question catches me off guard as I sit up straighter, rage flooding through my veins. “Pretense?” I question, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand. “It wasn’t a pretense. Someone set me up.”
“Don’t lie to me, Eva,” he says, his voice lethal. There’s a threat in each syllable that he utters.
“I’m not lying.” I hold my chin high. “It’s the truth, and nothing you can say will change that.”
