Chapter Three

Three o’clock arrived slowly… and all at once.

Adrian had been sitting at his desk for nearly ten minutes, pretending he was reading the open book in front of him. In reality, he’d absorbed nothing. His pulse had been unsteady since noon, but now it thudded in a heavy, deliberate rhythm that matched each second hand tick on the wall clock.

He heard footsteps in the hallway—light, unhurried—and his whole body went taut.

The knock was soft.

“Come in,” he managed, though his voice was rougher than he intended.

The door opened, and Eden stepped inside.

Not a girl.

Not unsure.

Not timid.

She walked in with the quiet confidence of a woman who knew exactly where she was going… and who she wanted to be in front of.

A faint smile touched her mouth. “Professor Hale.”

He nodded, his throat tightening. “Miss Marlowe. Please—sit.”

She crossed the room slowly, as though part of her was studying him just as deeply as she had in the lecture hall. The click of the door behind her sounded far too final. She sat across from him, crossing her legs, the subtle shift of her knee drawing his eyes before he snapped them back to her face.

Focus. He needed focus.

“What did you want to go over?” he asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

She tilted her head, considering him. “A bit of everything, I think. You cover a lot of ground, and I’d like more clarity.” Her eyes held his, steady. “From you.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened.

He opened the book between them, flipping to the section she had supposedly struggled with. “Let’s start here.”

But she wasn’t looking at the text. She was looking at him.

Her attention felt like a warm hand sliding over his skin, unraveling him piece by piece.

He forced himself to speak—calm, academic explanations—but he could feel the heat building low in his abdomen, an ache that had been simmering since yesterday but now burned hot and real.

She leaned forward slightly, and the subtle movement made his breath hitch.

It wasn’t the action.

It was the ease of it.

The way she seemed perfectly comfortable taking up space in his world.

Her perfume—soft, warm, something like jasmine—rose between them.

His fantasies slipped past his restraint before he could stop them.

He imagined her leaning closer, close enough that her thigh brushed his beneath the desk.

He imagined her fingers touching the inside of his wrist, tracing the line of veins beneath his skin.

He imagined her mouth—God—soft and insistent against his, tasting like the heat he’d been denying for too long.

He imagined her straddling his lap, his hands on her waist, his breath breaking as she—

He stopped breathing entirely.

Because he was hard.

Painfully.

He shifted subtly in his chair, forcing one knee to the side so the desk would hide his body’s betrayal. He kept his hands flat on the table, fingers digging into the wood. Every inch of him was tense.

“Professor?” she murmured.

His eyes snapped to hers. “Yes.”

“You seem… distracted.” Her lips curved slightly. “Is something wrong?”

Everything.

And nothing he could admit.

“I’m fine.” His voice was tight, strained. “Continue reading.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she watched him with that soft, dangerous curiosity, the kind that made him feel bared open.

Her gaze flicked once—to his throat, the place where his pulse hammered too visibly—and then back to his eyes. A silent acknowledgment. Nothing improper, but enough to make him fight for breath.

He forced himself to speak again, to lecture, to cling to the last threads of professionalism he had left. But every word felt like it scraped against heat.

She leaned in again, closer than before, her knees nearly touching the desk. “Thank you for taking the time,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to.”

He swallowed. “It’s my job.”

“It feels like more than that.”

His vision went dark at the edges for a moment.

Control was slipping.

Not physically—he didn’t move. He wouldn’t.

But inside… inside he was burning.

He imagined—again, against his will—her sliding off the chair, coming around the desk, her body warm against his, her mouth at his ear whispering his name—

He exhaled sharply and stood abruptly, putting space between them. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Her brows lifted, slow and knowing. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” His voice was too rough. “I just have another meeting.”

A lie. A desperate one.

She gathered her notebook, rising to her feet with unhurried grace. When she reached the door, she paused.

“Three o’clock again next week?” she asked.

He should say no.

He should end this.

He should reclaim the control slipping through his fingers.

“Yes,” he said instead.

Her smile was devastating. “Good.”

She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Adrian braced both hands on the desk, bowing his head as the tension crashed over him, his breath shuddering.

He had never been so undone by wanting someone he couldn’t have.

And God help him—

He wanted her more with every breath.