The kindness in his dark eyes is surprising, though. There’s something different about him tonight, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. The man I know never had a look that I would call “kind.” Predatory is more like it. Is this the man he really is outside the bedroom? Not that I am complaining. What girl doesn’t like being taken care of?
Placing a hand on my lower back, he urges me on. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in.”
Following my lead, we walk together through the hallway that connects my minute living and dining rooms with the even smaller kitchen, bathroom, and single bedroom. It is such a tiny space that it only takes a few steps before we are standing outside the door. Staring at my queen-sized bed, I can’t decide what my next move will be.
On the one hand, I really want sleep. On the other, I really need the bathroom. As drained as I am, I know I have to take care of one before I can do the other. “I need to…” I point to the bathroom behind us, my cheeks feeling flushed.
Taking a step back, Ransom gives me enough space to get by. “While you do that, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”
I nod, thankful that he is giving me distance, and close the door. After spending a solid five minutes hanging over the toilet bowl and realizing that I haven’t quite reached the point of no return, I relieve myself and take a minute to scrub my face clean of makeup and pull my hair back. When I run out of things to do, I return to the bedroom to find Ransom sitting on the edge of the mattress.
The sight of him there makes my blood simmer. Screw personal space. I like the idea of having him in my bed, of his rich cologne permeating my sheets.
He stands as I walk in. “I found a bucket under the sink, in case you need it later. Water is on the table. Do you need me to bring you anything from the bathroom, aspirin or Tylenol?”
How incredibly…sweet. I study his offerings, unable to keep the smile off my face. “This is perfect,” I tell him. I’m used to taking care of myself, so this is a treat. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
His eyes widen a fraction and I step closer. Placing my hands on his chest, I reach up on my toes to show him my gratitude. My lips graze his, and the fleeting contact is electric.
“What are you doing, Josephine?” Grasping my wrists, he draws his head back and forces me away from him. The stern look in his eyes is confusing. He’s denying me?
“I was thanking you.” I try to step into him again, but his firm hold ensures I keep my distance.
“You’re drunk,” he says, dismissing me entirely. What. The. Hell.
“Ransom, I’m not that drunk,” I protest.
“Well, then, I’m going to pretend that you are.” Dropping my wrists, Ransom turns his back on me and begins walking away.
“Ransom! Wait, don’t go!” Even though the voice inside my head suggests that I leave well enough alone, that this is the way it’s supposed to be, I can’t keep myself from running after him.
Once he reaches the front door, Ransom rounds on me. “What did you think was going to happen here tonight, Miss Hart?”
My jaw drops at the formality, and I flounder for words. “I—I don’t know. You’d stay the night maybe?”
His head drops to his chest and he shakes it in disbelief. “I’m your teacher. You’re my student.”
He was really going to pull this card on me? I understand the confusion. I feel it, too. But there is no sense in pretending that nothing has happened between us. He had his mouth on my nipples just days ago, and I know the taste of his cock well. Pretending none of it ever happened doesn’t mean it will just go away. I know. I tried. And look where it’s gotten me.
“Then why bring me home? Why come inside?” I challenge.
Scraping his hands through his hair, he lifts his gaze and I can see the war being waged inside him. “You’re a nice girl, Josephine. I knew you’d had too much to drink tonight, and when your friend asked me to do him a favor and take you home, I said yes. I was just trying to help.”
Sure he was. Or maybe he got closer than he intended and is running away. Where has my confident, take-charge mystery man gone? I much prefer him over the one standing in front of me. If only I could turn back the clock and choose a different path.
Instead of being the complacent little mouse I have always been for him, I get angry. “Thanks for all your help, but I’ve got it from here.” Crossing my arms, I glare at him. I just want him out of my apartment. I haven’t completely forgiven him for bringing that woman to me, and I am furious that he would come all this way just to walk out. I feel like a fool, running after him when he clearly doesn’t want to be chased.
Well, I’m done.
Sighing, Ransom opens the door. His hand freezes on the knob as he looks back at me. “I’m sorry I upset you. You’re an attractive girl, and you seem really nice, but I just can’t go there. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll see that, too.”
Although his words ring true, I don’t care to hear them.
“And Miss Hart?” Regret shines in his dark eyes. “From now on, I think it would be best if we stick to formalities.”
For some reason, that really stings, almost as much as knowing he’s slept with another woman. As he closes the door behind him, I scoop up one of my black pumps and lob it at the door. Then I flip the lock so he can’t come back.
From here on out, Ransom Scott is dead to me.
EIGHT
My outlook is good come Monday morning. After spending the remainder of the weekend catching up on homework and wallowing in self-pity, I am resolved to start fresh. Nothing of the past week will affect my time moving forward, and anytime my thoughts attempt to stray toward the past, I shove it into a little black box in the back of my mind.
That plan goes to shit the moment I enter the classroom and see Ransom sitting at his desk. He’s dressed casually in tan slacks, a light blue button-down shirt with a navy sweater-vest overtop. His head is bent over, one hand delved deep into his tousled black hair, the other writing something in red pen.
Annie is absent today, and I want to kill her for leaving me to my fate, but I’m also grateful, because it allows me to escape. With hurried strides, I bypass my usual seat in the front row and claim one at the back of the room.
I try my best to remain invisible throughout the next hour. I slump in my seat, keep my head down, and volunteer for nothing. When Ransom hands down our final assignment for the semester, I groan inwardly. We have to find a way to inspire art. I don’t know what that means exactly, but he assured us that as the class progresses, it will become clearer. Of course, if we have any questions, he is always available after class.
I’d rather Google it.
The bad thing about being in the back of the room is that it prevents an easy escape. I do my best to blend in with my classmates, and as the door draws nearer, I think I have succeeded, until I hear my name.
“Miss Hart, can I see you for a moment?”
Those nine words chill me to the bone. My head droops on my shoulders. Why me? Taking a deep breath, I turn and make my way back into the room, stopping several feet from Ransom’s desk.
He is busily tucking papers into his leather briefcase when I approach and it takes a moment for him to acknowledge me. “I noticed you hiding in the back today. Any particular reason for that?”
“I prefer the back of the room.”
He nods, seeming to understand. “Does this have anything to do with Saturday night?”
My arms clench tighter around my books. “I’m afraid I had a few too many drinks with my friends Saturday night. My memory is a little foggy.” A lie, but when cornered like prey, sometimes it’s the only chance of escape.