“What have I done?” Lacing my fingers behind my neck, I growl, walking from the kitchen to the bathroom and turning on the shower.

  Her scent is all over me, driving me crazy, and as much as I want to go to bed smelling like sex with her, I have to wash it off. I have to be better than this. My head has been so far up my ass with this girl, I never considered how damaging it might appear to an outsider. Now that’s all I can see, and it has my insides in knots.

  Closing my eyes under the hot spray, my memory is relentless. Her number is on my phone, and I want to text her.

  I want to be sure she got home safely. Of course, she did.

  I want to know if she’s having trouble sleeping. It doesn’t matter.

  I want to take back everything I said in my office. Don’t do it.

  You want me to date someone my own age? Yes, that’s what I want.

  It was a lie.

  It’s for the best, but it’s going to kill me.

  Shutting off the water, I quickly towel dry and pull on my boxer briefs. I’ve got to stop chasing her around in circles in my mind. I’ve got to focus on my work here and spend time with the faculty. It was my whole purpose for living on campus, to engage with my colleagues.

  Climbing in my bed, I pull the blankets around me and pick up my dog-eared copy of Goblet of Fire. It’s the original paperback Hutch took me to Barnes & Noble to get the day it was released. He took me right after school, and I was so excited. It was the biggest release of the series to date.

  It was the biggest book I’d ever tried to read, and I remember holding it, thinking it was something amazing. Hutch didn’t understand why I liked to read these books so much. I couldn’t explain it, but being there with him meant so much to me.

  Opening the book, our photo falls out, and I smile. Our mother took this picture. She was so happy to be with us, even if our father preferred to stay in New York. She moved us out of the city, all the way to Hamiltown, so we could have a different life, a small-town childhood.

  She taught us to dance with her in the kitchen on Saturday nights, and she never missed a baseball game or a football game or a science fair or whatever the hell we did. What would she say about what I’m doing now?

  Burying my head in my pillow, I can’t believe I can still smell Reanna all around me. It must be in my hair, but I don’t know how. I give up. Taking my phone off the side table, I stare at the screen for a long time.

  Don’t do it. The things I said to her weren’t cruel, they were honest. She should be spending time with her peers. We shouldn’t be doing what we’ve been doing. We can’t be together.

  Tapping quickly, I can’t stop myself. Despite it all, I care about her. I hope you’re able to sleep tonight.

  I hit send before I have time to reconsider.

  Several seconds pass, and the guilt of what I’ve done presses inside my temples. I should have said what I ought to say. I’m sorry.

  Only, it’s a lie.

  I’m not sorry at all.

  The only thing that makes me sorry is the prospect I might never get to do it again.

  “It’s so nice to have you join us for dinner.” Dr. Bowerman passes a dish of dark-brown roast to me, and his wife smiles from across the table.

  “Emile has told me so much about you. He said your brother is Hutch Winston.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I smile, taking an appropriate serving of the meat before returning it to the center of the table.

  Dr. Bowerman passes me a bowl of mashed potatoes as his wife continues. “He’s sheriff of Hamiltown?”

  Exhaling a short chuckle, I shake my head. “No, ma’am. He owns a private investigation firm, which might be confused as a sheriff, but it’s not affiliated with law enforcement. It’s where I worked before I came here. Still do, actually, part time.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Mrs. Bowerman places a hand on her chest. “I don’t know how I got that all mixed up.”

  “It’s easy to do.”

  “I imagine in these small towns, one wears more than one hat on occasion.” Her husband grins, giving me a wink. “Sarah likes to keep up with all the local gossip.”

  “I do not!” she cries, shaking her head and laughing. “I’m just interested in learning about our new faculty members, especially the young, handsome ones.”

  Dr. Bowerman leans towards me and stage-whispers. “If you were a woman, you might file a complaint about being objectified.”

  “I have no problem being complimented by such a lovely hostess.” A tease is in my voice.

  Sarah laughs, narrowing her eyes. “You’re dangerous, Professor Winston.”

  Dangerous to myself, I think.

  I didn’t sleep after my massive indiscretion Thursday night, so I decided to take Dr. Bowerman up on his standing offer for me to have dinner with him and his wife at their home in Miranda Bay proper. I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending a Friday night alone attempting not to think about Reanna.

  She never replied to my text, which is for the best. I can’t let myself think she might be angry or hurt. I can’t let myself think about her at all, so I’m here in this safe house with these safe, paternal figures, trying to convince myself I don’t have an unhealthy obsession with a student.

  “Well, tell me how it’s going so far.” Dr. Bowerman sits back, sipping his glass of red wine. “I expect it’s quite an adjustment going from the excitement of your work to the quiet life of a professor in this sleepy college town.”

  Exhaling a laugh, I shake my head. “Hamiltown’s pretty sleepy 90 percent of the time.”

  “Yes, but you boys had a pretty big case not too long ago from what I understand. Organized crime, Russian mafia… I heard there was even a murder?”

  “What?” Sarah gasps. “A murder in Hamiltown?”

  I’ve just taken a bite of meat, which buys me a little time. The only murder that happened in Hamiltown was committed by Hugh van Hamilton’s bodyguard. Hugh agreed to pay Andre Bertonelli to steal a ledger of all the transactions carried out by RDIF-Kazan. It was quite the get, their leader Simon’s exclusive dishonor roll, but when it came time to deliver, Andre wanted more than the agreed-upon price.

  None of us were there when it happened, but Hugh claims Andre became violent, and Hugh’s bodyguard subdued him a little too roughly. Hutch was furious, but he kept it off the record. One less criminal to worry about, one more piece of their puzzle in our hands.

  Sometimes our family operates in the gray zone, but it’s what you have to do when taking down high-stakes criminals with vast networks and billions of dollars.

  “That was a very long pause, young man.” Dr. Bowerman chuckles, and I straighten in my chair.

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to remember. The murders happened in New York, and from what I’ve been told there’s no actual Russian mafia…”

  “Surely you don’t believe that?” My mentor’s brow furrows, and I shrug.

  “I only deal with them state-side, and from what I’ve observed, there’s a lot of in-fighting among the groups. No one’s particularly loyal to anyone.”

  “Well, it sounds very exciting.” Sarah smiles, taking a sip of her wine.

  “To be honest, my role is almost exclusively sitting behind a desk, researching information we find, monitoring the chat rooms where suspects hang out on the dark web, hacking into street cams or security cameras or using AirTags to track them across the city.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Mostly, if you have the right license.” Taking my final bite of dinner, I smile. “This is really good, by the way. My brother’s housekeeper Lurlene makes dinner like this, and I’ve been missing it.”

  “Oh, you’re too kind. It’s just a simple pot roast.”

  “Simple to you.” I wink, and she waves me away.

  Dr. Bowerman stands. “It’s that type of real-world experience that gives our students a view of the criminal mind they can’t find in a textbook.”

  Standing, I follow him into the living room. “It’s true. The books make our work sound very simple, follow the steps and find the solution. In real life, it’s a lot messier, a lot more guesswork, more unanswered questions.”

  I don’t add it’s exactly where we left that case, once Hugh declared it closed—so many unanswered questions.

  A warm fire is in the hearth, and while it’s early in the season for a fire, it’s a homey touch. He offers me a brandy, but I decline. I have to drive back to campus tonight. He offers to let me sleep in one of his sons’ old rooms, but again I decline.

  We spend a little while longer discussing my adjustment to campus life and the rewards of shaping young minds. The more we talk, the shittier I feel. He’s so proud of me, and he has no idea I’ve royally let him down.

  After an hour, I’m ready to drive home. He walks me to the door, offering more words of encouragement as a new faculty member.

  Driving back to campus, I commit to making a change. No more fantasizing about her or allowing myself to fixate on her body. During class, I’ll keep my mind on the subject matter. I’ll think of her as a student in need of guidance.

  Yes, pity is a good counterbalance to lust. You can’t want to fuck someone you feel sorry for.

  The flaw in my plan is I don’t buy it. I’ve already acknowledged a big part of my attraction to her is her strength. She had to be strong to survive losing her family, moving here alone, working to make a life for herself.

  I’m back on campus, so I drop my speed. It’s dark, and pedestrians tend to wander into the streets on campus. I’m waiting for a group to cross when my phone lights up with a text. Lifting it off the seat, my chest tightens when I see it’s a photo of Reanna.

  The angle is from above and she’s looking up, her head tilted to the side. Her dark hair is loose and wavy around her cheeks, and she’s fucking gorgeous, full lips crimson red, blue eyes taunting.

  It’s the motherfucker behind her that grinds my jaw. Evan is holding a shot glass over their heads, and his eyes are not on the camera, they’re on her breasts. I want to grab him by the neck and slam him against the wall.

  What are you doing with him?

  The jealousy churning my stomach is unreasonable, and her reply makes it worse. I’m doing what you said, professor. I’m out with a boy my age.

  “Not him.” My voice is tight, and a horn blares behind me. “Fuck.”

  I toss the phone on the seat and move my vehicle out of traffic, pulling into a parking spot facing the residence halls. Where are you?

  Gray dots float as she composes her answer, and I’m growing more furious the longer I wait. I’m having sex on the beachesss…

  My jealousy morphs into overprotective rage. Are you drunk?

  Her answer is fast. Not your businessss…

  I’m on the verge of tapping the call button. Tell me where you are.

  The phone goes silent, and I wait.

  When she hasn’t responded after a minute, I slam the Jeep into drive and pull out into traffic with a squeal of tires.

  I’m going to my place to find her mobile service, run the code, and track her down myself. I do it all the time when we’re on a case.

  Anger knots in my stomach, and I whip into my driveway as another text lights the screen. Snatching it up, it’s another photo. Evan is behind her, and it looks like they’re dancing. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is open, and she’s sticking out her tongue like she’s fucking Miley Cyrus.

  She’s clearly drunk, and if that little punk touches her, I will beat him to a grease spot.

  Opening the door of my vehicle, I’m about to head inside to follow my plan when her answer appears, Ray’s on the River is the best place to dance.

  Closing the door, I type the name into my GPS, and it pops up quickly. Five miles away. I back out quickly, covering the distance at a rapid clip. It’s an off-campus bar, which makes it worse. At least on campus we have safeguards in place.

  Pulling up, the place is lit, and half the crowd is outside. I slam the door, stalking to the entrance, where a beefy guy with a bald head and tattoos stops me.

  “Five dollars.” His hand is in front of my chest.

  “I’m picking up someone.”

  “Not without the cover.” His brow lowers, and I size him up.

  We’re about the same height, and with the fury I’m feeling right now, I’m pretty sure I could take him. My nostrils flare, but he’s not the target of my wrath. He’s just doing his job.

  Taking out my phone, I quickly text, Come outside. Now.

  Hanging back, I assess the crowd of sloppy, mostly drunk college students. Loud music beats overhead, a mixture of rock and hip-hop I don’t recognize, and the crowd inside bounces in time.

  A girl staggers past me on the porch, bumping my arm and spilling her beer on my hand.

  “I’m sorry!” Her voice is too loud and pitched too high, and when our eyes meet, she blinks fast. “Let me lick it off you…”

  She leans down as if she’ll actually lick my hand, but I quickly lift it out of her grasp. Turning her away from me, my eyes land on Reanna at the entrance. She’s wearing a short dress with a cropped cardigan on top, and her long hair lifts in the breeze.

  Crossing the space quickly, she stops right in front of me smiling. “You’re here.”

  I’m not smiling. “Get in the Jeep. I’m taking you home.”

  “To your home?”

  “No. You’re drunk.” I catch her arm, leading her to my vehicle, where I help her into the seat and strap the belt over her shoulder and lap.

  She puts her hands on my shoulders as I make sure she’s secure in the seat. “You do care.”

  “I never said I didn’t care. I said we can’t be together.”

  The happiness in her eyes vanishes, and my stomach cramps. I climb in on my side, pressing the ignition button and doing my best to focus on the road. For several moments, the only sound is tires on pavement. I flick on some music, and she rouses at the sound of an old Hole song, hitting the button to lower her window.

  She unfastens her seatbelt and climbs onto her knees, yelling, “You really made it!”

  I glance at her bare legs, the hem of her skirt swirling in the wind, rising dangerously high on her thighs. “Sit down, Reanna.”

  “This night is perfect!”

  Checking my mirrors, I pull the Jeep to the side of the road and put it in park. “You’re freezing.”

  “I was born in the cold.” She tries to push my hand away, but I evade her grasp, pulling the belt over her shoulder and fastening her in the seat again.

  Sitting back, I study her face. Her cheeks are pink, and she’s breathing fast. “Sharon told me Evan’s no good. He’ll hurt you.”

  “You’re worried about me?” She takes my hand, threading our fingers and dropping her head against the headrest and smiling. “No one ever worries about me.”

  My stomach tightens, and I take my hand away, fastening my seatbelt and pulling on the road. “I want you to be safe.”

  “That’s not all you want,” she laughs lightly. “Remember?”

  As if I could forget how fucking hot it was to have her at last, what a fucking relief to sink my dick violently and repeatedly into her hot little body. A grin fights with my lips, and she arches an eyebrow nodding like she won some kind of truth prize.

  She’s playful and beautiful, and I want to kiss her. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her this night is perfect. I want to tell her I think she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and she fucking blows my mind, and if everything were different…

  Reaching across, she takes my hand again, and the music changes to some old U2 song about wild horses and being dangerous.

  The skin on the back of my neck tingles when she places my palm on the inside of her bare thigh. Her skin is so soft, and I don’t remove my hand. I can’t remove it. I can barely breathe.

  Clearing my throat, I try to ignore her fingertips tracing mine. “You have to be more careful with men.”

  “Not with you.” Her voice turns sultry, and my dick hardens immediately.

  My fingers tighten on her thigh, and all of it is back, all the heat and desire I’ve struggled to lock down. She’s here, the object of my lust, the woman who awakens my senses. Her fingers curl over mine, and she slides my hand higher.

  “Reanna…” The warning is lost in the wind swirling around us from her cracked window.

  I’m no longer cool. Heat burns in my belly and need seizes my cock. Her fingers leave mine, but I don’t remove my hand from her leg. On my own, I slide it higher, until I reach the place I crave, tracing my fingers along the thin scrap of silk covering her cunt.

  “Do you feel how wet I am?” She places her fingers behind my neck, sliding closer to me.

  She’s dripping, and my hand knows what to do. I’m inside her thong, cupping her. My two middle fingers dip into her core, and my thumb circles, pressing and massaging her clit faster.

  “Yes…” she moans in my ear, her body moving like waves on the ocean as she rides my hand. “Right there…”

  She gasps, and my dick is so hard it aches. Her nipples are sharp points in her thin dress, and I almost swerve in my lane.

  “That’s it,” she gasps. “That’s it… oh, God, yes…”

  My eyes are on the road, but my brain is on her pussy. I want to put my mouth there. I want to slide my tongue all over her, licking every drop of her essence.

  She’s writhing, pressing her lips close to my ear so I can hear her breath shudder and hitch. I can hear as her whimpers turn into moans. Her hips start to buck and her head drops back with a louder groan. Her back arches, and her breasts rise tantalizingly close to the top of her dress.

  Curling my fingers, I thrust them as I would my dick if only I could. She moves in time, holding my wrist and jerking as she comes, as her pussy clenches around my fingers.

  I’d give anything to have her on my lap right now, riding my cock.

  We’re on campus, moving slowly, and thankfully, the crowd has faded. Only a few pedestrians linger, none of whom seem to be interested in what’s happening in a passing Jeep.

  I slowly take us up the long drive to Amanda Egret Hall. Reanna has returned to her seat, holding my hand, which is still lodged between her thighs. Her breathing slows, and her come is all over me.