Page 23 of His to Teach

“Miss Cain.”

I spin on my heel to see the man himself hurrying across the lawn towards me.

God, does he have to be so good looking? This would all be so much easier if he didn’t look like some cross between Matt Bomer and Hugh Jackman.

He reaches me but doesn’t say anything. Just looks down at me, studying me, until I’m uncomfortable enough to speak first.

“I thought you had a meeting.”

He waves off my words. “It’s unimportant.”

What does that mean? Is he saying I’mmoreimportant?Jesus, Harper, get a grip.

“Where are you headed now?” he asks, his voice a touch less polished than when we were upstairs.

“The library.”

His eyes glint at me as the corners of his mouth tug up. “On the first day of classes? Mason wasn’t kidding about you, was he?”

I bristle at that. “What did he say?”

He tilts his head at my sharp tone. “That you were the most driven and intelligent person he knows.”

That brings me up short. I swallow a few times before managing a lame reply. “Oh.”

His forehead creases. “That surprises you.” It isn’t a question. I shrug. “He doesn’t tell you how highly he thinks of you.” Another non-question. I don’t bother shrugging this time.

“Usually he acts like I’m more of a burden than anything.”

He frowns down at me and then runs one fingertip down my jaw. The contact makes my skin burn. “I can assure you he doesn’t think of you that way.”

I finally manage to meet his blue eyes and the tenderness I see there takes my breath away. His gaze hardens as he looks at me, changing into something that whispers of desire. He heaves in a ragged breath before he seems to realize he’s touching me. He takes his hand away, shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I whisper.

“So. The library?” he asks, arranging his face into a neutral smile.

I try to match his casual expression. “I wanted to get a head start on some things.”

His eyes search my face. “Something is wrong.”

I frown. “Nothing is?—”

“Your hands are shaking.”

I glance down at them and think it’s a good thing he can’t see my knees. Talk about shaking.

“Harper.” He’s waiting for an answer. I sigh.

“It’s just an overwhelming day. I’m a bit tired.”

He frowns. “Did you eat?”

“I had a granola bar.”

He scoffs. “That’s not a meal. What about breakfast?”

I don’t respond—I have a feeling he won’t be pleased with my answer.