Page 23 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)

FIFTEEN

RHETT

I’d been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, the words blurring together before my eyes.

The library was nearly empty at nine thirty on a Thursday night, just a few dedicated graduate students and the occasional undergraduate cramming for an exam scattered throughout the building.

I’d chosen a table in the far corner of the third floor specifically to avoid distractions, but my brain refused to cooperate.

Every time I tried to focus on Professor Williams’ assigned reading about stakeholder theory, my mind wandered to yesterday afternoon in the shower.

The memory of Aiden’s hands on my skin, the way he’d looked at me like I was something precious and necessary, the sounds he’d made when I’d touched him just right.

The recollection sent heat shooting through my entire body, making it impossible to concentrate on corporate governance principles.

I’d been like this for days now, completely unable to function normally.

Everything reminded me of him. The scent of similar cologne on other students, the sound of confident laughter echoing through hallways, even the way certain guys moved across campus with that particular brand of arrogance that Aiden had perfected, if not invented.

I was becoming obsessed, and it was starting to interfere with everything else in my life.

The rational part of my brain knew this was dangerous.

What we were doing was reckless. But the rest of me, the part that was currently making it impossible to read about fiduciary responsibility, didn’t care about rational thought.

That part just wanted to see him again, to touch him, to lose myself in the electric connection that seemed to exist whenever we were in the same room.

I forced myself to read the same sentence for the fourth time when I heard footsteps approaching my table.

Probably another student looking for a quiet place to study, or maybe library security doing their evening rounds.

I didn’t look up, determined to finally make some progress on this assignment.

“Burning the midnight oil, Morrison?”

My heart stopped, then started again at double speed. I knew that voice—I had been hearing it in my dreams for weeks. When I looked up, Aiden was standing next to my table with his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s not even ten,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my pulse was racing. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Studying.” He gestured to the business textbook spread open in front of me. “Williams’ assignment on stakeholder capitalism?”

“Yeah. You haven’t started it yet?”

“Started and finished. But I thought I might review my notes, make sure I didn’t miss anything important.” He pulled out the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation. “Mind if I join you? This place is dead tonight.”

I should have said yes, I did mind. Should have told him I needed to concentrate, that his presence was exactly the kind of distraction I’d been trying to avoid. Instead, I found myself nodding, already making space on the table for his materials.

“Sure. Just try to keep the commentary to a minimum. Some of us actually have to work for our grades.”

“Ouch.” He settled into the chair, immediately making the space feel smaller and more charged. “You know, just because I have resources doesn’t mean I don’t work hard. I happen to take my education very seriously.”

“Right. That’s why you were bragging about finishing the assignment already.”

“That’s not bragging, that’s efficiency. There’s a difference.”

We fell into our usual pattern of competitive banter, but underneath, it was a current of tension that had nothing to do with academics.

I was hyperaware of his every movement, the way his fingers drummed against the table when he was thinking, the way he unconsciously leaned forward when he was making a point.

Every time he shifted in his chair, every time he looked up from his laptop to meet my eyes, I felt that familiar jolt of electricity that made my skin feel too tight.

“So what did you think of the Friedman versus Freeman debate?” he asked after we’d been working in relative silence for fifteen minutes.

“I think Friedman’s position is outdated. Focusing solely on shareholder value ignores the broader impact corporations have on society.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never had to make actual business decisions. It’s easy to be idealistic when you’re not responsible for keeping a company profitable.”

The comment stung, partly because there was truth in it. “And it’s easy to be cynical when you’ve grown up watching profit matter more than people.”

Something flickered across his expression, too quick for me to identify. “Careful, Rhett. You’re starting to sound like you have opinions about how certain businesses operate.”

“I have opinions about how all businesses should operate. There’s a difference between being profitable and being predatory.”

“Is there? Because from where I’m sitting, successful business is about identifying opportunities and capitalizing on them. Sometimes that means making moves other people find uncomfortable.”

“Like hostile takeovers of family companies?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and immediately, I wanted to take them back. This was exactly the kind of territory we’d been carefully avoiding, the painful history that made everything between us infinitely more complicated.

Aiden’s expression went carefully neutral, that practiced mask of indifference sliding into place. “That was business. Nothing personal.”

“Tell that to the families who almost lost everything.”

“Tell that to the shareholders who deserved better returns on their investments.”

We stared at each other across the table, the easy atmosphere of moments before evaporating into something tense and hostile.

This was the problem with whatever was happening between us.

No matter how good things were, no matter how right it felt when we were together, we couldn’t escape the history that connected our families.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” I said quietly, already reaching for my books.

“What was? This conversation or all of it?”

“I don’t know. Both?”

But even as I said it, even as I started to pack up my materials, I couldn’t bring myself to actually leave. Because despite the argument, despite the reminder of everything that stood between us, I still wanted to be here. Still wanted to be near him, even when it hurt.

“You don’t mean that,” Aiden said, his voice softer now.

“Don’t I?”

“No. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have answered my texts, wouldn’t have let me into your room, wouldn’t have…” He gestured vaguely between us. “You can’t stop wanting this any more than I can.”

The accusation hit too close to home, touching on the exact fear I’d been trying not to examine. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Don’t I?” He leaned forward, close enough that I could smell his cologne, could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “You want me to touch you again. You want to find out if what happened in that shower was as good as you remember or if your memory is playing tricks on you.”

My mouth went dry, heat flooding my face and other places I didn’t want to acknowledge. “We’re in public.”

“Are we? Because I don’t see anyone else around here.”

He was right. This corner of the library was completely deserted, hidden behind tall stacks that blocked us from view of the main study area. We might as well have been alone, and that realization made my heart race with anticipation and terror in equal measure.

“Aiden…”

“What? You going to tell me you’re too nice to sneak around in the library?” His grin was wicked.

“Not, I just…”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine where they rested next to my textbook. The contact was brief, innocent to anyone who might be watching, but it sent electricity shooting up my arm and straight to my core.

“You’re impossible,” I said, but I didn’t pull my hand away.

“And you’re beautiful when you’re trying to resist me, especially because you keep failing.” That grin again, it devoured the last of my resistence.

“I’m not trying to resist you. I’m trying to be practical.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

Not well, considering I was leaning closer to him despite every rational thought telling me to put distance between us. The space across the table felt charged, electric with possibility, and I could see the exact moment when his eyes darkened with the same want that was coursing through my veins.

“We can’t do this here,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

“Can’t do what? Study together? Have a conversation?”

“You know what.”

“I know I want to kiss you right now. I know I’ve been thinking about nothing but you for days. I know that when I saw you sitting here, looking all serious and focused, the first thing I wanted to do was make you forget about whatever you were reading.”

The words made my heart swell, sending heat straight to my groin. I gripped the edge of the table harder, trying to anchor myself before I did something stupid like climb across it and do exactly what he was suggesting.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes, and I hate that about you.”

“No, you don’t. You love that I can get under your skin. You love that I can make you forget about everything else.”

He was right, and we both knew it. The attraction between us was like gravity, impossible to fight and getting stronger every time we were in the same room. I could feel myself being pulled toward him despite every logical reason to maintain distance.

“This is insane,” I said, but I was already standing up, already moving around the table toward him.

“Probably. But the good kind of insane.”

When I reached his side of the table, he spun his chair to face me, his hands coming up to rest on my hips. The touch was possessive, confident, and it made my knees weak in the best possible way.

“Someone could see us,” I said, even as I let him pull me closer.

“Then we’ll be quiet.”

It felt like we were doomed to have the same conversation every day. I didn’t hate it. “Aiden…”

He cut me off by pulling me down into a kiss that was anything but quiet.

It was desperate, hungry, full of wanting and the tension that had been building between us all day.

I forgot about the library, about the possibility of discovery, about everything except the way he tasted and the way his hands felt gripping my shirt.

When we broke apart, both of us breathing hard, I realized I was practically sitting in his lap, my hands fisted in his sweater like I was afraid he might disappear. Or trying to make it disappear.

“We have to stop,” I said, but I made no move to pull away.

“Do we? Because from where I’m sitting, this feels pretty perfect.”

“It feels like we’re about to get arrested for public indecency.”

“Then maybe we should find somewhere more private.”

The suggestion hung in the air between us, loaded with promise and possibility.

I knew I should say no, should remind him that we’d already crossed enough lines for one week.

But looking at him, seeing the heat in his eyes and feeling the way my body was responding to his proximity, I couldn’t bring myself to be practical.

“My room?” I heard myself say.

“Lennox?”

I laughed. “Still at Oliver’s. Always at Oliver’s.”

“Maybe I should just move in with you.” He was already reaching for his laptop, packing up with an efficiency that suggested he’d been hoping for exactly this outcome.

I laughed. “As if you could survive living in a dormitory.”

“Calling me a brat, Morrison?”

“Calling a duck a duck,” I said.

He stuck a finger into my rib cage, nearly making me yelp. “Lead the way.”

As we gathered our materials and headed for the exit, I tried to tell myself this was just physical. Just two people who were attracted to each other acting on that attraction. It was better than biting each other’s heads off. But the truth was more complicated than I wanted to admit.

I wasn’t just attracted to Aiden Whitmore. I was falling for him, despite every rational reason not to. And judging by the way he was looking at me as we walked through the empty library corridors, I wasn’t the only one who was in deeper than expected.

This was supposed to be simple. Take the edge off, explore the attraction, maybe work through some of the tension that had been building between us for years. Instead, it was becoming something else entirely. Something that felt significant and precious and terrifying all at once.

But as we stepped out into the cool night air, as I felt his hand brush against mine in the darkness, I couldn’t bring myself to care about the complications. Tomorrow, I could worry about families and consequences and everything that made this impossible.

Tonight, I just wanted to be with him. Consequences be damned.