Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“You and me,” he insists. “That’s right. Nothing between us could never be wrong. Not what we did when I was Bones, and not now that I’m your professor.”
I scrub a hand over my face as exhaustion settles over me. I’ve been through too much in the last twenty-four hours.
“I need to sleep.”
“Anything you need.”
Even that declaration is so intense it’s disconcerting.
And so terribly tempting that I have to force myself not to wrap my arms around him and cling on tight.
No one has taken care of me in years. Not since my parents died.
For so long, I’ve been standing resolutely on my own. The promise of his unwavering support makes it so difficult to maintain the small distance between us.
“I’m a phone call away if you need me,” he reassures me. “Tell me you’ll contact me if you’re in trouble.”
“I’m not in any danger anymore.”
“I’m not leaving without a promise. Let me keep you safe, at least.”
I blow out a sigh. “I promise.”
It’s not an empty vow. I know I can rely on him to handle any possible threat.
If I call, Rand will come running.
Just like he did the first time I called him to tell him about the messages from my stalker.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I nod numbly. My vision is blurring at the edges as exhaustion saps my body and mind.
He takes one final moment to study my features, memorizing me as though it might be the last time he ever sees my face.
“Rest, Karolina,” he finally says. “Things will be clearer in the morning.”
I nod again.
I sway towards him slightly when he gets to his feet, and he notes the small sign that I crave his nearness.
His lips quirk at the corners, a shadow of the smirk that makes my belly flip.
Despite everything he’s done, Rand still has a chance with me, and he knows it.
4
KAROLINA
The temptation to skip Rand’s class is almost overwhelming. A long, punishing sprint at dawn barely helped me clear my mind, even though I pushed myself past my endurance level.
Exhaustion saps my limbs, but I manage to trudge into the lecture hall and drop down into a seat.
I sigh a small breath of relief that Rand isn’t here yet. I’m not ready to talk to him outside of an academic setting.
Because ever since I woke up this morning, the same thought has plagued me: he concealed his identity all these years, but so have I.
He knows my real first name, but I only told him about the fact that I was in foster care a few weeks ago. He probably thinks I go by Lena as a nickname, not an entirely new identity I bought for myself after I killed Carter and Brandon.
Since I met him as Rand, he’s opened up to me about his painful past. I’ve shared glimpses at my own, but there’s so much more.
A little voice in my head tells me I’m a hypocrite for haranguing him for his duplicity; I’ve concealed my true identity, too.
The difference is that he looked me up. He dug into my private life without permission, and he became fixated on me in a way I never knew.
He’s in love with me.
I crave the man I’ve come to know since moving to York, Rand, but I don’t know him nearly well enough to truly love him.
The imbalance is unsettling.
His utter devotion was obvious in every desperate word he said yesterday.
The only thing that scares me more than his obsession is how much I want to accept his promise of unconditional support.
“Hey, Lena.”
I jolt when Amala speaks to me. I didn’t notice that she’s occupying the seat beside me.
“Are you okay?” Her large eyes search my face, easily reading my turmoil.
I anxiously twirl a lock of hair around my finger, hating that I have to lie to my friend. “I didn’t sleep well. I think the stress is getting to me.”
“You spend too much time at the library,” she admonishes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for a study buddy, but you need to have a little fun sometimes. Will you come out with me tonight?”
I suppress a cringe. The last thing I feel like is dancing.
“I don’t know,” I equivocate. “I have so much reading to do. And I want to write a chapter of the book I’m working on.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh yeah, your novel! I almost forgot you want to be an author when you finish our course. Will you tell me about it? What’s the genre?”
“Romantic fantasy. But it’s very much a work in progress.”
“That’s amazing!” she enthuses, refusing to allow me to downplay my creative passion. “I love romance novels. We should compare our TBRs. Just one drink at the pub, nothing crazy. Please?”
She’s far kinder than I deserve, considering how I’ve kept her at a distance ever since we met. I can’t keep rebuffing every invitation to socialize.