CARMEN POV
"You've got to be kidding me."
She flinched at my tone but nodded. "It's already arranged. He teaches there, Carmen. It only makes sense."
"Makes sense to who?!" I shot up from the bed.
"You think I want to be stuck in a car with him every single morning?!"
She stared at me for a second, like she was trying to piece together why I sounded so frantic.
But of course, she had no clue.
She had no idea I'd already been under him—naked, gasping, screaming his name like a goddamn prayer
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm screwed."
"Do you hate Hunter?"she asked and I scoffed
"And if I do?"
"You'll survive," she muttered, already heading to the door.
"Thanks for the comfort," I bit back sarcastically.
"Good night, Carmen," she said without turning around.
And then she was gone.
I groaned and flopped onto my bed, arms flung over my face.
My life is going to be hell.
****
The Next Morning
I woke up with what I liked to call an Emily stomach—empty and angry.
"Today's a new day, Carm. Let's be positive," I mumbled to myself as I dragged my ass out of bed.
Quick shower. Teeth brushed. Fresh face.
I didn't even have time to unpack, so I ripped open my box and yanked out the first decent outfit I could find—a short jean skirt and a cropped top. Something that said, I'm hot but trying to pretend I'm not a mess. I curled my hair lightly, threw on a little makeup, and slung my bag over my shoulder.
By the time I made it to the living room, he was already waiting.
Hunter.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I clutched the strap of my bag like it could anchor me to the floor.
"Good morning," I said softly.
His eyes lifted to meet mine—dark, steady, knowing. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Good morning," he replied, voice smooth. "I see you're ready for class."
He ran his fingers through his thick hair, and I hated how my stomach clenched at the sight.
"Y-Yeah. Where's my mom?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"She went out," he said gruffly, not offering more.
Then, "Sit. I made you breakfast."
I hesitated. Then sat—far from him.
He glanced at me.
And smirked.
I rolled my eyes. Typical.
Without a word, he set a plate in front of me—bacon and eggs, perfectly cooked, steaming hot.
"Thank you," I muttered, not looking at him.
He gave a slight nod and turned away, casual like this wasn't awkward as hell.
I dug into the food.
And damn—it was good. Like, really good. Rich flavor, crispy edges. Definitely not Mom's attempt at boxed pancakes and burnt toast.
Why is a man like this cooking breakfast? I chewed slower, watching his back.
Why is he even working as a professor when he clearly owns half the city?
Wait.
He's not just rich.
He's a billionaire.
No—a zillionaire.
Is that even a word?
I let out a quiet chuckle at myself.
He glanced over. "Something funny, Carm?"
My smile dropped. "Nope."
After finishing, I carried my plate to the sink, rinsed it quickly, then headed outside to meet him at the car—pretending my stomach wasn't full of butterflies and dread.
I climbed into the passenger seat, clutching my bag like it could shield me from the tension crackling in the air.
Hunter slid into the driver's side, starting the engine. The silence between us stretched thick, heavy, humming with everything we weren't saying.
Then he turned to me.
"You forgot your seatbelt," he said, voice low and smooth.
"I was just about to do it," I mumbled, reaching for the strap—only for it to jam.
Of course.
He sighed quietly, and before I could try again, he leaned over.
My whole body froze.
His hand brushed mine, firm but not rushed, as he took the belt from me. He was so close—too close. His cologne wrapped around me like a blanket, dark and intoxicating. I could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath near my cheek, his lips inches away.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, my voice tight and shaky.
His eyes flicked to mine, slow and deliberate.
"Helping," he said, almost innocently—almost.
He clicked the seatbelt into place with a soft click, but he didn't pull back right away.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My skin burned under his stare.
We were supposed to forget.
We said we'd forget.
But right now, with his face this close to mine, I wasn't thinking about forgetting. I was thinking about that night. About his hands. His voice.
His mouth.
My eyes fluttered shut before I could stop myself.
But nothing happened.
Seconds passed.
When I opened my eyes, he was already back in his seat, gripping the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight.
I stared at him, stunned.
Had I imagined it? That heat, that look in his eyes?
He caught me looking and smirked—just a little.
"Buckle up, little one. It's your first day."
We pulled up to the entrance of the college, and my nerves immediately spiked.
"Can you drop me here?" I asked quickly, already reaching for the door handle.
He didn't stop the car.
"Are you ashamed of me, little one?" he said, voice smooth—too smooth.
I hesitated. "I just… I don't want any rumors flying around."
He scoffed, amused in the most maddening way. "I don't care about rumors, little one."
Of course he didn't.
He drove in anyway, cutting through the gates like he owned the place—because let's be real, he probably did.
He pulled up in front of a sleek modern building and parked. We both got out, and instantly I felt it—the shift in the air, the sudden attention.
Students turned. Eyes followed us. Whispers started.
"Good morning, Professor DeLuca," someone called.
He gave a sharp nod, cool and collected like always. Meanwhile, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
I clutched the strap of my bag tighter. "Where am I supposed to go?"
He didn't even look at me. "Follow me."
I did.
Through the corridors, up a flight of stairs, until we stopped in front of a polished black door. He unlocked it and pushed it open.
Of course it was his office.
I stepped inside, heart pounding, painfully aware of how familiar his presence was—how many things we'd done that we shouldn't have.
He shut the door behind us.
Click