The café was quiet except for the soft hum of an old espresso machine and the occasional clatter of ceramic cups. Isabella sat at a corner table, her fingers curled around a lukewarm latte she'd barely touched. She was supposed to be working on her notes for Professor Cole's class, but her mind refused to stay put.
Every page she turned blurred into nothingness. Every word she wrote slipped away. All she could think about was him.
Adrian Cole. Her professor. The man with eyes sharp enough to cut through steel and a presence that seemed to fill every room he entered.
The sound of the door swinging open jolted her from her thoughts. Her eyes darted up, and her breath stalled.
He was here.
Adrian Cole walked into the café like he owned it. A black coat draped over his broad shoulders, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the sculpted lines of his throat. He wasn't supposed to look this good. Not outside the lecture hall. Not in the real world where he was supposed to be just another man.
But he wasn't. He never was.
His gaze found her instantly, as though he'd known she would be here. And when his lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, Isabella's chest tightened.
He walked toward her, each step measured, commanding. The café might as well have emptied, because she couldn't see anything but him.
"Miss Hart," he murmured when he reached her table. His voice, low, smooth, sin wrapped in velvet, slid over her like smoke. "Skipping your readings, I see."
Her mouth went dry. "I…I'm not. I was just…"
"Distracted?" His brow arched, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat, his long frame folding into the seat with predatory ease. "You've been distracted often lately."
She hated the way her skin prickled under his gaze. Hated that she felt it everywhere, her throat, her chest, the insides of her thighs.
"Why are you here?" she asked, trying to summon a shred of courage.
"To remind you," he said simply, leaning back in his chair, "that I see everything. Including when my students forget their priorities."
Her pulse skittered. "I'm not…"
He leaned forward, suddenly close enough that she could smell the faint spice of his cologne, the warmth of his body pressing against the air between them. His voice dipped lower, a threat and a promise tangled together.
"You think you can lie to me, Isabella?"
Her breath caught at the way her name rolled off his tongue. Not Miss Hart. Not the polite, detached professor's address. Isabella. Intimate. Dangerous.
"No," she whispered.
"Good." His gaze dropped, lingering on her lips for one unguarded heartbeat. The corner of his mouth tilted, faint but devastating. "You'll learn that quickly."
Before she could answer, movement at the café counter drew his attention. Two men stood near the barista, their voices low, their eyes darting toward Isabella. One of them smirked when he noticed her, elbowing the other.
Isabella stiffened. She didn't know them. But Adrian's expression shifted in an instant.
The warmth vanished, replaced by something lethal. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening until they looked almost black.
"Stay here," he ordered softly, his tone brooking no argument.
Then he rose to his full height and crossed the room with the grace of a predator.
Isabella's breath tangled in her chest as she watched him move. He didn't rush. He didn't posture. He simply stepped into the men's path, his presence alone enough to make them pause.
"Problem?" His voice was silk over steel, quiet but brimming with promise of violence.
The taller of the two men sneered. "We're just talking."
"You were looking," Adrian corrected, his tone flat. "At what doesn't belong to you."
The man scoffed. "What, she's yours?"
Adrian's response was a blur. One second his hand was at his side; the next it was fisted in the man's collar, slamming him back against the counter hard enough to rattle the cups. The café went dead silent.
"She is mine," Adrian said, his voice low, dangerous, and absolute. "And if you so much as breathe in her direction again, you'll regret ever stepping into this city."
The man sputtered, eyes wide with sudden fear. His friend muttered something under his breath and tugged him away the moment Adrian released him. Both men bolted for the door, leaving the café in a stunned hush.
Adrian straightened his coat, calm as though nothing had happened, and returned to Isabella's table.
Her pulse hammered wildly. She should have been terrified. But the sight of him, strong, unyielding, a shield and a weapon all at once, sent a rush of heat through her veins she couldn't name.
"Why?" she whispered when he sat down again. "Why would you do that?"
His gaze locked on hers, sharp and burning. "Because you don't understand yet. You walk through this world as though no one's watching. But I'm watching, Isabella. Always."
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. "You can't just claim me."
"I already have," he said simply. His hand lifted, deliberate, and brushed along her jaw. Slow. Dangerous. His thumb lingered on her lower lip again, pressing lightly, as though testing her resistance.
Her lips parted on instinct. His eyes darkened, and for a moment the entire café fell away. There was only his hand, his touch, his heat coiling around her like chains she didn't want to break.
"You feel it," he murmured. "Don't bother denying it."
Her heart thundered. She wanted to protest. She wanted to shove him away. Instead, her body leaned forward, closer, as if pulled by a gravity she didn't understand.
Their faces hovered inches apart. His breath fanned across her lips, warm and intoxicating. Her pulse screamed yes even as her mind whispered run.
Then he stopped. Pulled back, just enough to leave her trembling with frustration.
"You're not ready," he said softly, his gaze locked on hers. "But you will be. And when you are, Isabella…"
His thumb trailed away from her lip, leaving a searing absence.
"I won't stop at almost."
Her breath caught. She didn't know if it was a threat or a promise. Maybe both.
He rose, his chair scraping softly against the floor, and slipped his coat back over his shoulders. Without another word, he left the café, his absence as sharp as his presence had been overwhelming.
Isabella sat frozen, her latte untouched, her lips tingling where his thumb had been.
She should have hated him. She should have been furious, frightened, anything but what she was.
But all she could think was that she wanted more.
And that realization terrified her most of all.