I smile wistfully—looking back, I see that he did.

I get a flashback of us kissing and laughing . . . rolling around in bed, making love.

And my heart hurts.

I don’t just miss him . . . I miss everything that we did together. The way he made me feel like a woman every time he looked at me.

Arousal.

The rush of an orgasm.

I close my eyes in disgust.

Oh God . . .

Here we go.

I need to stop drinking. I remember now—I remember why I don’t drink. It makes me sad, like a big dark blanket that comes to rest over my shoulders. One that’s heavy and laden with responsibilities. I put my drink down on the bar. “I’m going to get going,” I announce as I wave. “See you all tomorrow.”

I head over toward the exit and catch sight of Tristan talking to three women—the same three women who have been hanging off him all night. He sees me coming and pushes himself off the wall. “Claire,” he calls as he steps into my path.

I can’t be rude in front of the girls. “Hi.” I smile over his shoulder to his groupies as they look on.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I stare at him, confused. “Huh?”

“You know.” He widens his eyes. “To study.”

“Oh.” I frown. He must be trying to get rid of these women. “Yes, of course.”

“Lead the way.” He gestures to the door.

Oh jeez. I take off toward the door.

“But—” one of the girls says from behind us.

“Sorry, girls, rain check,” he calls as he runs to catch up with me.

We walk out into the foyer and over to the elevator.

“Thanks.” He sighs.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not your scapegoat, Mr. Miles.”

“I know.” He links his arm through mine. “We really are going to study; didn’t I tell you?”

“Does this over-the-top-flirty thing often work?” I ask as the elevator doors open, and we hop in.

He gives me a cheeky grin as the door closes behind us. “Always.”

I shake my head as I smile at the ground; his heavenly aftershave wafts around me.

“Are we drinking coffee or champagne?” he asks playfully.

“I’m going to have a cup of tea.”

“Tea?” He scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Like English granny tea.”

“Yes. Like English granny tea.”

“Oh.” The doors open, and I step out of the elevator. So does he. We walk down the corridor. Where is his room? He doesn’t really think he’s coming with me . . . does he?

“I suppose I can try it, just this once,” he replies.

“Try what?”

“Tea.”

“You are not coming with me,” I scoff.

His face falls. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not like that, because I’m too old for you, and because, well . . .” I pause as I think of the right wording. “I vowed to hate you for all of eternity.” We get to my door, and I turn to him. “This is me.”

He puts his hands into his trouser pockets. “Come on, Claire; it’s tea.” His mischievous eyes hold mine. “It’s not like I’m going to fuck you into next week or anything.”

I stare at him, shocked that he’s just said that out loud. I’m not used to men talking to me like this.

His crude words penetrate into the dark corner of my sexuality.

I feel something dormant wake up deep inside.

Five years is a long time.

The air crackles between us.

“It’s not like I’m going to make you come so fucking hard or anything.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “It’s not like it would be the best sex of your life or anything.”

I have no words . . . he’s stolen them.

“Admit it,” he says softly as his gaze drops to my lips. “You haven’t wondered what I’d be like in bed?” he whispers.

“No,” I lie. It’s the only thing I can think about. “Not once.”

“You haven’t wondered how big my dick is?” he breathes as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and steps toward me.

Jesus, he’s hung. Only a big man would bring attention to the size of his dick.

Not helping.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I get a vision of him naked. “No.”

He leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “Confession.”

I close my eyes. Oh man, this is a bad . . . situation. With a bad man.

My heart begins to beat deep and slow, in time with his, as I imagine doing bad things to him.

“You’ve been on my mind.” His deep, hushed voice on my neck begins to send shock waves through my system.

“Why’s that?” I whisper, but I don’t know why I’m asking—I already know the answer.

He presses his hips forward and pins me to the wall. He’s hard and ready. My insides begin to melt.

Oh fuck . . . he feels good.

“Through three lectures and one workshop, all I’ve done is imagined you riding my cock,” he whispers darkly.

I instantly get a vision of me on top of him, naked, our bodies wet with perspiration.

His erection big and deep.

“God . . . ,” he breathes as he takes a handful of my hair and grips it hard. “We’d be so fucking hot together, Anderson.”

The elevator door pings, and Nelson walks out.

My temporary brain snap dissipates, and I push back from Tristan. “Stop it,” I whisper.

Nelson looks between us from the other end of the corridor and frowns. “Hello.”

Tristan rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “Hi,” he mutters dryly.

I turn the key and open my door in a rush, taking the momentary distraction as a godsend. “Good night, Mr. Miles.”

“Anderson,” he whispers.

I close the door in his face and click the lock. I fall against the back of it and close my eyes. I’m panting, and my body is still reeling from the feeling of him so close.

My phone beeps with a text.

Come on?

I’m leaving tomorrow.

His words repeat in my mind.

“We’d be so fucking hot together.”

I put the chain on, and I peek through the peephole to see him roll his eyes and shake his head.

He’s pissed off.

He knew he nearly had me.

Oh crap . . . that was close. Another text beeps through.

Claire, come on.

You’re killing me here.

There are no prizes for being a good girl.

You only live once.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter.

I turn my phone on silent, put it on the charger, and storm into the bathroom, and then I lock that door too. I need to get some distance between me and him.

God, wake up, Claire.

The very last thing I’m about to do is have sex with that soul-sucking bastard. And besides, I wouldn’t even know what to do with him. I’m positive the kind of sex that I’ve had wouldn’t be the same type of sex that he has.

I’m into tender loving care, and he’s probably a world-renowned anal master.

I shiver at the thought of appearing vulnerable and sexually inexperienced to him.

I imagine him guiding me as to how he likes it, and my blood boils.

No way in hell am I giving him one inch of power over me.

“That’s it. No more,” I whisper angrily. “Cold shower.” I turn the water on with force. “That man is the devil.”

I sit and stare into space in the truth circle.

One by one we are being asked a question about ourselves that only we would know. Something that apparently burns a hole in our existence.