“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” I tilt my head up even as my heart hammers wildly against my ribs. “And it certainly wasn’t my fault. Who stands directly behind someone that closely anyway?”
His grip around my waist tightens in immediate response, the subtle shift of his broad palm across my waist to back and then to my waist, is sending a wave of electric tingles shooting straight down my spine. The gin is already humming in my blood, softening my edges and amplifying every point of contact between us. Aa if it has amplified ten times. The heat of his hand, the firm press of his chest, the heavy thrum of his pulse. Everything is making me drunk more than I am.
I need to get away. The warning alarm blares in the back of my mind. I need to pull back right now, before I do or say something that ruins everything something I’ll regret the second the sun rises tomorrow.
But thinking it and actually making my body move are two completely different things. Trapped in his hold, I am entirely paralyzed.
The black filigree of his mask catches the flickering violet neon lights above us, his dark eyes fixed on mine with terrifying focus.
“Aren’t you getting a little too courageous?” he purrs, his voice a low, dark vibration against the roaring bass of the club. “Arguing with your professor? Talking back? Should I start making a list of your shenanigans?"
The intoxicating absurdity of finding him here strip away every filter I possess.
“Maybe you should make a list,” I counter back, my breath hitching as I stare him down, “on how a professor isn't supposed to hold his student by her waist in the middle of a bar and pull her closer intimately."
Fuck. What the hell did I just say?!
A wave of sheer panic crashes over me the exact second the words leave my mouth. I freeze, bracing myself for his wrath expecting him to drop his arm, pull back, and unleash that ice-cold academic authority that makes forty students freeze in their seats.
He doesn't.
Instead, a low, raspy vibration hums through his chest. Arindam leans down slowly, his tall frame bending over mine until his face is inches from my neck. His warm breath fans across my exposed collarbone, sending a fierce, uncontrollable shiver through my entire body.
His lips brush the shell of my ear as he murmurs,
“Touché.”
His fingers sink just a fraction deeper into the soft silk at my waist, anchoring me flush against him.
“Though... I don't recall hearing you complain either time.”
My breath catches somewhere in my throat, trapped behind the sudden, suffocating surge of heat rushing straight to my face. He is closing on me. His hot breath falling on my chin on my lips. I couldn't help but lick my lips making it wet. His eyes follow the gesture. I look into his mask covered face waiting for his lips to descend on mine. His lips move. I concentrate on listening.
"Are you stable? Can you let of go off me now?"I frown. Reality crashes on me. My eyes snap open. The sultry, violet-lit haze that felt so thick a second ago shattered instantly, like a sheet of ice struck by a hammer.
There are no lips hovering inches from mine. No warm breath fanning across my collarbone. No hand caressing my waist through emerald silk.
Dr. Arindam Roy is standing at a rigid, impeccably professional distance. His grip on my waist is not at all intimate, rather it is a purely functional hold, keeping my high-heeled feet from sliding completely out from under me on the marble-slicked bar floor.
I look down, and horror strikes me like a physical blow.
My hands are white-knuckled, desperately clutching the lapels of his dark suit jacket, pulling him toward me.
I am the one leaning into his space. I am the one tilting my chin up, wet lips parted, breath shallow, practically offering myself up to a man who is currently staring down at me with nothing more than mild, detached concern.
None of it happened. I imagined it. God!!!
The dangerous flirtation, the teasing lists of my infractions, the low murmur of his voice in my ear. Not a single word of it had left his mouth. It was all a terrifying, alcohol-fueled delusion, spun out of thin air by my own spiraling subconscious.
A wave of sheer, unadulterated mortification crashes over me so violently that my stomach drops into my heels.
I yank my hands off his chest as if his jacket were made of molten lead. I stumble backward two quick steps, my heels wobbling precariously before my hip collides with the hard marble of the bar, saving me from a second, far more humiliating fall.
Arindam smoothly adjusts the cuffs of his dark shirt, his posture straightening back into his usual, unyielding height. Behind his obsidian mask, his dark eyes hold no trace of dangerous desire or hidden heat. There is only the familiar, sharp scrutiny of a professor looking at an unruly student who clearly cannot handle her drink.
“You lost your footing, Miss Sengupta,” he says, his voice flat, measured, and entirely formal against the roaring bass of the club. “I suggest you watch your step. And if you cannot hold your drink, why drink?
My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. A scalding, agonizing flush rushes up my neck, burning through my cheeks like liquid fire. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I want to dissolve into the neon haze and simply cease to exist.
“I... I am sorry, sir,” I choke out, my voice pathetic and small. “Thank you.”
Arindam gives a curt, single nod of his head. He doesn't linger. He doesn't look at my dress, my shoulders, or my lips.
“Get some water, Go home safely. Did you come with someone?” he adds neutrally.
I barely nodded. Humming he left saying goodnight. I stand frozen against the marble counter, pressing cold, trembling hands over my burning face. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a frantic, caged animal, not from passion, but from pure, unadulterated terror.
Lily’s words from earlier echo in my head, loud and damning, 'You're completely consumed by him.'
She was right. I am losing my mind. I am so thoroughly, hopelessly tangled up in Dr. Arindam Roy that my brain just manufactured an entire romantic showdown out of a three-second, purely accidental rescue.
I reach blindly for the edge of the bar, my knees shaking, knowing with absolute, terrifying clarity that Monday morning's lecture is going to be a living nightmare.
