Blazing leonine eyes captured her gaze just before raking her appearance from head to toe. It was done in such a blatant, thorough manner that Diana could feel her cheeks turning a self-conscious shade of pink. She wished she could tell him he was being unnecessarily rude, but how could she?
For now that she had seen him—
She told herself to stop staring, but her stubborn, fascinated gaze remained glued to him.
He’s exquisite, Saint M.
His chiseled visage enthralled her, and breathing somehow became a struggle as her dazed gaze took in the way his dark gold hair brushed defiantly past the oversized collars of his trench coat. Which happened to be tweed of all things. The one fabric that was most identified with boring old gentlemen, and yet this stranger was so potently male he was able to take away the drabness of the material and transform it into something overwhelmingly sexy.
Everything about him was just too perfect that it didn’t feel fair. His height was imposing, his build precisely proportioned. Even his bone and muscle structure was flawless, every piece of it seemingly sculpted by an Italian maestro under bronze, sun-kissed flesh.
He was, in sum, an intoxicating sight, and only now did Diana understand what it truly meant, for one to be drunk on beauty.
Because this man—
“You seem fine.” The stranger’s voice had gone from annoyed to brusque now, with his lips even tightening in acute…disgust?
Professor Matthijs de Graaf was pissed.
He held between his hands the tiniest waist: a fuckably good thing in most cases, but not now. Not when he was staring at what his subconscious recognized as his predestined downfall, and his dick not giving a shit about the sense of foreboding that had turned his body rigid with tension.
The girl’s long, dark hair was twisted up in a neat bun, with a few ebony strands escaping to outline the elegant curve of her cheeks. A respectable look on all accounts, and yet it only sharpened his attraction to her with a violent edge.
Why did he find her so fucking hot?
An erotic vision suddenly seized hold of his mind: this lovely beauty on her knees, her silky locks twisted around his fingers as he guided her rosebud mouth to his—
He finally managed to jerk his gaze away and tried to look for something else to see or think about, but his eyes only ended up latching on to something more dangerous.
She stared at him, and dammit, her big, dark orbs were just the way the professor liked them: quintessential doe eyes that had the highest success rate in beguiling assholes like him. The same could be said for her sartorial modesty, which only made him want to rip her shapeless sweater off and have her dainty breasts spill into his already itching palms.
Moments passed, and still she stared, looking up at him the way only someone pure and untouched could do so. Her doe eyes gawked and gobbled him up at the same time, and it was easy to see she was just too fucking naive to realize how her innocently yearning gaze had the professor thinking of the other things she could gobble up.
Like his already-swollen dick, for instance.
The thought, forbidden but inevitable, came out of the blue, and his teeth gnashed as lust turned his pants into a tight-squeezing torture. When the professor realized he was still holding on to the girl’s waist, he removed his hands from her person with a muttered curse.
She heard this, of course, and it had her eat-you, eat-me eyes blink at him in hurt bewilderment.
Oh no, you fucking don’t.
His jaw clenched against an instinctive desire to pull the girl close and soothe her pain with his mouth and hands. His dick might not care about what his mind knew, and it was that this girl was a fuckable disaster waiting to happen – but no goddamn way was he going down on her without a fight.
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
Her voice was soft and trembling, and since it was also just the way he liked it, he cut her off brusquely and spoke in a low voice filled with contempt. “Just watch where you’re damn going next time. You can’t have everyone wasting their time saving idiots like you.”
Diana was dumbstruck.
She wasn’t brainless as a rule, but the beautiful man in front of her was doing a fantastic job at making her wonder if she had overestimated her own IQ. He had called her an idiot, for heaven’s sake – and here she was, struggling to make her vocal chords work. “Uh…” But words still failed her, and when she nervously wetted her lips, she saw Mr. Furious grow, well, even more furious.
Help me, Saint M.
Why was this man so mad, and why did he affect her so even when he was so unbearably rude?