Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(3)

“Okay, I have to admit he is lickable,” Megan grudgingly conceded, glancing over her shoulder. “Like a double-fudge ice cream cone.”

“Megan,” Angela protested, although she couldn’t deny the desire to tug off his blue sweater and gray Chinos to do a bit of tongue therapy.

Megan turned back to stab her with a warning gaze. “He’s also g*y or married.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“Because he hasn’t tried to get you in bed.” Megan leaned toward her. “Don’t let him ruin your night.”

With a tug on Angela’s hair, that was for once left to brush her shoulders, Megan was disappearing toward the bar, leaving Angela alone to face the man now towering beside her table.

“Hello, Angela,” he greeted, his voice a dark velvet rasp that sent renegade shivers of excitement down her spine.

Oh . . . crap.

She licked her dry lips, trying to squash the embarrassing thrills of excitement.

“Dr. Bartrev,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music blasting from the overhead speakers.

With a fluid ease, he perched on the edge of the table, his hard thigh brushing her arm.

“I thought we agreed to Niko?”

Yeah. She was so not going down that road.

He was Niko in her fantasies. In real life . . . well, she needed to avoid making an idiot of herself.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said instead.

“I could say the same.” His brooding gaze shifted to the surrounding crowd that was amping up the loud factor with every round of tequila. “This isn’t your usual style.”

She shrugged. “Megan convinced me this was my last chance to get out and party before everyone leaves for spring break.”

“Ah.” The piercing blue eyes returned to study her upturned face. Angela shivered beneath the sheer intensity of that gaze. He had an uncanny habit of appearing completely focused on whatever he was doing. “A girls’ night out.”

“Something like that.” She managed a smile. Play it cool, Angela. It’s not attractive to drool all over the handsome professor. “What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I was concerned.”

She stiffened. “Concerned?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly struck by a terrifying thought. “Is there something wrong with my research?”

“Your work is flawless. As always,” he swiftly eased her fear, a strange edge in his voice although she was too relieved to notice. “It’s something we’ll discuss later.”

“Then what is it?”

He hesitated, almost as if considering his words.

“I heard rumors there was a stalker in the area.”

“A stalker?” She blinked in surprise. The small Midwest town had its share of petty crime, but violence was extremely rare. “In town or on campus?”

“The person has been seen on campus as well as in the surrounding neighborhoods.”

“I haven’t heard anything. Have the police been notified?”

“Of course.” His gaze swept down to her br**sts that were on blatant display, and just for a moment she thought she might have seen a flicker of heat in the icy depths. Then, clearly unimpressed, he returned his interest to her flushed face. “You haven’t noticed anything unusual, have you?”

She shook her head, telling herself she didn’t give a damn. “Not that I can think of.”

“There haven’t been any strangers lurking around?”

Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Most people will tell you that I’m not the most observant person,” she said, recalling her mother’s resigned complaint that Angela could recite the periodic table when she was barely five, but didn’t know the name of one classmate. She hastily squashed the age-old pain before it could fully form. Her mother’s death last year meant that the older woman could no longer be disappointed in her only child. “Outside the lab I tend to be distracted.”

“What about when you’re home?” he demanded. “Have you seen anyone new in the neighborhood?”

“No.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t the police be asking these questions?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They didn’t want to spook the students so I agreed to do a bit of discreet investigating for them.”

“Oh.” It seemed weird to have a visiting professor investigating a potential stalker, but what did she know? “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

He reached into his pocket to pull out a pen, scribbling on a piece of napkin.

“Here,” he murmured, folding the paper before he lightly pressed it into her unresisting fingers.

Angela’s heart slammed against her ribs as pleasure exploded through her. Her head might warn her to stop weaving futile fantasies about this man, but her body hadn’t received the memo.

His fingers were hot—shockingly hot—against her skin. A branding heat that sent darts of excitement to the pit of her stomach.

And his scent was wrapping around her like a cloak of invitation.

“What is it?” she husked, becoming lost in the astonishing blue of his eyes.

“My phone number.”