Page 28 of Ruthless Raiders


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My eyes lock on hers, burning. Grey. Steady. Unapologetic.She’s a fucking know-it-all.

She says it all so casually, like she’s reading a list of ingredients off the back of a cereal box. And maybe that’s what throws me—this unsettling mix of competence and indifference. Like she’s not trying to impress me. Like she alreadyknowsI’m watching.

And I am. Too much.What the fuck is this feeling?This—Desire.

It claws up my spine, hungry and sharp, dragging heat into places I’ve spent years locking down. I haven’t felt it in ages—not like this. Not in a flashfire burst that leaves my throat dry and my hands tighter around the edge of the desk.

I blink. Look away.Reset.

“Correct,” I say, voice low, measured. “They did say that. Though the phrase was used by a tabloid that spelled my name wrong.”

A few students chuckle. I don’t.

I turn toward the board. My chest is tight. My pulse is louder than it should be. She’s still watching me. Ifeelit.

“Mr. Davis,” I say, redirecting as I turn on my introductory slide, “in case you were wondering—that’s why one in sixty-three earns an A. Because only one of you can answer my questions.”

The restof class continues without incident and I avoid Miss Rivera like she is the fucking plague. At the end of class, the projector clicks off with a faint hum, and the lights flicker brighter as the screen retracts as I speak.

“Your assignment,” I say, tone crisp, “is to select any closed forensic case and analyze where the investigationfailedbefore it succeeded. I expect a three-page preliminary breakdown by next class. Proper citations. No Wikipedia.”

Chairs scrape back. Bags zip. The noise level rises as students start filing out in clusters—murmuring, already gossiping about who will drop out, why I am so cold, or how hot they think I am.

I begin to shut down my laptop, instinctively reaching to gather the folders on the edge of the desk, when?—

“Miss Rivera,” I hear myself say.

My voice cuts through the buzz. She stops halfway to the door. Turns. Those eyes again—storm-grey and drenched in the most delectable fear.

“Stay a moment.”

I adjust my cufflinks, slide on my jacket in one smooth motion, and reach for my black folio. I feel her before I hear her. That subtle shift in the air. That quiet, steady pressure against my spine that lets me know I'm being watched.

“I didn’t mean to be late. I had some complications this morning, and look,” her voice wavers, and I hear her swallow as she takes a squeaky step forward. “I take your class seriously. I want to be a forensic psychologist, and I have dreamed of taking your class.”

I tighten my grip on my phone. My fingers twitch against the smooth surface of the case. I want to look at her again when she saysI have dreamed of taking your class.Why does that sound so good? The idea of herdreamingabout me.

“After today,” I say evenly, “I’ll be locking the door at the start of class. I do not accept tardiness.”

She tucks a damp strand of hair behind her ear, eyes flicking up to mine. “Yes, sir.”

I arch a brow. “Don’t call me that.”

She smirks. “Noted.”

A beat of silence rolls through us, and I know I should dismiss her. I should end this. Should tell her to go. But I don’t.

Instead, I tilt my head, and I let my gaze roam—just once.

Her clothes are still clinging in places the heat of the building hasn’t touched yet. That white shirt, no longer translucent but still hugging her chest. The red bra beneath, vivid in memory. Her jeans hang low, belt undone. Boots dripping faintly onto the tile. She looks like a punk chaos goddess, not as pristine and clean cut as my usual attractions.

“If you’re serious about this class…” I drawl, slower now, “then prove it.”

I step just slightly closer. The heady scent of bourbon and vanilla invades my senses, and I damn there close my eyes in appreciation.

“Be on time. In sunshine… rain…” My eyes lower, sweep across the slow curve of her shoulder, the flex of her jaw. “…snow.”

She doesn’t look away. Not once. And her lips curve into her cheek as she speaks breathlessly. “Yes,Professor Kilgore.”