Alexandra Ivy: Predatory

Average brown hair she kept in a ponytail. Average height with average curves. Average features that were pale from the hours she spent in the lab.

The only thing remarkable was the wide brown eyes that were heavily framed with dark lashes, but most of the time they were hidden behind her protective lab glasses.

In summation she was . . . average.

“It’s going to take more than one gin fizz to make me believe in fairy tales,” she retorted.

“Maybe a kiss will wake you, Sleeping Beauty.” Megan waggled her brows. “She was, after all, the first true wallflower.”

Angela gave a choked laugh. Her friend charged through life at full throttle.

“I wish I could be like you, Megan,” she said wistfully, thinking of all the nights she sat in her cramped apartment alone.

Always alone.

“Yeah, right,” Megan scoffed. “You’re a genius who’s only weeks away from receiving your PhD in molecular biology and I’m trying to struggle through my undergraduate degree.”

Angela shook her head. Because of finances Megan was forced to take night classes while she worked full-time, but there was no doubt her love for children would allow her to achieve her goals.

“You know you’re a fabulous teacher, not to mention . . .” Angela’s comforting words dissolved into a silent shock as her heart slammed against her ribs.

Oh hell.

“Hey, that was just getting good,” Megan grumbled. Then, noticing that Angela’s attention had strayed, she frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong? Did Professor Lewis get drunk again and take off his pants?”

Angela reached for her glass to take a deep drink of the gin fizz.

“He’s here.”

“Who?”

“Niko.” She grimaced as the overly sweet drink hit her empty stomach. “I mean, Professor—”

“Hottie?”

“Yep.”

Helplessly she watched his determined approach.

Oh . . . crap, but he was gorgeous. From the tip of his glossy dark hair that was threaded with hints of autumn fire and tousled as if he’d just run his hands through the short strands, to the tips of his Italian shoes.

His lean face was perfectly carved with a wide brow and narrow nose. His cheekbones were angular, hinting at his Slavic origins, and his jaw surprisingly stubborn with just a shadow of stubble from his heavy beard.

He wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination “pretty.” His features were too hard, too ruthless, for that. But there was something compellingly beautiful about his sheer maleness, and when he offered one of his rare smiles . . . well, there wasn’t a female on campus who didn’t do a little melting.

He was dark and broody and delectable. The sort of man who haunted the fantasies of every repressed virgin.

And if she’d caught sight of a menacing glint in the piercing blue eyes that spoke of hidden power and predatory danger, well, she’d convinced herself that it only made him more exciting.

“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 gay 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 breasts 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.