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Chapter Twenty-Five
Aspen
MAHOGANY (SWIETENIA MACROPHYLLA)
Elijah Wyldan’s house isn’t a house at all; it’s a mansion so magnificent that I can’t contain my awed gasp as his car rounds the last bend and it comes into view. The gates swing open automatically as his car inches forward, with Jay following in his SUV. I wanted to ride with him, asked once and pleaded a second time, only for Elijah to scowl at me, indicate the passenger door and wait until I climbed in. I can’t see this working unless he keeps to himself, as I’ve been led to believe. Then Jay and I can keep each other company. Our conversation in the car was so stilted, I willed the radio to turn itself on and drown me in beats and melodies. Nope, not Mr. Scowly Spanker. He kept his eyes focused on a road he’s no doubt driven a bazillion times and knew the route well enough to do so blindfolded. Then the thought of Elijah blindfolded swept into my horny brain like free lube, and I had to focus on the road, too. Not before I adjusted in my seat, his gaze drifting to my legs for a nanosecond before back to the faded yellow paint.
“Wow.” It slips out before I can reel it back in.
“It’s just a house,” he spits back. Perhaps he’s sick of having his family money thrown in his face at any opportunity. I’d done the same thing with my jibe about staff for cleaning and cooking. Now I don’t want to ask for any help in case he gets mad, even with Jackson here to defuse the situation. He works with Elijah; of course, he’d take his side in any disagreement. Not that I’d disagree on purpose. To be able to live here is a privilege, not a right. Some students are living above the Moose and Goose while fumigation occurs.
“So your wife let you keep the house, that’s nice of her.”Again, the words tumble from my open maw like rocks off a cliff slide.The veins in his neck throb in time to the one bisecting his right temple. Holy shit, he’s going to kick me out of this car and reverse over me.
“My ex-wife is not nice. This was my house before, and after, our brief marriage.”
Alrighty then. Maybe this poor woman is locked up on medication for her clear insanity. Monitored under physician’s orders because no one of sound mind would voluntarily give this man more than a second of their time. He’s cold, brash, unnerving, rude, aloof, impossible, sexy, sinful, and deliciously taboo, but so damn irresistible. Why do I torture myself like this? He had a wife, a woman who bound herself to him, and then set herself free? Or… did she die? Is he an ex-husband or a widower? He stated she was his ex-wife, but an ex could be dead, as in were breathing, now extinguished. My heart rate triples, the organ pumping so hard, it’s ready to crash through my ribcage.
“Are you alright, Aspen?”
“Fine.” It’s a squeak. I drag my attention away from his vacant left ring finger, wondering if he ever wore a gold band on it. He seems traditional in some respects, but strangely progressive in others. I can’t see a titanium and onyx spinner on his finger, lest I can’t see him tuxedo-clad and kissing a bride, either.
“Let’s get inside. Perhaps it’s the elevation or chill in the air.”
Perhaps it’s my addled brain and crawling skin that remains itchy with a false presence, even after a hot shower where I scrubbed myself raw. Jackson joins us as we cross over the threshold, an oversized, paved stone porch and arbor.Every architectural element makes sense for a mountain home in this frigid climate. The sloping roofs and snow catchment zones below. The walls appear thick and robust; the windows, quadruple glazed, are a thermogenic requirement that frame expansive views. That is until we get inside. Hydronic heating warms the cavernous spaces, alongside a fire crackling in an enormous fireplace and a generous mantle. The masonry is exquisite, each stone marrying perfectly to the adjacent pieces, a patchwork of engineering and art. Past a sunken living room is a dining room and kitchen so dark and moody, its masculine perfection. Does Eli make egg-white omelets here before class? Did his ex-wife bake?
Continuing past a rich, red-mahogany staircase, I rethink the window’s purpose. On this side of the house, views are paramount. Expanses of glass blade across every wall, hung in place by columns of stone only there for necessary anchor points. It’s breathtaking. The Wyldan Woods stretch as far as my vision allows, and the town of Wyldan nestles in the southeast corner like an amenities stopover in a wall of timber. Fairytale pretty, and holding so many secrets at bay; a full body shudder grips my spine.
“It’s stunning, isn’t it,” Jack says, his hand landing on the small of my back while the scents of citrus and smoky cedar envelop me.
“It is,” I add, the simple words difficult to form. I’m sure poets and literary scholars would wax lyrical about the beauty of the wilds below us. I can’t think of a single adjective that doesn’t sound perfunctory and lazy, so I don’t bother attempting to scour for one. A clearing throat announces Eli’s presence. Why bother when the temperature of the room drops ten degrees when he enters, and all the air whooshes out in fear.
“Given the circumstances of today, I suggest we stay in and eat here, rather than drive back to town. The three of us will turn heads, and I’d rather this stay under the radar as much as it can.”
His reasoning makes sense. The optics would be terrible: a student eating with not one, but two of her lecturers. If the town knew I was also living with them, the scandal would be insane. Omg, the Dean! Does he know about this? Part of my scholarship requires that I reside on campus. I would be better off sleeping on a couch in another dorm room than up in this majestic mountain museum. “Can you take me back?” I stammer, my words tumbling out like coal from the hearth. “I can’t stay here.”
Both Jack and Elijah eye me with caution.
“My scholarship. I have to stay on campus.”
“You can’t stay on campus; the entire dormitory is being fumigat—”
“Not in that dormitory. Another one. I can stay on someone’s sofa. Or with Fox and Lukaz. Take me back. Please.”
Elijah’s eyes narrow to slits, his jaw sliding into alignment. Pissing off this professor must be my uncovered superpower. Does he have a little bowl of pinecones stashed away in a study somewhere? Fuck, there are thousands available outside these windows; all he has to do is open the doors and take ten steps. He doesn’t open the door, nor take ten steps. He takes three directly to me.
“If you think Jack or I would allow you to sleep on a sofa or share with Vaskari and Muir, you’re more deranged than I am. You will stay here, Aspen. That’s not a suggestion; it’s an order. Your scholarship is safe, as are you, provided you listen to what Jack and I tell you to do, and not what your brain suggests on a whim. Am I making myself clear?”
Holy shit. This predacious professor could make Chernobyl look like a misstep. I nod, the muscles uncooperative.
“Words, Aspen!”
“Yes,” I choke out. Jack glares at him before his gaze pivots to me, dissolving into care and softness, both of which the professor doesn’t have.
“I’ll take you to school in the morning and bring you home at the end of each day. I can drop you in town, and you can walk the last quarter mile if you’d like? The same in the evening. Go into town and I can collect you from somewhere there if any of this”—he waves his hand around—“bothers you.”
“I’m not bothered. I feel as though you’re keeping something from me, is all. I’m grateful that you have spare rooms, and your generosity is appreciated.”
Elijah snorts, arms crossed over his chest. It pulls the fabric of his sweater so taut, I can see every dip and ridge, plus his nipples peeking at me above his forearms.
