Chapter Two

Ursin Miller

After the two-hour class of me basically scaring the shit out of one hundred and fifty co-eds, I packed up and began the trek back to the farthest faculty parking lot from the building. Man, I was still annoyed about someone parking in my spot. I should have had it towed, but I didn't have the time to get into it. If he or she decided to park there again tomorrow, I'd show no mercy. None.

But it was always something, every summer I taught Criminal Justice at the university. Never once in the three summers I taught this course did everything go smoothly. I hoped this summer would be different. No fucking luck.

The auditorium had emptied, now refilling with students from a different class. British Literature. Or some shit. I had nothing against literature, but there were criminals on the streets who needed to be incarcerated, not read a sonnet. I scoffed at my joke and walked to the entry of the building, where the light from outside came through the large windows. Damn. My eyes watered for a moment. I should have slipped on sunglasses before I left the podium.

"Mr. Miller…" The mousy voice came from the left.

I had to turn my whole body because I was going right. And when I set my gaze on the granola brunette with wide, dark eyes and not a stitch of makeup on her face, my breath stalled. She commanded my immediate attention, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because her cheeks were bright pink when she looked at me.

"Yeah?" I should have been nicer, but the sun was in my eyes, and my schedule was being held up.

She bit her raspberry-pink lip, and my eyes zeroed in on the act. A flash of pink tongue moved between white teeth, and I wanted to stare harder. But I couldn't because she was my student, and she better spit out whatever she had on her mind.

"Can you speak?" I clenched my jaw.

Her gaze dropped, and in a flash, she wasn't so mousy anymore. She was insulted, nostrils flaring. But for just a moment. Then her dark eyes were on me, unwavering and so brave.

"It was me."

"It was you, what?" I narrowed my gaze.

She pursed her full lips and blew out a defiant breath. "I parked in your spot. I'm sorry."

You've got to be fucking with me. This girl looked like she never broke a rule in her life.

"Oh, did you?" I had to grunt because she was the last of my suspects.

And the defiance was gone, replaced with remorse and shame. Jesus, this girl was too good for the world I lived in. And I couldn't help but soften to her. Sort of. Being soft was uncomfortable for me.

"Yes, Mr. Miller." She looked with those soulful eyes. "I'm really sorry. I should have known the parking spot was too good to be true. I didn't even check for a reserved indication."

I stood back, watching her admit to maybe the worse thing she'd ever done in her whole life, which probably was twenty-one or twenty-two years. When I was her age, I wasn't apologizing for taking a reserved parking spot. No. I was plotting the takedown of the person who murdered my father. Though years ago, it still felt fresher than ever.

"So, what should your punishment be?" I asked the question—one I'd asked many criminals I came across. But this time, exhilaration ran through me. I just wanted to know what she'd say—how she'd respond.

Her eyes widened, and her cheeks blazed redder. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

"Do you think you should get away with this? It was your negligence, after all." I lifted my brows. God, it was too satisfying making this girl squirm.

"No," she quickly said. "I don't think I should get away with anything. But I admitted to the offense. Isn't that worth something?"

"Is it?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, and the embarrassment she displayed moments ago turned to frustration. "It's my first time parking in a faculty-reserved lot. And I apologized. So, yes, I think it is worth something."

"Okay." I was bored now. "If you do it again, I will have your car towed."

I began to walk away, but her little hand reached out and just barely missed my elbow. I paused and moved my gaze to her hand, falling through the air and to her side again. Then my gaze met hers, pinning her.

"Uh … Mr. Miller, maybe I can buy you a Starbucks as a sign of my sincere apology and my promise not to make the same mistake again."

She dropped her gaze to the floor, but I didn't stop staring. Was she for real? A coffee as an apology? Truth was, if she weren't my student, I might take her up on the offer. I was drawn to her, no question. I wouldn't have stayed through the conversation if I weren't. And I wasn't just entertaining myself with her discomfort. No, I was drawn.

"What's your name?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

She looked up. "Anya Sanchez, Mr. Miller."

Anya Sanchez. Hmm. I felt like I knew her somehow. Had we met before? No … I didn't think so. True, being the youngest DA in the county and fairly good-looking lent itself to meeting more women than the average Joe. But I wasn't a hookup kind of guy. No. I preferred one woman I could devour over the long term. There was nothing intimate about a one-and-done, which was not my nature.

"You know I can't socialize with students, Anya, right?"

"Oh…" Her whole face was red now. "I'm sorry. Yes, of course I know that."

"Good." I had to walk away, or else I'd suggest more than just a coffee. "Just park where you're supposed to and keep out of the faculty lots and we won't have any more problems."

"Yes, of course, sir."

I grunted and walked away. I liked the way she said "sir," a little too much.