Chapter 25

"Hey, Ryland. Thanks for coming," a tall man hollers as he strides toward me from the sleek, modern building of soothing teak wood exteriors and pale green trimming. Next to him is a woman with golden brown hair and a beaming smile.

Shit-eating grin. Dimples. Brown hair streaked with gold, which is glinting in the waning sunlight. Dressed like he has stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger catalog. I smile and wave, ignoring the paparazzi's hollers and bright flashes from their cameras.

"Parker Wellington, as I live and breathe. It's been too long."

Chuckling, I pull my friend to me, giving him a brief hug, before turning to his beautiful wife next to him, whose sapphire eyes are shining with laughter and warmth.

"Liz, nice to see you, too. I'm surprised the two of you came all the way from LA to be here, without the kids, no less."

She grins before wrapping me in her arms as well.

"Well, you know Parker, his firm designed these homeless shelters, so each grand opening of New Beginnings buildings is like giving birth for him. And the New York manager begged us to come out for the inaugural gardening program they're offering here to its residents. I'm excited about it. Homeless and battered women shelters are typically bare bones with basic food and lodging, so it's wonderful they're offering these additional programs."

"And having His Royal Highness, the Prince of the USA, show up and volunteer is totally attracting all the right attention," Parker quips, unleashing another annoying grin as he waggles his brows at me.

"Shut up, fucker," I mutter, unable to stifle the laughter in my voice.

We walk back toward the glass double doors and I can't help but admire the modern sleek lines softened with carefully groomed low-maintenance shrubbery and trees, environmentally conscious materials such as reclaimed wood and locally sourced granite and limestone.

Parker's architectural firm, which he opened with his friend and partner, Dylan Jones, is one of the best in the country. They will work on the upcoming renovation of The Orchid after this IPO business.

"You're doing a good thing here," I comment as we step inside the brightly lit air-conditioned lobby. "I'm happy to support."

Parker slaps a hand on my back. He doesn't need to say much because I already know his story—as a child, he lived in one of these homeless shelters with his mom after his dad died. He has always wanted to give back and now that he's a successful architect and businessman of his own right, he helps to design and build, pro-bono, these award-winning battered women and homeless shelters across the nation.

It's this desire to give back, to leave a legacy in this world which draws me to the man, even though he doesn't make it out to New York often enough.

"So, how's the IPO going? Audit stage, right? Everything is going smoothly, I hope? We haven't seen Jess these days, so I'm assuming she's holed up in the audit cave, pulling her hair out from work." Parker nods to a few attendants bustling around in the lobby. He ushers me up a flight of stairs to God knows where.

"It's going fine. I don't expect smooth sailing. Jess is probably sick of us by now."

Jess, Steven's oldest sister, is Liz's good friend and sister-in-law, since Jess married Liz's younger brother, James. "But she's treating us kindly. You know how Jess is. Even with the stresses of the audit, I haven't seen her blow a fuse yet."

He chuckles. "Yep, that's her. Well, I'm excited about your IPO and will be the first in line to buy myself some shares when you guys are listed on the stock exchange. Have to see what your ‘impeccable reputation' will bring us. You know that's what the market is frenzied about—even though we're in a bad economy and folks are pinching pennies, everyone seems to be excited about your IPO because of you. Whatever magic you're wielding, you need to give me some."

Impeccable reputation.The words sound scathing in my mind because everything is smoke and mirrors. They don't see the darkness inside me.

They don't see the ethics professor who almost fucked his much-younger student in his office the other day because he couldn't help himself. They don't realize this unimpeachable Anderson nearly threw away hundreds of years of lauded reputation, endangered the IPO, which would impact the family business, gave up his dream of becoming a tenured professor, smashed through the last ethical wall of being a professor without a second thought.

I'm a disgrace and this is so very wrong.

But my groin twitches as I think of Millie sprawled on my desk, her tits heaving, her dark nipples as sharp as glass, poking out of that little scrap of a tank top, beckoning me to bite them, to suck on them, while I ram my hard cock against her jean-covered pussy. The sounds she made. The moans. The whimpers. How they got louder the rougher I was with her, like she needed my dominance, craved my aggression.

At that moment, all those obstacles disappeared like steam vaporizing in the air.

Everything was inconsequential except for her.

She made me so angry when she rightfully confronted me that day. I knew I was an ass to her. But didn't she know I was barely hanging on by a thread? And now, knowing how soft she is under me, how she yields to me so beautifully, how sweet her lips taste, how can I resist her?

I must—impeccable reputation and everything riding on it. But more importantly, Millie needs a man without shadows, a free man not living in a cage, bound to a family he loves and secretly resents at the same time. She needs to spread her wings and fly, and not to have them clipped if she's enfolded into the Anderson family business.

I need to stay away from her. There's no other alternative.

But the joke's on me, because fate seems to have other plans when we step into the rooftop garden and I turn my head and look toward the front of the space.

She is there.

Like I've conjured her from my deepest desires.

My beautiful lark is in her element, looking every inch an angel fallen from the skies, blessing mankind with her warmth and beauty. She's standing on a small makeshift stage, lecturing to a crowd of men and women of various ages sitting in rows of plastic chairs.

Millie laughs, her voice as sweet as the songbird, and says, "Do you know there are many wonderful benefits to gardening? It's not only a hobby for retired old folks nowadays."

She pauses and quirks her brow. "I see you're unimpressed. Your doubt is written all over your faces."

She leans in, her blue eyes radiating warmth and excitement, and loudly whispers, "I thought the same thing too when I started gardening. Like how lame it was, how tiring, how I could spend my time doing something more fun than watering the soil and pulling weeds."

Light chuckles fill the room as the residents listen to her while she transfers some seeds into the ceramic pots on the table. It reminds me of that day when she came into my office at ULA, holding bright yellow daffodils. The flowers that made her cry when they shattered on the floor.

"My mom loved flowers. She used to spend her free time, what little she had outside of working and taking care of my dad, my brother, and me, on our small balcony, where she'd set up her own garden. Daffodils were one of her favorites."

My heart squeezes, the tears on her face that day in my office suddenly making sense.

Her voice turns wistful, and she forces out a smile. "When I asked her why she spent so much time out there, she told me, ‘Millie, do you know plants have healing powers? They're magic. When you get your hands dirty in the soil, feeling nature at your fingertips, nurturing the flowers, vegetables, fruits, or whatever it is you're growing, they'll respond to you.'"

She looks up, her gaze intent on the small crowd. "It's something you can control, something you have full power over. When you nurture nature, it'll bloom and blossom under your care. The wonderful flowers and getting your heart rate up as you putter about are just side benefits."

The room is quiet; the crowd sitting with rapt attention. I see a few women shift in their seats and one of them discreetly wipes her face with her hands. Most likely, the lives they ran away from didn't allow them to have much, if any, control.

Millie grins as she pours some soil into the ceramic pot. "Someday, besides teaching, I want to open my own greenhouse to the public for free…so everyone can have these beautiful flowers and gardens at their fingertips, so parents don't have to worry about paying adult ticket costs to take their children to kids-free admission days. Anyone, regardless of status, can enjoy these flowers for free."

Millie swipes her lips with that pink tongue of hers and I feel my cock twitch in my pants. I can still taste her honeyed sweetness, feel the tentative swipes of her tongue as it tangled with mine. I swallow and let out a ragged exhale.

"She's great, isn't she? Captivates the crowd," Parker comments, and I can't help but agree.

She'll be a great educator one day. Empathetic. Passionate. She'll help many underprivileged people from all over the world. Something she can't do if she is with you and living in the Anderson cage.

I nod, unable to reply or tear my eyes away from Millie.

"Do you know, there's research showing a certain bacterium in the soil, the Mycobacterium vaccae, can act as a natural antidepressant because of its interactions with serotonin, the happy chemical, in our brains? So, Mom wasn't lying to me after all. There is magic in the soil…"

"How did you find her?" I ask Parker as I'm transfixed on Millie.

At his silence, I turn to him, finding him gazing lovingly at his wife, watching her flutter around the room, handing out refreshments to the residents who are looking with ardent attention at the goddess on the stage. My heart pinches at the lovestruck expression on his face, like he'd be happy even if his world burned down as long as he had his wife by his side.

For the first time in my life, I wonder what things would be like if I had this kind of love in my life. Would my soul feel less tired, less cold? Would the prison feel more like heaven?

My gaze shifts to Millie once more, and the panging hits harder in my chest, resounding like a gong, and I clench my fists, unwilling to acknowledge the impact or the sound and what they represent.

Love isn't for me. This is physical attraction only. The temptation of the forbidden.

That has to be it. That's all there is to it.

She has dreams—beautiful dreams. Don't take them away from her.You'll imprison her and one day she'll get sick of it. Like Mom did toward the end, when I saw her eyes dimming, how she appeared so sad whenever she talked about the dreams she used to have.

Parker shifts next to me. "Sorry. I got sidetracked for a bit there. Anyway, Millie? She's actually family."

That got my attention. "What?" I stare at him.

He shrugs. "Few people know this because she's down to earth and doesn't advertise her connections. But her brother is Adrian Scott, who, as you probably know, had that epic romance and married Emily, Jess's younger sister, a year ago."

"The Shark? Her brother is The Shark?"

He nods. "It's pretty obvious, right? The dark hair, the elegant features. I can see the resemblance." Parker stiffens, his head swiveling toward me, his eyes narrowing. "Hold on, why do you sound so interested? What's this to you?"

I tug at the pendant hanging around my neck, my skin feeling heated once more. Not only is the forbidden woman my student, but she's also related to one of the most powerful men in the business community, who is renowned for his thirst for revenge to those who have wronged him in the past, the cold billionaire everyone wants to know but is also afraid of. If he catches a whiff of my filthy intentions toward his sister, I can kiss the IPO goodbye. It doesn't matter if my family is old money and more powerful than him. No one wrongs The Shark and escapes unscathed.

"She's my student. I'm just surprised she's here."

"Hm." He stares at me for a few more beats, but I don't look at him. "If you say so."

"Now, we've set up stations here for you to try your hand at gardening. Remember, perfection is unnecessary. Get your hands dirty, feel the damp soil, try to stay present, and focus on your breathing," Millie instructs as the small crowd breaks into quiet conversations and folks move about the space. I hear the scraping of metal spades and trowels against the ceramic pots and muted laughter.

Parker grabs me by my shoulder. He holds up his phone. "Sorry, I have to take this. I'm supposed to help Millie up there. Can you step in instead? I owe you one." He holds my gaze for a moment, registering my nod, and steps away.

My pulse kicks up into a drumming beat and every cell in my body awakens and sizzles with energy. I stroll up to her, the woman who has been featured in every lurid fantasy in the last year and a half, the woman, I suspect, will be my undoing if I don't stop this train wreck in slow motion.

"Millie." My voice is hoarse as I step up behind her. I suck in a gulp of jasmine and vanilla scented air.

She freezes. A pulse flutters in her neck, beckoning me to touch it, to graze it with my tongue. I swallow, watching her turn her blue gaze at me.

"Ryland." My name sounds so damn good on her lips. I don't bother correcting her for using my first name.

We stare at each other as the background chatter and crowds dissolve into darkness, trapping us in this bubble only we can see. My eyes dart to her lips again, which are plump and parted. Her breathing quickens. A blush blooms on her cheeks and I watch those blue eyes of hers darken, the navy striations melting into the black.

I lean in, my willpower quickly losing the battle of what's right or wrong, what's ethical or unethical. Her eyes flutter shut, the dark lashes fanning her smooth skin. We're not at school today. She's an adult, and it's consensual. My heart hurls flimsy excuses at my brain, trying anything to see what sticks.

"Millie? I broke my pot. I'm s-so sorry. Please don't be angry at me." A timid voice breaks through our connection and Millie jerks back and turns to the mousy woman before her, who appears terrified of evoking Millie's wrath.

Millie's eyes soften and she clasps her hand on top of the woman's. "Don't you worry about it. This happens to all of us. You can get an extra over there."

The woman scurries away, leaving us in stilted silence.

"You're good with them," I comment as I hand her a new pot.

"I learned from the best." She gives me a teasing wink and my heart hiccups. My lips twitch in an effort not to smile.

Millie waggles her brows. "Well, if you're here to help me, let me put you to good use."

"Where do you want me, teacher?" I make an exaggerated bow.

She giggles. God, I want to hear that sound every day. It's like a shot of dopamine in my veins.

"Bring those bags of potting soil around the room and refill the containers at each station. Make sure all the tables have extra supplies and tools. We expect some clumsiness and broken pots, and that's okay. There are extra packets of seeds on the shelf over there in case anyone asks you for more." She points to a few rows of metal shelves in the far corner of the space.

"We want these folks to feel comfortable in their surroundings, to put their energy into the task before them, to make something with two hands."

Millie gestures with her hands, her blue eyes turning animated. "Regaining their lives starts with small steps, and we want them to feel empowered, beginning with growing this little pot of life in front of them."

Her face is flushed, an alluring glow radiating from her. She bites on her plush bottom lip, a flirty glint appearing in her gaze. Slowly, she steps closer, and my heart lodges in my throat, my breath freezing in my lungs.

She trails her fingers up my forearm and my muscles automatically flex. The pink in her cheeks deepens and she frees that fucking lip from her teeth.

Sharp heat shoots south, and my dick twitches in my pants.

Her fingers linger on my biceps. She looks up at me from under her long lashes. "Got to put a strong, powerful man like you to good use."

She sounds breathy. I want to hear this voice when I'm tangled in the bedsheets with her at night.

"Oh yeah?"

She's drawing circles on my arm now, and I can feel every stroke on my throbbing cock. I shift my stance.

"Go on, be a good student for me," she whispers, her eyes dilating and flickering to my mouth, "listen to your teacher."

My nostrils flare and my cock roars to full-mast.

Fuck me.