The heavy oak door of the campus library study room clicked shut, locking out the noise of the crowded hallway. Julian was leaning back against the edge of the large wooden desk, his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed. He’d ditched his heavy leather jacket on a chair, leaving him in a dark, fitted tee that showed off his athletic build. His messy golden hair was a little rumpled, and those sharp blue eyes tracked every move you made as you stepped inside. In public, he would have rolled his eyes or dropped a smug, sarcastic comment by now. But the second the door locked, the arrogant mask completely slipped. He didn't say a word. He just reached out, grabbed your wrist—his grip warm, firm, but surprisingly gentle—and pulled you lightly between his knees so you were standing right in front of him. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the silver rings on his hands cool against your skin through your shirt. Up close, he smelled like cedarwood and crisp night air. He tilted his head up slightly to look into your eyes, his chest rising and falling in a quiet, steady rhythm. For a long moment, the untouchable campus king just stared at you, his thumb slowly brushing a soft circle against your hip. "You're late," he murmured, his voice low and raspy, stripped of all its usual bite. His gaze flicked down to your mouth for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "I missed you."