OCTOBER IN MASSACHUSETTS BRINGS COOL FALL temperatures. Little by little, this charming New England campus, crammed with brick buildings and puritan heritage, is filling with warm autumn colors. I close the required reading for my Rhetorical Criticism class and take in a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the crisp air to fill my lungs while I sit on my favorite bench under an old oak tree in the campus quad.

I have an unusual connection to the tree. Perhaps it’s the sheer size that comforts me, deceiving me with the sensation of being secure and sheltered. I’ve been on edge lately, as if a dangerous storm is coming—an illogical sentiment, since Kingsley College has been voted the safest college campus in the Northeast for the past ten years.

It’s for that reason alone my overprotective aunt allowed me to attend in the first place, using some of the trust fund my parents left me after their deaths. Well, that and five forced years of studying Krav Maga. My beautiful and crazy aunt required I take it in high school and continue in college, because a girl can never be too safe or prepared. Her words.

Buried within a small town, the college epitomizes educational greatness and is steeped in rich academic tradition. At least that’s what it says in the brochure. With a small community of just under six thousand students and flawlessly manicured estate-like grounds, Kingsley overflows with scholarly charm.

The entire campus sprawls out on three hundred acres, meaning you could walk from the west side to the east in under twenty minutes, or if feeling lazy, you can take the shuttle bus in five, which I’m sure I’ll appreciate in the snow-filled months.

I’m currently on the west side of campus in the main courtyard. It has well-kept landscaping for miles, adorned with brick walkways, blooming fall flowers, and oak-tree-lined streets proudly boasting their warm orange, gold, and brown fall leaves.

My bench faces the centerpiece of the campus. Belmont Hall is an impressive brick building, showcasing four thick white pillars. Ten massive steps lead up to the large white double doors. It sits at the head of the quad like the queen of all university buildings. It’s also the picturesque structure used on all the brochures to lure you into academic life here, promising exemplary education leading to a productive and fulfilling post-educational life.

I could sit here for hours and people-watch. Wrapped up in my reverie, I barely notice a small area near the trees harboring a soft blue glow. As my eyes focus on the illuminated area, my skin heats and warmth begins to flow through my veins. I’m having the oddest case of déjà vu.

I narrow my eyes, trying to get a better look at the radiance that has captured my interest, but whatever it was dissolves into thin air. As if nothing happened, I feel myself being released from the seize it had on me, leaving me empty and alone as coldness emanates through me, replacing the warmth.

“Great. Now I’m seeing glowing blue spots,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m also talking to myself. Yep, Eve, it’s official. You’re starting to friggin’ lose it.” I seriously need a good night’s sleep, or Aria’s going to have me admitted to the psych ward.

My thought process is interrupted and my attention shifts to a group of giddy girls, whispering and giggling. Internally rolling my eyes, curiosity gets the best of me and I turn to see what the uproar is about.

Leaning on a classic black Wiesmann Roadster, in the parking lot near Lexington Hall, is a tall, lean, good-looking guy. He’s smiling at his fangirl harem.

Smoldering hot guy is the type of male that females instantly drop their panties for. No doubt he makes every girl feel as if they’re the only one on the planet. Damn if he didn’t have the chiseled cheeks and blond scruff along his perfect jawline to solidify the cliché.

He runs a large hand through his golden hair, which falls to the midway point on his neck in a sexy cut, a stark contrast to his all-black outfit consisting of tailored dress pants, a V-neck T-shirt, a watch, and designer shoes that probably cost more than my tuition.

This guy’s obvious love for black reeks of trouble. God, I need to stop gawking and drooling.

Lighting a cigarette, he turns, catching my eye with his. He gives me a slight nod as if he knows me. Then he shifts his sea-green eyes to the area I was just staring at in the courtyard, narrowing them while blowing out the nicotine-infested smoke from his mouth. He methodically rubs his lips with his thumb in contemplation.

Confused, I look back and forth between the quad area and him, but can’t make out a connection or reason for his peculiar behavior. He refocuses his gaze back to me, bestowing a sexy but emotionally void smile.

Wariness runs over me. There’s something aloof and conniving about him. He gives the impression of being standoffish, but it’s too controlled, forced even. As if he knows what I’m thinking, the boy sneers at me and turns back to the scatterbrained girls vying for his attention. He says something that appears to be brilliant, because I swear they all swoon and blush simultaneously.

“Hey. Who’s the hot guy?” Aria inquires, plopping down next to me, chomping on her pink bubble gum.

Is everything this girl touches pink?

“I don’t know. He just appeared, looking all cunning and surrounded by his fan club,” I say, feigning disinterest but keeping my eyes glued to him, watching his every move with an abnormal curiosity.

“Well, he’s YUMMY. I wouldn’t mind licking him up and down like a lollipop,” she states with enthusiasm, wiggling her eyebrows.

I glance matter-of-factly at her. “Don’t you think the other ten guys you’re currently sleeping with would be upset if they saw you licking him in broad daylight, in the quad no less?”

“I’m not sleeping with ten guys,” Aria fakes offense. “It’s only three.” She pretends to sulk.

I offer a smug smirk. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to over exaggerate your promiscuity.”

“Listen, I can’t help it if the male species is drawn to my raw magnetic pull,” Aria says. “I think it’s the pink hair combined with my fishnets and combat boots.”

“I imagine it’s the short skirts, C-cups and open-door policy, but, hey, that’s just me,” I jest, and stick my tongue out in an adult fashion.

She pushes my shoulder with little effort behind it. “Jealous, Eves? If someone would let go of her virtue, someone might be less tightly wound,” she adds in a dry tone. “Maybe your night terrors are caused by sexual frustration?”

She blows a pink bubble with her gum and pops it.

I exhale, tired. “Maybe.” The girl has a valid point.

“In my professional opinion, a good orgasm is just what you need to help end the nightmares.” Aria uses her fake psychiatrist tone to make me smile.

I stand and grab her, yanking her off the bench. “Come on, Freud. We’re going to be late.”

She bats her eyes prettily at me. “What? We’re learning about psychosexual development in Psychology 101.”

I bark out a short laugh. “That explains today’s unfortunate probing into my nonexistent sex life.”

We begin to walk over to the Art Center, and Aria grabs my hand, halting my movement as she looks over her shoulder. I follow her line of sight to a set of smoldering sea-green eyes.

“At least admit hotness has a really cool car,” she purrs, and smacks my ass, causing me to yelp in surprise.

“Aria! Come on,” I order. My tone is laced with annoyance as I glance once more toward the parking lot.

She’s right. The car is smoking hot.

As a communications major, Architecture is not a class I’m overjoyed to be sitting in this semester. However, it does fulfill my art prerequisite and it’s the only afternoon class that fit into my schedule. So here I am, begrudgingly awaiting my instruction on “the fundamental devotion to the examination of the built environment,” according to the first line in my textbook.

Professor Davidson is not known for easy grading or motivating lectures. As a matter of fact, he’s notorious for his rather lengthy and tedious explanations, specifically his sermons focused on Gothic architecture during the medieval period. I hear they’re as appealing as pulling out your own fingernails.

I’m planted in my normal seat in the back of the lecture hall, hiding in the throng of the hundred students suffering along with me, and internally cursing myself for not putting this credit off until the semester before graduation.

My eyes follow Professor Davidson as he walks into class, holding his beat-up old brown leather satchel and playing with his salt and pepper hair. His thick glasses and tweed suit add to the ensemble, topped off with a bow tie no less. I sigh. It’s been a long month, meaning it’s going to be an even longer semester.

Aria left me at the door to head to her design class. She’s hoping to work for a large advertising agency, like her dad, when she graduates as a graphic designer, much to the dismay of her mom. As a doctor, she would prefer Aria join the practice. I envy Aria for her perfect family.

My mom and dad both died when I was a baby, leaving me to grow up alone with my mother’s only sister, Elizabeth. Aunt Elizabeth loves to dress in long, billowy skirts, and is a bit scatterbrained, but she’s warm, affectionate, and has loved me every day like I was her own daughter. She’s also a very talented jewelry designer and owns a shop on Martha’s Vineyard.

She never married nor had kids of her own, which surprises me, because she’s quite beautiful; blessed with the same light brown, long hair as Mom and me. Her warm hazel eyes just draw people to her. I actually look so much like her that people tend to think she’s my older sister instead of my forty-year-old guardian.

Smiling at thoughts of my aunt, I don’t notice class has started and I should be taking notes. Crap. I turn on my iPad while Professor Davidson drones on and on about architecture’s effect on art in the thirteenth century.

Midway through the lecture, I stifle a yawn, stretching my neck to the left, then the right, while my wandering eyes lock on a set of full, kissable lips. I lift my gaze to see whom said lips belong to. The very attractive owner is seated one chair over from me, looking every bit as bored and annoyed as I am.

Everything about him attracts me, especially his indigo eyes outlined in dark lashes that fan softly over his cheeks. He has dark brown hair, short in the back and sides, but longer and styled on top in sexy, messy pieces. I fleetingly contemplate what it would be like to run my fingers through his hair as I chew on the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit of mine.

His five o’clock shadow highlights a chiseled jawline that, at the moment, is clenched so tightly it’s triggering a slight tic in his striking cheek muscle. Odd.

My eyes travel down the right side of his body, roaming over his forearm. A striking Celtic cross tattoo is displayed on the inside.

He has on a plain white T-shirt, worn blue jeans, and kick-ass black motorcycle boots. There are two thick, black leather bands adorning each of his wrists, adding to his masculine style.

Hotness crosses his arms, showing off his toned biceps and blocking the taut chest I’ve been staring at, hidden under his cotton shirt.

I lean closer, drawn to him like a magnet.

Suddenly, he narrows his eyes at me, with an intensity that could be construed as anger. At the force of his stare, my heart lurches and breathing becomes difficult. The warm sensation from earlier begins to run through my veins, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Without me noticing, he’s leaned over the empty seat between us. “See something you like?” his deep, masculine voice asks in a malicious whisper.

Those plump lips are now set in a hard line. Our eyes lock and hold one another’s for what feels like an eternity, before I drop mine.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment as realization sets in. I was just caught openly checking him out. Crap.

Ignoring his question, I snap my attention back to the front of the lecture hall just as Professor Davidson ends my humiliation by dismissing us for the day.

Haphazardly, I throw things in my messenger bag and hurry to escape, only to find the six-foot-plus Adonis already blocking me in by leaning against the door frame in a casual stance.

I breathe out sharply, partly in surprise and partly in nervousness. Shit, he’s even hotter standing up.

He’s also abnormally fast. I look back and forth between our seats and the doorway, wondering how the hell he got down here so quickly. Eve, attempt to focus, I internally scold myself.

I move toward the exit. Not trusting my voice, I release the breath I’ve been holding and give him an excuse me look.

He motions his hand, encouraging me to walk through.

“After you,” he says, his smooth voice warming my cheeks again.

I walk through the door, rolling my eyes at his dramatics and my lack of vocal control. Once outside, the fresh air hits me, clearing my head and offering relief from the embarrassing exchange.

“No need to thank me. It’s truly my pleasure.” I hear his condescending voice come from behind me.

I spin around in front of him, causing him to stop abruptly to avoid walking into me. Not expecting my sudden movement, his hands grasp my upper arms to steady himself and prevent me from stumbling backwards.

Heat pools on my skin where he touches it. Against my will, I close my eyes at his close proximity.

His scent fills my senses—a heady, masculine combination of smoky wood and leather. I inhale and sway, slightly light-headed from the whiff, which ignites warmth in my veins.

The good-looking guy leans in closer and his lips softly brush my ear. His minty breath comes out in a cocky whisper, “Falling for me already?”

This snaps me out of my daze. I look up and give him my best what the hell look. He watches me for a second as confusion crosses his face, then he releases my arms abrasively, as if I burned him.

We study one another, each waiting for the other to say something or make a move. Both of us are in a defiant stance with our arms crossed.

I speak first, clearly a mistake.

“What the hell is your problem?” I bark, narrowing my eyes.

“The siren speaks,” he says, feigning awe. “I was beginning to question your familiarity with the English language.”

One side of his mouth tilts into a smirk. It’s obvious he’s pleased with himself and his lame answer.

“Charming,” I reply, annoyed. “I happen to be well versed in the English language.”

He places a long finger to his closed mouth in contemplation. “That’s astonishing, considering that earlier, I caught you openly gawking at me.” Indigo eyes scan my face as he leans in and lowers his voice to a sensual tone. “Pink lips parted, beautiful hazel eyes locked onto my chest, drooling as if I were a piece of chocolate.” He pauses for effect. “Yet not a single word flowed through that pretty, pouty mouth of yours,” blue eyes retorts, staring at my lips, waiting patiently for my response.

I swallow. Between his scent and his nearness, my body is overheating. “Shows how much you know. I prefer salty over sweet,” I throw back at him, proud that my voice sounds strong.

It would be in my best interest to gather my dignity and just walk away. This infuriating guy is getting under my skin, distracting me with insults that appear to be compliments.

He snorts and gives me an insolent smile. “Yeah, I can tell sweet isn’t your thing, sweetheart.”

My jaw tightens. “I have a name, and it’s not Sweetheart,” I snap.

He crosses his arms, amused at my outburst, and gives me a crooked smile. “What would that name be?”

“Eve Collins,” I offer in an even tone.

“Eve,” he says in a husky voice.

The way my name rolls off his tongue does crazy things to my body. I secretly curse his good looks for causing my stomach muscles to clench and the butterflies to take flight.

“Eve,” he repeats, as some form of understanding sinks in. “Without doubt, a suitable name for you.”

The cute guy stands taller and puffs his chest out in some sort of proud posture.

“Meaning?” I question tersely.

“Wasn’t Eve the mother of mankind? Of course, she was also seen as weak, allowing evil to succeed in tempting her to the forbidden.” He challenges me with his eyes.

I pull my brows together, confused by his bizarre statement. “Are you implying I’m weak?” I question, with a slight octave change.

He just stands there, calm and unfazed by my growing temper. For some reason, his lack of reaction makes me even more irate.

“I can assure you that’s not the case,” I say. “As a matter of fact, I could punch you right now and you’d be seeing stars for weeks, followed by a plastic surgeon to reset your nose, pretty boy.”

Clearly unaffected by me, he laughs deeply, placing his hands up in mock surrender while backing away from me. “There’s no need for threats of physical harm, Eve.”

His gaze locks onto mine, assessing me, probably waiting to see if I’ll actually punch him. I angle my head to the side in annoyance and continue to watch him watching me.

As soon as he finds what he’s searching for in my eyes, he nods, seeming to have had some sort of internal dialogue with himself. His face turns impassive.

“Your lack of knowledge with regard to your name means nothing,” he says, casually shrugging me off.

I feel a migraine coming on. This conversation is nonsensical and it needs to end. “I don’t think this is working.” I motion between us while giving him an irritated glower.

A mischievous grin forms on his face. “Do we need couples therapy already?”

My frustration is now off the charts, so I exhale loudly, hoping he’ll get the hint. “That’s not what I meant.”

He leans into my personal space and narrows his eyes, attempting to intimidate and fluster me more than he already has, and for the love of God, it’s working.

“Would you please stop? I can’t think with you in my face,” I grumble.

At this, he leans away. “I make you nervous?” It’s a question with a hint of curiosity.

“Ah, no. Far from it,” I answer, still a bit shaken.

“Your unconvincing tone says different,” he retorts.

I’m just about to offer my witty comeback when his eyes snap up, quickly scanning the area behind me before redirecting his focus back to me. He frowns.

Before I can glance at what caught his attention, blue eyes speaks, ending my inquisitiveness.

“As delightful as this conversation has been with you, I have somewhere I need to be. Try not to walk into anyone or anything,” he mocks, as he begins to walk away.

“Whatever,” I mutter, and add under my breath, “ass.”

He stops and turns back toward me, stalking me slowly, like a predator. “Tsk. Name-calling is very unbecoming of you, Eve.” My name comes out like a dig. “Perhaps you should consider your choice of words within the English language with more care when conversing with others.”

I just stand there, glaring at him, racking my brain for a smart-ass response. Unfortunately, he has me all tongue-tied and at a loss for witty repartee.

Hotness, of course, wastes no time conquering the silence. “I’ll be anticipating your retort, siren.