Vernal Read online

  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.

  “Ev
e,” 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.

  Eímai Tristan, gios tou Ofilía. Evlogíes sti gi, to neró, kai ton ouranó pnévmata. Tha akoúso, odigós mou. Anoíxte ta chéria sas kai na kalosoríso mou spíti.” (Greek): “I am Tristan, son of Ophelia. Blessings to the earth, water, and sky spirits. I will listen, guide me. Open your arms and welcome me home.”

  There are so many people to thank who are a part of this amazing journey I’m on. A simple thank you to them for encouraging and supporting me just doesn’t seem like a strong enough show of gratitude on my part.

  To my husband and daughter, thank you for loving me and sharing your time with the characters I write.

  Hang Le, I could hug you all day long for the amazing Royal Protector Academy covers, logo, and series promos. Thank you for visually capturing my stories.

  Sarah Hershman and the team at Hershman Rights Management, thank you for your ongoing support.

  Rick Miles and the entire Red Coat PR team, thank you for allowing me to be part of your author family.

  Maggie Mae Gallagher, thank you for coming into my life and taking care of business so I can focus on writing.

  Kris Kendall, I love you. Enough said.

  Janelle Rhiannon, you’re an amazing critique partner.

  Liz Ferry, thank you for polishing this story so it shines.

  Perfectly Publishing, thank you for making the interior of Vernal look as cool as the exterior.

  A HUGE thank you to Randi’s Rebels. Y’all are the best reader group a girl could ask for. You keep me sane when I need it, provide me with endless book recommendations, and fill my days with man candy and laughs. Rebels Rock!

  A special shout out to Christine Petrey, who got to name Zander, and Tabitha Hulsey, who named Freya.

  Thanks to my family and friends, I love you all.

  To the readers, thank you for reading my stories. Thank you, for taking a chance on me. Thank you, for trusting me with your imagination. I’m honored to be part of your literary world.

  Randi Cooley Wilson is an author of paranormal, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance books. Randi was born and raised in Massachusetts, where she attended Bridgewater State University and graduated with a degree in Communication Studies. After graduation, she moved to California, where she lived happily bathed in sunshine and warm weather for fifteen years.

  Randi makes stuff up, devours romance books, drinks lots of wine and coffee, and has a slight addiction to bracelets. She currently resides in Massachusetts with her daughter and husband.

  She loves to hear from readers. Please reach out to her at: randicooleywilson.com or via social media outlets:

  Twitter: @R_CooleyWilson

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorrandicooleywilson

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/RCooleyWilson

  Randi’s Rebels: www.facebook.com/groups/randisrebels