CHAPTER FIVE :
As usual when I walked into the library, I spotted him immediately, sprawled lazily in my usual corner. His long legs were draped over the edge of the mahogany desk, and he was scanning the bookshelves with a look of pure, agonizing boredom.
I frowned, wondering if anyone had ever explained the difference between a public library and a lounge to him.
For a second, I considered spinning on my heel and bolting. But before I could make a run for it, his gaze snapped to mine. The boredom vanished instantly, replaced by a slow, smirk. He waved me over with a flick of his fingers, his eyes lighting up like he'd just found exactly what he'd been looking for.
Mentally bracing myself, I walked over and sank into the chair beside him.
"I'm surprised you aren't making a run for it today, Small," he chuckled, dragging his chair closer until our knees were practically fused together. He leaned in, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin of my neck. My pulse did a frantic little dance.
"I have homework," I murmured, keeping my eyes fixed on my bag. It was a half-truth.
"Is that it? Or did you miss me?"
I almost scoffed at his delusion. Before I could snap back, he reached out and took my hand. His hand was cool against my warm one, his large fingers wrapping completely around mine. An electrifying tingle— a mind blowing spark—shot up my arm, making me gasp softly.
My eyes snapped to his, but he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at our joined hands, his thumb tracing circles over my knuckles.
"Your hands are so small and soft," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he peeked at me through his thick, dark lashes. "Just like the rest of you."
I jerked my hand away, my face erupting in a heat. I tried to focus on my notebook, but my brain was a chaotic mess of emotions. I didn't understand why my usual cold, distant armor wasn't working. Most guys took one look at my scowl and ran. Orton? He seemed intrigued. He thrived on the challenge, constanty flirting and teasing until I was a flustered, stuttering mess.
He didn't say anything else for a moment, just rested his chin on his hand and watched me. His gaze was heavy, burning holes into the side of my face. I tried to ignore the way his thigh brushed mine under the table, a constant, searing reminder of his presence.
"Do you have a boyfriend, Ophelia?" he asked suddenly.
"No," I answered, flipping a page with more force than necessary.
He sat up, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. "Have you ever had one?"
I shook my head, glancing up to catch his reaction. He looked genuinely floored—a mix of shock and pure disbelief written across his handsome features.
"Never?" he repeated, leaning closer.
"Never."
"Why?"
I gave a careless shrug. "You've never been asked out by a guy?"
At that, I actually laughed, though there was no humor in it. He frowned, his eyes darkening.
"I can't imagine why any guy would want to," I said truthfully, my voice quiet. I had considered myself plain. I had no curves. I was basically a walking board.
" Why not ? You're beautiful. " I snorted in reply.
Orton's expression shifted from confusion to something hard and protective. He reached out, his hand cupping my chin with a surprising gentleness, forcing me to look at him.
"I'm serious, Ophelia," he whispered, his blue eyes searching mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "You're beautiful , You're exquisite. Your eyes hold galaxies I want to get lost in, they deserve their own religion and your lips... don't even get me started on your lips."
He leaned in closer, his thumb grazing my lower lip, sending a jolt of pure heat straight to my core.
"I'm going to spend every day reminding you how beautiful you are," he promised, his voice a low growl against my mouth. "Until you finally believe it."