Especially me.
For weeks, I try to ignore the way his voice makes me shiver. The way he stands just a little too close when he teaches me. The way one quiet command from him can leave me thinking about him long after I’ve gone back to my dorm.
Then one Friday night, the library closes.
And I’m still inside with him.
Alone.
Somewhere between the darkened stacks, centuries-old books, and the green glow of the reading lamps, Mr. Riley finally stops pretending he hasn’t noticed me.
I confess just how inexperienced I really am.
His carefully maintained control disappears.
And suddenly the man who taught me how to handle rare things wants to give me a very different kind of education.
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