Chapter 189: Room 408

PRIYA’S POV

The elevator doors slid shut, cutting us off from the lobby.

The second we were alone in the mirrored box, Adrian dropped all the formal distance.

He stepped directly into my personal space, dropped his duffel bag onto the floor, and backed me against the handrail.

Before I could even catch my breath, his hands found my waist, and his mouth came down hard on mine.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss... it was fast, hungry, and full of all the pent-up frustration from the last three weeks of pretending we barely knew each other in class.

I grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer as his tongue parted my lips. My pulse hammered in my ears.

When the elevator chimed for the fourth floor, Adrian pulled back just enough to look at me, breathing hard.

"I’ve wanted to do that since nine o’clock this morning," he muttered in a rough voice.

"Only since nine?" I countered, smoothing down my coat as the doors opened. "I’ve wanted to do that since Tuesday’s lecture."

A smirk tugged at his mouth. He picked up his bag, took my hand, and led me down the carpeted hallway.

Room 408 wasn’t just a regular hotel room. It was an executive corner suite.

When Adrian swiped the keycard and pushed the door open, I stopped on the threshold and looked around.

The place was huge.

It had high ceilings, a gas fireplace glowing in the living area, a massive king-sized bed in the open bedroom, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the frozen harbor.

Outside, snow was dusting the piers and the boats tied to the docks.

"Not bad, Professor," I said, dropping my weekender bag on the luggage bench. "Briar pays visiting faculty well."

Adrian closed the door and turned the deadbolt with a solid click.

"I didn’t pay for this with a university stipend, Priya," he said, taking off his overcoat and tossing it over a chair. "I had a life before Briar."

"Right. The big corporate litigation life."

"Don’t sound so unimpressed," he said, walking over and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.

He leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to the side of my neck that sent shivers straight to my toes.

"I didn’t bring you here to hide under the covers and eat room-service burgers all day," he murmured against my skin.

I turned around in his arms, resting my hands on his chest. "No? What did you have in mind?"

Adrian stepped back, nodding toward the set of French doors on the far wall. "Go look," he said.

I walked over to the doors and pushed them open.

The suite had a private wraparound stone terrace. Overhead radiant heaters were already glowing red, keeping the entire patio comfortably warm while fresh snow drifted silently past the glass railings.

In the center of the terrace sat a round table with a white tablecloth, two place settings, polished silverware, and tall wine glasses. A low gas fire table was burning beside it, giving off a warm, cozy light.

I turned around, stunned. "You set this up?"

"The hotel concierge did," Adrian corrected, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "Full Thanksgiving dinner service. Private, quiet, and completely off the grid."

"We’re having Thanksgiving dinner out in the snow?"

"Under high-powered heaters, yes," he said with an arrogant grin. "Now go open that bag of yours and put on a real dress. Dinner is arriving in fifteen minutes."

"Demanding, aren’t you?"

"Always," he said, stepping forward and tapping my chin with his finger. "Move, Miss Patel."

I rolled my eyes, but I was already unzipping my leather weekender.

Inside the marble bathroom, I touched up my makeup, fixed my hair so it fell in soft waves around my shoulders, and slipped into the dress I had packed.

It was an emerald-green silk slip dress that hugged my hips, fell just below my knees, and had a low, crisscross open back. I slipped into a pair of black strappy heels, dabbed on a little more perfume, and walked back out into the suite.

Adrian had changed too.

He was wearing tailored black trousers and a white shirt. The top two buttons were open, and the sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and the silver watch at his wrist.

When he looked up and saw me, he froze.

His eyes swept over me from head to toe slowly, before locking onto mine. "Section 4.2 doesn’t stand a chance," he muttered under his breath.

"You like it?" I asked, doing a slow turn.

"I like it so much we might not make it through the appetizer," he said, walking over and taking my hand.

He brought my knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly before leading me out onto the terrace.

The food had already been brought up by discreet room service staff while I was changing. Covered silver cloches sat on the table, along with a bottle of vintage Pinot Noir already breathing in a decanter.

Adrian pulled out my chair for me, and I sat down, the radiant heat from above keeping the November chill completely away.

Outside the glass partition, the snow was falling faster, cloaking the entire harbor in white.

Adrian poured the dark red wine into our glasses and sat across from me. He lifted his glass. "To getting away with it," he said, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

I clinked my glass against his. "To not getting expelled before graduation."

We lifted the silver covers to find roasted duck breast with pomegranate glaze, wild mushroom risotto, and grilled asparagus.

The food was incredible, but the conversation was even better.

Without the walls of Briar Hall around us, the stiff lines between student and professor disappeared completely.

"Tell me the truth," I said, cutting a piece of duck. "Why did you leave D.C.? You clerked on the federal appellate bench. You could have made partner at a white-shoe firm in five years."

Adrian took a sip of his wine, setting the glass down with a thoughtful pause.

"I spent two years watching brilliant lawyers argue over commas in corporate contracts," he said honestly. "Nobody cared about justice or constitutional theory. They cared about billable hours and settlement margins. It was soul-crushing."

"So you came to Briar to teach undergrads who barely read the cases?"

"Most of them don’t," Adrian agreed with a dry laugh. "They skim Wikipedia thirty minutes before lecture."

He leaned forward on his forearms, his eyes locking onto mine across the small table. "And then you opened your mouth on that Tuesday afternoon," he said softly.

I smiled into my wineglass. "I embarrassed you."

"You terrified me, Priya," he confessed, shaking his head. "I sat at that podium looking at you, thinking: She was in my bed on Friday night, and now she’s dismantling my syllabus on Tuesday. I am completely finished."

A laugh bubbled up in my chest. "You looked so composed, though. Like a cold stone statue."

"My pulse was running at about one-forty," he admitted, reaching across the table.

His fingers slid over mine, warm and calloused, tracing the line of my knuckles. "You’re too smart for your own good, Miss Patel."

"And you’re too bossy, Professor Flores."

"Only when it counts," he whispered.

He leaned in closer over the table, his thumb brushing against my lower lip, tasting the wine on my mouth.

The heat between us was humming louder than the heaters overhead.

Outside, the wind picked up, sending a flurry of snowflakes dancing against the terrace glass.

Adrian stood up, stepped around the small table, and offered me his hand.

"It’s getting cold out here," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the low neckline of my green dress. "Let’s take this inside."

I placed my hand in his, my heart thumping against my ribs.

"Best ruling you’ve made all day," I said.