He's twenty-six. She's eighteen. I swallow, aware that most of what I'm thinking is probably just my overactive imagination. He didn't just look at me like that, over the thick rim of his glasses. His voice didn't mean to sound so stern yet seductive. "If you're going to insist on playing these games with me, Jain, I'm afraid I may have to give you a detention," his voice is silky soft, and his gaze doesn't lift away from the...