Two years ago I fled without a word leaving behind my elite life of luxury cars designer wardrobes and private jets. I swore I’d never come back. But it turns out college professors don’t really care about that stuff. Which is how I find myself back in the place I thought I’d never see again. Facing the people I thought I left behind for good. My plan is simple: keep my head down finish my research and head back to Oxford as soon as I can. The only thing I didn’t count on? Needing his help to get into the library. How am I supposed to concentrate on my studies while he fidgets beside me those long limbs distracting in the worst way possible? It’s been two years. I’ve moved on. Obviously . But we’re talking about the guy who shredded my heart the last time he got his hands on it. The one who still looks devastatingly handsome in those low-slung board shorts and that chiseled torso. The one who can unravel me with a single word and ma