The weight of Arabella’s hips swayed with every step, a bizarre pendulum Nathan could not ignore. The dormitory loomed ahead, a modern slab of glass and steel, its automatic doors whirring open with a sigh of chilled air. The lobby was a buzz of student activity, but Nathan’s eyes locked onto the circular reception desk, and the young woman behind it typing on a computer.

Okay. Simple. Ask for the room keys. Don’t stumble. Be Arabella.

He took a breath, the unfamiliar swell of his chest rising, and stepped forward. Before he could open his mouth, a hand—Allison’s hand, slender but with a strong grip—clamped onto his forearm. Luke pulled him aside roughly.

“Let me handle this, princess,” Luke murmured, his voice a low, Allison-pitched purr that dripped with arrogant intent. He gave Nathan a wink that was all masculine mischief, then sauntered toward the desk, his new athletic body moving with a confidence Nathan found both impressive and infuriating.

Nathan stood frozen, a stunning blonde mannequin in designer jeans, as Luke leaned against the high counter, offering the receptionist a dazzling smile. The girl was pretty, with intelligent eyes behind stylish glasses and a skeptical tilt to her head.

“Hey there,” Luke said, his tone smooth. “We need to get into our rooms. Can you help us out?”

The receptionist blinked, looked from Luke’s face to Nathan’s, and then back. She didn’t smile. “You’ve both been residents here for a year. You have keycards. Your rooms are in the system you’re supposed to remember.” Her voice was dry, unimpressed. “Is this a joke?”

Luke’s smile didn’t falter, but it hardened at the edges. “No joke. We just need a little assistance. Which floors? Which numbers?”

“You should know,” she repeated, her patience clearly thinning. “Did you both get amnesia over the summer?”

A flash of genuine anger crossed Luke’s face, the expression so starkly male on Allison’s delicate features it was jarring. “Listen,” he said, his voice dropping, losing its playful pretense. “Just give us the goddamn room numbers. Now.”

Nathan’s heart lurched. He’s going to blow this before we even get past the lobby. Acting on pure instinct, he strode forward, the click of Arabella’s heels sharp on the tile. He wrapped a hand around Luke’s—Allison’s—upper arm.

“Darling, don’t be rude,” Nathan said, forcing Arabella’s cold, melodic accent. His own voice sounded foreign and high. He turned a …