Private Lessons (7 page)

B
rice sat through the forty-five-minute class in a stunned amazement that tap-danced between confusion and anger. At first he figured that the woman who could make passages sing, and who could breathe new life into arcane text, who captured and held nearly seventy-five bright minds in her hand
couldn't
be Naomi. Not the Naomi that he did things to that were just short of illegal. But of course it was her. This was the Naomi that he'd noticed the night she arrived at the hotel, with her corporate suit and librarian hairdo. Uptight Naomi.

Why did she lie to him? Why did she think it was so important not to tell him who she was? He was damn sure going to find out.

“I should have brought a tape recorder,” the pretty young woman next to him whispered.

Brice turned slightly in his seat. “Hmm. Next time.”

“I'm Pamela Phillips.” She stretched her hand over her desk toward him.

“Brice Lawrence.” He shook her hand, and when he returned his attention to the lecture, Naomi was staring right at him.

“Uh-oh,” Pamela whispered under her breath. “Looks like we might have ticked off
Professor Doctor Clarke.
”

Brice zeroed in on Naomi and rocked his jaw back and forth until Naomi turned her attention elsewhere.

“Well, that's it for today. Please review your notes and be ready to discuss author Chris Abani at our next session.” She began gathering her papers, her gaze glued to her desk. She listened to the rise and fall of voices as they filed out and the door opened and closed. If she waited long enough, they would all be gone. She didn't have another class until late afternoon. That would give her some time to think. This couldn't be…

“Naomi.”

She drew in a sharp breath and looked right into Alexis's eyes. She couldn't have been more happy to see anyone in her life. She nearly wept.

“What's wrong? You're sweating, and it's like an icebox in here.”

She grabbed Alexis's arm. “He's here, Lexi.”

Alexis looked around the empty hall. “Who?”

“Brice. Brice Lawrence. He's a student in my class.”

Alexis chuckled. “Stop playing.”

“Do you think I would kid you about something like that?” she hissed, her voice rising in hysteria.

“I don't know. You might. What the hell is he doing in your class? Didn't you say he lived in New York?”

“Yes.” She bobbed her head up and down to reconvince herself.

“Well, damn, girl, if you were lying to him, maybe he was doing the same thing to you.”

“But why?”

“How should I know? For the same crazy reason you did.”

“Oh, God. This is awful. I can't have him in my class,” she sputtered, jamming the last of her papers in her briefcase.

They started for the stairs leading to the exit.

Naomi stopped and grabbed Alexis's arm. “What if he's in the hallway waiting for me?”

“What if he is? You can't stay in here forever. Act like he must be mistaken if he says anything.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned again, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “I need some air.”

“Come on.” Alexis pushed open the doors and they stepped out into the rush of students and teachers
darting to classes. “Do you see him?” Alexis asked softly as they walked toward the building's exit.

“No.” Naomi's eyes darted up and down the hall, and she felt like a hunted rabbit. “I don't see him.”

“Girl, are you sure it was him? Maybe your imagination is on overdrive.”

She shook her head. “I…I'd swear it was him.” Her voice faltered. “But…maybe I was wrong.”

“Is his name on the grid?”

“That's just it. When I went to pick mine up this morning it wasn't ready. Computer issues.”

“Let's settle this once and for all.” Alexis took Naomi's arm and steered her back the other way, toward the administrative offices.

They walked arm in arm to Naomi's mailbox. Inside was a manila envelope. Alexis pulled it out and handed it to Naomi. “Open it and let's settle this once and for all.”

“What if his name is here?” Panic shook her voice “What then?”

“We'll deal with that when we get to it.” She waved the envelope in front of Naomi's face.

Naomi snatched it from her fingertips, turned it over and unfastened the metal clasp. She pulled the sheets of paper out and they rattled in her hand. The first page was a listing of all the faculty, along with their cell numbers and office hours. The next was her class schedule. The final sheet was the listing of her students according to section. She flipped through the pages until she reached the masters class on Monday.
Her eyes raced down the page then hiccupped to a stop when she saw his name. “Brice Lawrence.”

“Oh, no, oh, no,” she moaned, catching the attention of one of her colleagues.

“My sentiments exactly,” she said.

“Come on,” Alexis whispered. “Let's go outside, away from prying ears.”

They left the building and walked around back to one of their favorite spots beneath a giant willow tree. With every step they took, Naomi was prepared for Brice to jump out from behind a tree or a building and demand to know what kind of game she was playing, although she could very well ask him the same thing.

They sat down on the wood-and-stone bench, placing their briefcases at their feet.

Naomi draped her arms across her thighs and lowered her head. “What am I going to do?”

Alexis put a comforting hand on Naomi's back. But she didn't have a clue.

 

Brice tried to pay attention to what Pamela was saying, something about her political science class and her internship at the White House the previous summer. He caught snatches of her diatribe, enough to keep up with the ebb and flow of the conversation. He wasn't even quite sure how they'd wound up bound at the hip and facing each other across a cafeteria table, sipping Snapples and crunching potato chips. He was still in a mild state of shock.

“What's your major?” Pamela asked.

Brice blinked her back into focus. “History. Yours?”

“Poli-sci. I intend on running for office and working my way up.”

Brice's dark eyes roamed the cafeteria, looking for any sign of Naomi. But what if he did see her? What was he going to do? He drew in a breath and exhaled, releasing the tension that had held his stomach captive for the past couple of hours. When he got his class assignment, never in his wildest imagination would he have connected Dr. N. Clarke with the Naomi who writhed and moaned in his arms—who did things with her inner walls that gave him a hard-on just thinking about it. No, that's not who he thought about when he saw the name of his professor on his schedule.

“Do you live on campus?”

“I'm actually staying with a friend until I find a place.”

“I was having some friends over tonight just to decompress, catch up and relax. You're more than welcome. Great chance to meet some of the other students.”

“Sure,” he said absently.

“Great.” She went into her bag and jotted down her number and address on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Plug it into your iPhone or BlackBerry.” She propped her head on her palm and looked at
him. “Hmm, I think you're a BlackBerry man.” She smiled.

“And you would be right.” He tucked the paper into the top pocket of his polo shirt, then checked his watch. “Hey, listen, thanks for the good conversation and the invitation, but I have to run. I have a class in like five minutes, and I've got to find it first.” He pushed up from his seat.

“Oh, hey, I'm sorry. I can tend to be long-winded.” She got up as well. “What's your next class?”

“Early Beginnings. Some kind of modified anthropology class.”

Her eyes widened. “Yeah. Great class. If you get Professor Morris, he will probably have you digging up the lobby for some ancient something that he's discovered. He is a riot. But he makes the class interesting.”

Brice chuckled. “I'll let you know.”

They walked out of the cafeteria together and parted at the door.

“My class is in the next building,” Pamela said.

“I think I'm down the hall.” He looked at his schedule.

“Let me take a look?”

He handed her the schedule. “Hmm. Okay, you need to go back down the corridor and take the elevator to the third floor. It's on the other side of the science lab. And you do have Professor Morris.” She handed him back his schedule.

“I'll let him know that he came highly recommended.”

“So, uh, hope I'll see you later this evening.”

“I'll try to make it.”

She smiled. “If not, I'll see you in class.” She turned and walked toward the exit and Brice headed in the opposite direction.

 

“At some point we're going to have to talk,” Naomi was saying as they reentered the building.

“Or you could just go on as if nothing happened.”

“But something did happen.”

“Nay, did it occur to you that maybe for the time being he's being discreet? That maybe he's just as stunned as you are? He didn't make any effort to see you after class. He's probably rocked as well. It doesn't matter that he thought nothing of what happened between you two. He's probably trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Did you really want him to come up to you after class and start demanding answers?”

“I'm sure you're right. I hope so.”

They stepped into the cool confines of the building.

“Okay, I have my freshman Sociology 101,” she said with a wicked grin. Alexis was notorious for putting her freshman class through the wringer at the beginning of the semester. Separates the sprinters from the marathon runners she always said—those
who had what it took to make it and those who didn't. “Then I'm finished for the day. Want to meet up after?”

“Sounds good. I'll meet you in the teachers' lounge.”

“Perfect. And Nay…don't worry, it's going to be fine.”

Naomi pressed her lips together into a tight line and walked off toward her class.

 

Brice stood in the corridor after his class was dismissed, and perused the long list of professors and the classes that they taught. According to what was posted, Naomi only taught on Monday and Wednesday. Monday was her masters classes and Wednesday was her freshman session. She had office hours on Tuesday and Thursday.
Friday must be the day she planned on how to mess with men's heads
, he thought, feeling himself begin to fume again.

How could she? What kind of woman did that make her? Did she live some sordid double life? And to think he'd been making himself crazy for the past few weeks since they last saw each other. He'd lost his phone in Cancún, along with her number and hundreds of others. But Naomi's was the only one he was concerned with. But he knew she would call him. She'd want to find out if he arrived safely, if he missed her as much as she missed him.

But he never heard from her. She never called. And when he returned to New York he scoured the
Internet and 411 to find the Greenlight Bookstore in Florida. There wasn't one.

He figured that maybe he'd been mistaken in what he thought he heard her say. But he had nothing else to go on, and as the days turned to weeks and summer ended, and not a word from her, he'd made up his mind that it was no more than a vacation fling. The last place he expected to find Naomi was standing in front of him, teaching.

He wouldn't see her again for at least another week, unless they ran into each other in the hallway. And then what?

N
aomi somehow managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without running into Brice again, which made the whole incident seem like a figment of her imagination. But she knew better. She couldn't count the number of times she'd read and reread his name on her student roster and visualized his face when he'd spotted her at the head of the class.

“It was surreal,” she was saying to Alexis over a glass of beer and nachos, their favorite after-work snack. She dipped her nacho into the bowl of salsa, brought it to her mouth and crunched. She shook her head slowly.

“I'm the last person you should be taking advice
from at this point, but I think you should just leave it alone.”

“But what if he says something to someone?”

“It's his word against a respected, tenured professor. Look at you. You certainly don't look the type to have some fling with a strange man on a Caribbean island.”

“You don't have to make it sound so awful.”

“I'm sorry. That wasn't my intent. I'm just saying no one would believe it.”

“Thanks,” she said drolly.

Alexis shrugged. “So, other than that drama, how was the first day?”

They discussed their classes and their students, who they thought would make it until the end of the semester and which teachers they were surprised had returned for another year.

“I heard the trustees will be reviewing the list for the dean's seat,” Alexis said.

Naomi nodded vigorously. “Yes, and I've put my name back in the hat.” The coveted seat had opened two years earlier and Naomi was sure she would get it. It would have been the salve to heal her wounds after her breakup with Trevor. The demands would have dulled the ache. Instead they went with an outsider. That lasted up until the end of the Spring semester. He'd gone on to greener pastures. Naomi poured herself into her work and waited.

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Which is all the more reason why I can't risk some craziness
from—” she looked around “—him. I want that position. I've waited, I've worked and I've put in my time,” she said, punctuating each word with a stab of her finger on the table.

“Honey, if it were up to me, you'd be a shoo-in. From what I understand, your only major contender is Frank.”

“Hmm. I can handle Frank. I just remain polite and stay out of his way.” She reached for another nacho.

“And I would suggest that's the best way to handle your Caribbean tryst, too.”

 

Every time Naomi set foot on the campus, her senses were on high alert. By some miracle or divine intervention, she didn't see Brice for the rest of the week. Maybe he'd dropped out. Maybe it was some weird
Twilight Zone
thing and nothing the previous week had ever really happened.

She tossed around a dozen scenarios throughout the rest of the week, the weekend and right up until she set foot back in her classroom on Monday morning—and looked up and saw him coming down those steps, chatting and smiling with that girl…
woman
. A burn settled in the center of her stomach and crawled up her throat. “If some people would stop socializing and take their seats, we could get started.” She slammed her notebook down on the desk, surprising everyone.

There were a few murmurs and many curious
looks that passed between the students before every one was settled in their seats.

She folded her arms tightly in front of her and surveyed the class. She snatched up her roster from her desk.

“I may not always remember a name, but I don't forget faces.” She zeroed in on Brice, then turned quickly away. “When I call your name, please raise your hand. And please be forewarned that wherever you are sitting now will be your seat for the duration of the semester. So if you have any plans of changing, now is the time.” She looked around, waited a moment, and no one moved. “Good.” She rattled the paper in front of her. “Allen, Nicole. Arthur, Timothy…”

She continued down the list, wondering which one was the pretty lady with the dreadlocks sitting next to Brice. His name was next. Her heart pounded. She could barely get the words out of her mouth. When she thought
Brice
she remembered calling out his name, screaming it in pleasure while he'd licked between her legs, whipping her into near hysteria, or dipping in and out of her with such slow, deliberate precision that she saw heaven.

The sound of shuffling papers and throat clearing snapped her out of her daydream. She blinked. Her face was on fire. She felt as if everyone could read her salacious thoughts. How long had she been back in Antigua with her legs wrapped around Brice's waist, she worried.

She drew in a breath. “Brice Lawrence.” She pretended that she didn't know where to look until he raised his hand. She checked him off on the list and continued, eager to discover the name of his companion. “Pamela Phillips.” She smiled brightly when her name was called, as if somehow they could be friends.

Naomi finished calling off the names and then began with the lesson and reading for the session. Her animated and very engaged students made the time go by far too quickly. Before she knew it they were walking out the door, and she knew she may not see Brice again for another week—and he didn't seem to give a damn.

Naomi sat down behind the desk and gathered her notes, placing them one by one in her briefcase. The lecture hall echoed the emptiness of the space and the center of her soul. She'd never been so confused or so miserable.

 

For the next three weeks, Naomi decided to play Brice's game. If he didn't know her, she didn't know him either, which was fine with her. But unfortunately for him, she had the upper hand. She knew she shouldn't care one way or the other who he talked to or socialized with. If he was otherwise occupied, then all the better for her. But just seeing him with Pamela unnerved her, threw her totally out of character. And she took it out on him.

“Mr. Lawrence, please read to the class the first
paragraph of your annotation for
Philadelphia Fire
.”

The instant he began she cut him off, telling him to speak up, interrupting with questions. She thrilled at seeing that dark look flare up in his eyes—and then she relented. Other times, she would ignore him completely. He would raise his hand to answer a question and she would act as if she didn't see it; or, when he seemed unprepared she would call on him.

The cat and mouse game that they played was a tango, the dance of seduction. And each meeting, each coming together, each challenge that appear in their eyes, only inflamed their need and made them that much more desperate to have the fire extinguished. It was bound to combust.

 

About a month into the first semester, Naomi had all but fled from her class. Every time she'd looked across the room he was staring at her, almost daring her to look away. Every move he made she read as sexual, from picking up his pen and twirling it between his fingers to running his tongue across his lips, or smiling at a remark made by one of his classmates, or the way he sat in his seat with his legs wide, reminding her of what she once had.

She hurried down the hallway to her office. She needed to be alone, to have a moment to think. One thing was for certain—this game that they were playing couldn't continue. She could barely sleep at
night. In the classroom, she had to force her mind to concentrate on the lesson and not on how hard her nipples were growing when their gazes connected, or how wet her panties got when he lifted his leg and draped his ankle across his thigh.

But what choice did she have? She had a class to teach, and the only one who seemed bothered by this entire rabbit hole that she'd fallen into was her. Brice seemed to care less.

The sharp knock on her door startled her, making her hit her knee on her desk when she jumped. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and let the pain wash through her.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Come in.” She turned sideways in her chair to rub her knee.

While the door was opening she was already giving her spiel. “My office hours are clearly marked. So this better be impor—”

Brice stepped in and closed the door behind him. Naomi gulped.

“Mr. Lawrence, my office hours are—”

“Save it, Naomi. I can read.”

“What do you want?”

“You know perfectly well what I want.” He turned the lock on the door and crossed the room, walked right around her desk and pulled her up from her seat. “I want the same thing you do,” he rasped, his voice as hot as she felt.

She made a feeble attempt to pull away. He held her tighter. Pulled her closer.

“Tell me you don't want me to ride you the way you've been riding me for the past few weeks, and I'll walk out that door and never say another word.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was only a sigh of desire that escaped and beckoned him to her mouth. He pulled her hard up against him, groaning at the feel of her again. His mouth captured hers and she was even sweeter than he remembered, sweeter than in his dreams. Their kiss was deep and so intense that it left them both weak with longing for each other.

There wasn't time to think, because if they did, Brice would have never pushed her skirt high above her hips; she would have never unzipped his jeans and cupped his bulging sex in her hands; he would have never unbuttoned her blouse, pushed her bra aside and feasted on her breasts; she wouldn't have stepped out of her panties, when he begged her to let him in, or wrapped her legs around him and let him push up in her against the wall, where her degrees hung.

No, none of that raw, hot, ravishing sex would have happened had they been thinking. But they weren't thinking, they were only wanting—each other.

And, lawd! It was so good that Naomi had to bite into Brice's shoulder to keep from screaming, and he had to bury his face against the wall and in the tumble of her hair that had come loose from its clip to keep from hollering.

So good that they forgot all about the weeks of
tension; so good that they forgot they weren't on a Caribbean island; so good that she forgot she was a professor and he was a student; so good that he didn't care why she'd lied to him; so good that the only thing that mattered was that they'd found each other again.

And that's what they thought, as Brice gripped her hips tight enough to leave the imprint of his fingertips, and pushed up so hard inside her that she came with such force that her limbs stiffened, her throat clenched and it took all of Brice's strength to hold on, with her bucking so wildly against his thrusts that it set off his own climax, that burst in a stream of long-overdue release.

They held on to each other in the suddenly awkward position, trying to breathe, to clear their heads and make sense of what they had just done.

Slowly, Brice pulled out and lowered Naomi's legs until her feet touched the floor. They both slid down until they were cuddled in a heap beside her desk.

He looked at her, her eyes brilliant, her lips thoroughly kissed, her exposed breasts rising and falling, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Brice…”

“We'll make time to talk. We have to.” He helped her to her feet. He fastened his pants and fixed his clothes while Naomi retrieved her panties and got herself together.

She suddenly felt like one of those teachers that
she'd read about, who have sex with their students. But this was different. Or was it? Oh, she couldn't think about it now! Not with the way she was still sizzling inside.

He lifted her chin. “You okay?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Now I am.” He leaned down and kissed her. He grabbed a notepad from her desk and jotted down his number and the address where he was staying. He handed the paper to her. “When you're ready.” He walked toward the door and unlocked it. He turned back to look at her. “I hope it's soon.” He opened the door and walked out.

When the door closed, she realized she was shaking all over. She needed to get out of that room, distance herself from what just happened, so that she could think.

She smoothed her hair and checked her clothing. Confident that she didn't look as if she'd just had the greatest sex in her life up against her office wall, she collected her things and stepped out into the hallway.

The traffic in the hallway was thin, since most of the students were in class. She checked her watch. She had a few minutes. She darted off toward the ladies' room to freshen up, and came up short when she saw Brice at the end of the hallway with Pamela smiling into his face. He slightly angled his head in Naomi's direction, then turned back to his
conversation with Pamela before they walked off together and disappeared around the next corner.

Tears of humiliation were hotter than fire and they burned Naomi's eyes, her cheeks and her heart.