Teacher's Pets [Unlikely Bedfellows 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

“So,” Dr. Morris purred, “take out paper and pen and answer the following questions.”

“Another pop quiz?”

The guy nodded. “Every fucking day,” he muttered. “I don’t need this shit. I’m going to the registrar’s office as soon as I get out of here and transferring.” With reluctance he took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Can I borrow some paper?”

“Sure,” Beau answered. “One sheet or two?” He opened the college-ruled spiral notebook and waited.

“One will be enough. I didn’t read the book. Who in hell gives a pop test on Friday?”

Ms. Sexy Hip-huggers, evidently. Years of being out of school, years of serving in the Corps and thinking about what he would do if he had the chance to finish his degree, had given Beau focus, something most of the younger guys he met in class lacked. Beau knew what he didn’t want to do in life. For that reason, he prepared meticulously for every class. His maturity was a big advantage over his classmates. He didn’t feel too mature right now, though. Watching Dr. Morris made him feel like a high school kid, high on hormones.

Her back to the room, her body lost none of its allure. As she wrote on the board, he thought about his hands on her hips, his cock brushing her round, smooth ass, and his lips nuzzling her neck. His cock ached, and he squirmed in his seat to find a comfortable position. He tried to concentrate on the questions she scrawled on the blackboard.

How did the Westward Movement affect the demographics in the large cities of both the East and West?

How did the demographics change between the North and South at the end of the War Between the States?

How does this college affect the demographics of Herrisville?

“I’m giving you an easy question in number three,” she said. Then she turned and smiled, and every man in the room sucked in his breath, or so Beau imagined. “Don’t get used to my being generous. You should know by now that I’m a hard-ass and serious about sociology. You’d better be, too, if you stay in this class and want to succeed.”

Well, hell.
Beau mentally tallied his credits and the electives he’d considered before choosing this class. He could switch easily to another course, but something about Dr. Morris intrigued him. Something besides her body. It might take more work than he had planned for a senior-year elective, but he’d stick it out. And even if it killed him to see her every week for the next two and a half months dressed in clothing Frederick’s of Hollywood would be proud to offer, he’d get an A.

* * * *

The radio switched from Simon and Garfunkel’s old hit, “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” to Glen Campbell’s, newest, “Rhinestone Cowboy,” but Dr. Leah Morris hardly noticed. Sitting back in her office chair, puzzled, she picked up the sheet of paper filled with even, legible script and examined it once more, just to confirm what she already knew. This man—she checked the name at the top—this Beau Johnson, had scored an A. And not just an A but a perfect one hundred percent. And this was the third time this week he’d done it.

No need to consult the seating chart. She knew exactly who he was—the intriguing man whose gaze had held hers a split second too long earlier in the day. His gaze had heated her, and she’d had the satisfying impression that hers had done the same to him. She placed his paper on top of the others and tapped the edges on the table until the stack was aligned before tucking them inside her notebook. Picking up her wineglass, she drained it.

She poured chardonnay from a local vineyard, filling the glass again before pulling from her briefcase the two letters that had her mind churning. Both had arrived the week before classes started. One was from the chancellor’s office. It stated that though she had taught at Herrisville College for three years, she had not distinguished herself enough to be considered for early tenure. She would be considered again in five years.

Five years!
She would show him how she could distinguish herself from every other female teacher in the school. Colleges all over were fast-tracking women to prove nondiscrimination in the face of women’s lib. Leah had chosen Herrisville College—a medium-sized school in the Virginia Blue Ridge—because she thought achieving tenure would be easier there than in a larger school. “So much for that idea,” she muttered.

The second letter was from Whitestone Publishing Company telling her that her book proposal was not intriguing enough to pick up. Her proposal had been to document two college men in different frat houses to show how their behavior was different based on their living arrangements. The editor said her idea was “clichéd.” He explained that if she decided on something more provocative, they would entertain another proposal. In that one day she had been described as unaccomplished and boring. She took a healthy gulp of wine.
Damn it!
She had counted on that book to push her over the edge into tenure if she needed it.

More provocative is what they want?
“Well, I have provocative down to a T.” She took another gulp of wine, letting the bite stimulate her senses before swallowing. She’d written articles for scholarly magazines but never a book. The time had come. Publish or perish might pertain to magazine articles, but books were the way to make a name outside the academic world as well as in, and she had the idea of the century. If this didn’t get her tenure, nothing would.

First she wrote
provocative
. The word could mean interesting, but she wanted to take it a step further, to sensual or even sexy. She could handle either one.

Next, she listed
intriguing
. If two frat boys didn’t interest the publisher, perhaps two rivals would. And nothing made rivals of men like a woman. A woman who brought out their primal instincts.
She
would be the woman. For men, she needed two who wouldn’t mind the idea of sharing—at first. She had faith that any two men, forced to face the fact that they both screwed the same woman, would eventually turn on each other. The territorial male would be her premise. “
That
should be intriguing enough for Whitestone-fucking-Publishers.”

The trouble was finding two men who were emotionally disengaged enough to agree to participate. She wanted a “family unit” of sorts to study but not clinging males who insisted she continue the experiment long after the thrill was gone. Which, based on the attitudes of most men when faced with a strong, independent woman, wouldn’t take too long.

She wouldn’t hint that the men would be part of a book because that would affect their behavior. They would try to fit into what she wanted instead of acting naturally. Her thesis was that men couldn’t remain friends if a woman stood between them. When she proved it and put it in writing, the book would be a best-seller and the college would be sure to pick her up for fast-track tenure.

The phone rang and she went into the kitchen to pick up, her mind on organizing the book.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Leah.”

Oh, no.
Her self-confidence shriveled to the size of an acorn. “Mother. How nice to talk with you.”

“I called to say you need to find another route to tenure. Don’t give up!”

How did she find out?
“Of course I’m not surprised you know already. Have you told Daddy?”

“
He
told
me
. He knew the tenure lists would be coming out and he called your dean. They met at a conference last year, so your father keeps tabs on your progress.”

Of
course
he does. How lovely.
“I didn’t know.”

“You can imagine how disappointed he is. How disappointed we both are.”

“I understand.” Her stomach clenched. She clutched the receiver with a death grip as she bent over to try to quell the cramps.

“So do you have a plan? Would you like me to make one for you?”

“No, Mother. I have a plan, a great plan.”

“And what is it?”

“A book.”

Silence met her announcement. “A
book.
Everyone writes books. One of your brothers has written three, the other, two. Between us, your father and I have written twelve. How is writing a book going to distinguish you?”

So writing a book is helpful for everyone else’s career. Just not for mine.
“No one has written a book like the one I have planned, I promise.”

Her mother sniffed. “Well, that had better be true, or you’ll languish there. Why don’t you move back here to Chicago? Then we could help you better. Introduce you to the right people, influence how you move up the ladder. With our cachet here, we could do wonders with you.”

Anger bubbled to the surface. “You mean you could do wonders
with
me or
for
me?”

“Don’t get touchy, Leah. You know what I meant.”

Yes, she did. She would stand naked at the top of the Empire State Building before she moved any nearer to her parents. “I’m fine, Mother. I can do this on my own.”

“You never have thrived on your own. Remember when you could only manage one year away at that school in Ohio?”

“That was a very long time ago. I don’t need your help, thank you.” She hoped this was the end of the conversation. “Does Daddy want to talk to me?”

“No. I don’t believe he has anything to say at this time. I’ll say good night.”

“Good night, Mother.” She held the receiver to her ear much longer than necessary. The click from the other end told her that what her mother intended to say had been said. The rest was up to her. That meant the book.

The book, the book.
It became a mantra. This had to work. She had to do one stupid, fucking thing that her family would approve of before she died. Fast-track tenure was it. At last they would have to admit she was equal to the rest of them, that she could succeed faster and farther than her female counterparts. That she had intelligence and ability.

She did, didn’t she?
Yes. This new idea will do it. Don’t start thinking like them or you’ll be doomed.

Away from her family, she exuded confidence. Only with them—the people she should be able to count on for support—did she become a child again, unable to function as an adult who had long taken care of herself. Ignoring her stomach’s stress cramps, she went back to the table.

She had started her search immediately after receiving Whitestone’s rejection, as the new idea formed in her brain. Her outlandish costumes had been intended to test her colleagues between classes, not her students. She wore the leather shorts and satin bustier and then the miniskirt to start a buzz in the Shirock Hall faculty lounge. And she had. But instead of one of the teachers, she found herself attracted to a student.

A professor-student relationship was strictly forbidden at Herrisville, and with good reason. No matter that Beau Johnson sent shivers down her spine, she would never—not ever—engage in a liaison with a student.

But she needed someone
like
him, a man who could stare at her bared stomach during class and still perform well on a test at the end. Obviously, Beau was able to separate his right brain from his left. Such a man would manage to have impassioned sex with her but still let go at the end of her experiment.

Leah sipped from her glass and wrote
BEAU
on the page next to
intriguing
—just for pretend. “He’s not hard to look at, either.” In fact, he stood a good six foot two, had smoky-gray eyes and dimples. Yes, she could fuck him and not mind in the least.

Next to his name she wrote:

1. Confidentiality agreement

2. Must get permission—sign contract

- Standards—always condoms

- Must be up-front and honest as we go forward (fodder for the book)

- EXCLUSIVITY

3. Doesn’t need to agree with my opinions but should disagree with Man 2, for conflict

Leah stared at the paper then picked up her pen and scratched a big
X
through it all. She would
not
have sex with a student. Not if he was the last man on Earth.

Leah marched across campus and into Shirock Hall covered in her new Ralph Lauren raincoat. Today she dressed as she normally did for class—a silk blouse, straight skirt, and jacket. Her earrings were classic gold buttons. Her only other jewelry was a watch with the twelve, three, six, and nine discreetly noted with diamonds. It paid to have a grandfather in the jewelry trade.

As soon as she entered the room, she sought him out. He calmly lounged in his chair, notebook on the desk, pen in hand, and legs crossed, one ankle on the other knee. A half smile formed on his lips, as though he knew exactly what she thought. Was he waiting to see what she wore under the raincoat?

She cast her gaze across the room. Many fewer students filled the auditorium. Tests during the first week always culled a class. Well, good. This was a
real
class. Wimps need not apply.

She placed her briefcase on the floor. A couple of stragglers wandered in and hurriedly took their seats. Slowly, as though she wanted everyone to prepare for the feast that she would present, she untied the belt then unfastened the buttons. She shrugged and let the coat slide off her shoulders, catching it before it hit the floor altogether.