To Professor, With Love (9 page)

He pulled it away from me and shook his head. “Hold on. I still need to check your age.” When his gaze flickered to my birth date, his jaw dropped open. “Holy shit, you’re only twenty-three?” His face zipped up. “How the hell do you have a PhD at
twenty-three
?”

I sighed and flicked some hair out of my eyes impatiently. “Let’s see. I graduated high school at fifteen, earned my bachelor’s degree at eighteen, my masters at twenty, and I received my doctorate at the top of my class
last year
. Add that up, and that makes me...what do you know, twenty-three.”

Shaking his head slowly back and forth, he gawked. “Well, shit. Graduated high school at
fifteen
? Fuck, I should’ve known you were one of those freaky girl geniuses.” Then he hissed a derisive snort.

“I’m also thirsty.” I leaned forward and yanked my driver’s license from his hand. “How about that drink now?”

“Sure,
Professor
.” His voice was contemptuous as he turned away and sauntered off. I glared after him, upset to realize everything I thought we’d shared yesterday must’ve been nothing but a figment of my imagination. And yet I wasn’t quite upset enough not to ogle his tight ass in those blue jeans.

Seriously. Wow.

Forcing myself to look away, I opened my purse and pretended to dig around, though I’d already had my money ready to pay before I’d even seen who was behind the counter.

“Here.” His voice was none too polite as he clunked an open bottle on the counter before me.

“Thank you.” I gave a regal nod and took a tentative sip.

He stayed in front of me after I paid, watching me drink. His stance brooded as if he couldn’t wait for me to leave, but his eyes...oh God, his eyes.

Growing warm under his direct stare, I motioned around us, hoping to say something that would at least get him to look away, because his captivated attention on me was making the insides of my thighs tingle. A slow burn spread from the pit of my stomach and out to the tips of my toes. “I didn’t realize you worked here.”

“Huh.” His lips twisted with scorn even as his eyes continued to devour me. “You mean, there was one thing I forgot to mention in my paper?”

I smiled despite his glare. “Apparently. Though actually, you did say you worked at a bar to support your siblings. You just didn’t name which one.”

“Right.” He nodded slowly, and his gaze followed my every move as I took another sip. While he tracked the bottle in my hand to my mouth, my stomach tangled into knots. I gulped nervously, and I swear his stare tried to follow the liquid down my throat. What was even more discerning, his attention returned to my lips when I lowered the bottle. If his eyes had been a tongue, he would’ve just licked me from my mouth and down my chin, over my throat to just between my breasts...and back up again.

“I can’t freaking believe you’re only two years older than me.”

The comment surprised me so much I spilled a little beer down my chin on my next sip. Moving quickly to wipe it away with the back of my hand, though he’d seen the entire thing, I cleared my throat. “Why? How old do I look?”

His lips tipped up in amusement. “Nineteen. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what
is
the point?” I glanced away, beyond antsy to be stuck under his direct perusal.

Leaning in close, he lowered his voice. “You act more like you’re fifty in class.”

I turned to study him. Periwinkle eyes gleaming with an emotion I couldn’t name, he just stared back, the challenge in his gaze commanding me to return fire and come up with some kind of retort.

“Wow,” I said, internally cringing because I could detect a catch in my voice when I’d tried so hard to make my tone sound as dry and unimpressed as his had. “You must charm all the ladies with that kind of flattery.”

He just chuckled. “Bet I get laid more than you do.” And now even his words dared me to duel with him.

With a roll of my eyes, I snorted and pulled my shoulders back, putting more space between us. “I wouldn’t say that’s anything to brag about.”

I couldn’t believe I’d answered him that way. I should’ve gotten affronted and called him out for being out-of-line with such an unprofessional comment to his teacher. In fact, I should still call him on it now. Yes. Yes, I think I would.

But as soon as I opened my mouth, another customer called him away. He continued to hold my gaze as he held up a hand to the other person. Then he smiled slightly at me. After he skimmed a quick gaze down my body, he turned and left to help someone else, leaving me bereft and heated in all the wrong places.

CHAPTER TEN

“You know," Clary said, "most psychologists agree that hostility is really just sublimated sexual attraction.” - Cassandra Clare,
City of Bones

~NOEL~

I knew I was playing with fire. But I just didn’t care. Every time I had a free moment, I found myself wandering back to
Aspen’s
end of the bar.

Aspen. I loved her first name. It wasn’t at all what a staid, stuffy professor’s first name should be. It was unusual and unique, just like the effect she had on me. Why she did things to me no one else had ever done, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to question it. I liked it.

Telling myself it was only to keep an eye on her because she ordered a new beer every time I returned, I almost convinced myself that sticking nearby was noble or some such shit. But being close to her just felt right, like that was where I belonged. Or maybe she’d put some kind of homing spell on me. I couldn’t move too far away before I was reeled back in.

Worse yet, she kept talking to me every time I engaged her in conversation. I had to keep going back. Had to.

“I can’t decide if you two are going to start strangling each other or making out right there on the bar,” Pick murmured to me the third time I was dragged away from her because of an irritatingly interfering customer.

I glanced up from the glass I was holding under a flowing beer tap. “What do you mean?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I just hoped it wasn’t quite as obvious to an outsider.

Pick lifted his eyebrows as if he couldn’t believe I had to ask. “You keep glaring at each other and saying things that look like you’re exchanging insults. But they’re the hottest damn insults I’ve ever seen two people dish out. Like every little ‘fuck you’ is just code for ‘fuck me’ instead.”

Shit, he
was
seeing exactly what I was feeling.

I glanced at her because I couldn’t help myself. She had turned slightly so she could glance out into the crowd and people watch. But even seeing her do that caused a shock of arousal to ripple through me.

“Yeah,” I murmured absently since Pick didn’t attend college and couldn’t know she was one of my teachers. “Maybe.”

Admitting it aloud didn’t simmer any of my lust, though. After verbalizing it, my brain seemed to accept what my body already knew, and I just wanted her more.

I slid the overflowing drink to the guy waiting with a lifted bill in my direction. “Keep the change,” he called.

“Thanks.” I didn’t even pay attention to which bill he’d handed me. I just opened the cash register and shoved it inside. My mind and body could only focus on one thing right now.

Returning to her without her noticing, I leaned against the bar and called over the music and commotion. “So, what’re you doing here on the college scene, since you’re obviously too advanced to be one us mere mortal students going through classes at the regular pace?”

She jumped slightly and turned back to me, thrilling me with her amazing green gaze. The private smile she flashed teased me on every level possible as she refused to answer my question.

I nodded, knowingly. “Ah. A date, huh?”

She blushed, stirring me up into a hot and heavy arousal. Jesus, her blush was addictive. And damn it, why the hell was I
stirred
over my frumpy English professor? This was all wrong. She shouldn’t be allowed to wear a dress like that, or put her hair up like that, or paint her face that way. Or lick her damn succulent lips, like ever, but especially not after every drink she took.

I wanted to drag her into the back and fuck her senseless on the rickety old couch in the break room. From behind. I could already imagine how it would feel to bury my face in that naked nook on the back of her neck as I tugged up her skirt and slipped down her panties.

And now I was wondering what kind of panties my frumpy English professor was wearing.

Was
she wearing panties?

Dear God.

“I didn’t say I was here on a date.” Her shoulders straightened in that haughty way they were so used to doing in class. But without the too-big shoulder pads of her outdated blazer hiding them, they looked too pretty when they hitched up in outraged indignation. Too sensual. Too fucking hot. I wanted to put my hands on her. Bad.

But I smirked to hide my raging horniness. “Ah. So it’s girls’ night out…” Glancing around her to make sure she was alone, I added, “
Without
the girls?”

She locked her jaw and then took a quick drink. Damn, the way her mouth puckered over the head of that bottleneck was driving me insane.

Enjoying how easy it was to make her uncomfortable because she was making certain parts of my anatomy so very uncomfortable in return, I leaned forward to rest my forearms on the bar. “Or were you just looking to pick up a little strange for the evening?”

“Oh, my God,” she gasped and sent me a scowl to beat all scowls. “It’s a date, okay? I’m here to meet
a date
.”

I smirked in victory and gave a careless shrug as if it made no difference to me why she was here, even though the thought of anyone else kissing that exposed skin on her shoulder made me want to commit a felony of murderous proportions. “When were you supposed to meet him?”

She darted an uneasy glance around as she twirled a dark piece of hair around her finger. “I showed up a little early. That’s all.”

I nodded. So, the idiot was running late. Stupid-ass douche. I bet if he knew what she looked like right now, he would’ve been here hours ago.

“Hey, can we get a drink over here?”

When a pair of college guys waved to get my attention, I nodded toward them and straightened, sliding my gaze back to Aspen. I hated the fact I had to leave her, even for a few seconds. “Sure thing. Hang on a sec.”

***

“I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald,
The Great Gatsby

***

~Aspen~

He kept coming back to me. I knew I shouldn’t, but I relished every little visit. I let myself dream that he wanted to be near me because he found me so irresistible and exciting. And with every beer I drank, that dream infiltrated itself into my system until I was downright giddy with it. He wanted me.

Even though he was serving a girl that looked as if she had to have a fake ID, and fake boobs too, his gaze roved to my end of the bar. He accepted his fee, barely glancing at her, even though she was making it obvious she was interested in him. Then he made his way back...to me. Watching him saunter closer was such a rush.

This was why I lingered here. I craved every time he was pulled away from me, just so I could watch him come back.

“Need another one yet?”

I shook my head. “No.” But as soon as the words left my mouth, I blurted, “yes.”

Noel grinned and another bottle of Bud Light Lime appeared in his hand. As he tugged the cap off and set it in front of me, I tilted my head just enough to make my hair spill over my shoulder.

“How did you guess I was here for a date?”

He rested his elbows on the bar to lean in toward me. “Maybe because I don’t need a PhD to read minds like you do, Professor.”

Something molten, hot, and way too yummy swirled through me as I recalled the conversation we’d had on campus over a week ago. I loved it when someone remembered something I’d said to them and referred to it weeks later. It meant he’d paid attention and soaked in just enough to carry a part of me away with him.

Resisting the urge to shiver and sway toward him, I grinned. “That or you have amazing deductive reasoning.”

He chuckled. “Or that.” Straightening away from the bar to toss his white hand towel over his shoulder, he picked up my empty bottle and pitched it toward the trash. The sound of breaking glass followed, making me shudder.

“You’re wearing more makeup than you ever do in class,” he finally said. “Your hair is all pretty and tempting. Your dress is flirty and seductive. You smell good enough to devour.” Once again, he leaned forward onto the bar so he could see down on the other side and get a peek of me feet. After he glanced at them, he looked up again, and our eyes were only inches apart. “And you’re wearing the most tantalizing pair of fuck-me shoes I think I’ve ever seen. Add that up, and it spells date.”

I drew back aghast, but more aghast by the way my nipples tightened at his words. “
Fuck me
shoes?” I’d heard that term once or twice before. But no one had ever accused me of wearing a pair before. It made me feel alive. Warm. Dangerous.

Wanton.

Giving the source of those rampant feelings all my attention as he slid back to his side of the bar, I said, “And here, all I was going for was
kiss me silly and mess up my hair a little
.”

Noel shook his head. “Trust me. From a guy’s point of view, they shout a very definite
fuck me
. Hard. Maybe even in the backseat because waiting until you went inside to find a bed would take just too…long.”

The image he painted should’ve freaked me out. In the backseat with a date was where my darkest nightmares had originated. But hearing Noel describe it, with his hot voice and his engaging blue eyes pinned on me, I only grew more aroused.

Wow. But seriously, wow. That’s definitely what my shoes meant now. For him.

What? No. That’s not what they meant for Noel Gamble. Not at all. But, still. Wow, it kind of was.

God, he had me so confused right now.

How much had I drunk?

Managing to act a lot less scatterbrained than I was feeling, I lifted my chin and murmured, “Hmm. Thanks for the heads-up. I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t show then. I’m not sure I wanted to go quite that far on a first date.” Then I couldn’t help it, I added, “with him,” and the way I looked at him made it clear I might not have been so discerning on a first date with a certain someone else.

“Damn.” His lips parted and cheeks began to look a little flushed. His heavy-lidded gaze traced me and made me ache because he looked almost...tempted.

God, I was in so deep right now. Unfortunately, I loved the sensation of drowning in his presence. I never wanted this moment to end.

***

"Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is." - C. S. Lewis

***

~NOEL~

My control was slipping. I swear I tried to remain a gentleman, but inappropriate things kept slipping out of my mouth, and then she’d come back with something just as—

Damn. I was almost relieved when I was called away from her because anything I would’ve said to Dr. Aspen Kavanagh next would’ve been an unmistakable, totally inappropriate proposition. Hell, I probably would’ve gotten down on my knees and begged for a piece of her.

Fortunately, The time away cooled me enough to keep my sanity. But I still returned to her as soon as I could.

It was winding down to one thirty and the closer it drew to closing, the more restless I grew. Once the bar shut down, she’d have to go, and our night would be over. I dreaded that.

“I thought you guys didn’t win the national championships this year,” she said an instant before her light fingers grazed my forearm.

A shudder racked me as I felt her caress explode out every pore of my being. She’d barely touched me; I should’ve barely felt it. But I did. I felt it more than the time I’d been sacked during playoffs and had ended up in the hospital with a concussion. Her fingers set off a live, electric current through every nerve ending inside me until I was so hard my dick throbbed in synch with my heartbeat.

We’d never had skin-to-skin contact before, I realized. And I had to say, the first impression of my bare flesh against hers was, shit…intense.

This woman, right here, was dangerous.

Her gaze lifted as she waited for my response, reminding me what had caught her focus in the first place: the stupid-ass tattoo on my forearm.

“That’s the result of pre-celebration…drunk style,” I told her, nodding toward the mark.

Her hand and all those pretty fingernails painted a sexy pink lingered on my skin, right over the tattoo. Shaking her head, she kept petting it. “I don’t understand.”

I sighed deeply…for two reasons. One: Well, fuck, she was petting me. It felt too good to concentrate on anything else. But two: I hated to confess my stupidity, and that damn tattoo was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done.

“The night before the championship game,” I said, unable to take my gaze off her fingers that seemed attached to my arm. “A bunch of us got rip-roaring drunk, and we all got these to celebrate our win.”

She stared at me a second before finishing, “And…the next day, you lost instead.” When I rolled my eyes and nodded, she threw her head back and laughed.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she was laughing at me, I would’ve been totally captivated by that honest, open sound of amusement. Oh, screw it. I watched, wanting my mouth on that exposed throat.

It took me a second before I could cluck my tongue and shake my head. “Go ahead.” I waved her on as if disgusted even though I began to chuckle lightly with her. “Laugh it up. But next year, when we do win the title for real, I plan to change the last digit on the year and this baby will be a reminder of our accomplishments…not our failures.”

She leaned in, her green eyes lit up like sparkling emeralds. “And if you lose again?”

I wanted to kiss her so bad. Her lips were perfect, practically begging me to dominate them. But I drew in a breath and reined myself in. I decided to answer cutesy instead of serious. So with a grin, I flexed my bicep she was still holding onto. “What? With this golden throwing arm? That’s just not possible.”

She didn’t laugh as I’d planned for her to. No, the delicious, tempting woman sucked in a breath and her touch became bold as she slid her hand up the tight muscle. “Oh, God,” she breathed out the word. “I bet women love to clutch these guns when you push inside them.”

Holy…

My mind blanked out.

Or more accurately, it didn’t blank out at all. It merely lost all reasonable thought as images of every way she could clutch my biceps as I pushed inside her crammed every available space in my synapses. Hell, in some of the images, she didn’t even have to touch my arms. She just had to scream as I made her come.