Page 10 of Snowed in with the Professor

I clenched my hands tightly on the steering wheel and forced myself not to glance at her, to make sure she was okay. She was in my car, with me, away from the motherfuckers at that club.

I should have been relieved, but all I felt was greater strain.

She hadn’t asked any questions. She should have. She should have been demanding I explain her what the hell I was doing, why the hell I was there.

I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was toying with the edge of her shirt, peering out the passenger-side window. A part of me wanted to pull over and demand she tell me everything was okay, that this was okay.

Even if I couldn’t stay away from her.

I didn’t pull over.

I kept driving.

She finally spoke, her voice quiet. “How do you know where I live to take me home?”

I pulled to a stop at a red light and glanced across at her. She was looking at me, a glossiness to her eyes, her expression letting me know the alcohol was still going through her strong. I didn’t know how much she’d had to drink, but I didn’t like seeing her this way.

I didn’t confess that I did know where she lived, that I’d seen her record, that I knew everything about her. Instead, I glanced straight ahead and slammed on the gas as the light turned green. “I’m not taking you to your house. You’re coming home with me,” I finally said after a prolonged moment.

I could see her looking at me, assuming her eyes were huge. But she said nothing, didn’t argue, didn’t request I take her home. I stopped at another light and peered at her.

“You have nothing to say? No queries on why I am going you to my house, why I was at the club? How I was there at just the right time?”

She still didn’t speak, and I realized by her look that she was thinking about how to answer. I wanted her to be honest with me, but I wouldn’t force her. She’d talk to me eventually. She’d realize how she was intended to be mine, how this very moment was the start of us.

The rest of the travel to my apartment was done in solitude. I pulled into my driveway and cut the engine, simply sat there, grasping the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.

“You asked me why I wasn’t curious about why you were taking me to your house instead of mine.” Her speech was faint, and I could hear a small slur in it.

I stared at her then. “You drank tonight.” It wasn’t a question. Her intoxication was clear.

“A mistake I’ll probably pay for tomorrow morning.”

More stillness ensued.

She took a long breath in and exhaled gently.

“I didn’t stop you, stop this, because I didn’t want to.

” She glanced at me then. “I don’t want to go home, don’t want to be alone.

” She licked her lips and looked down, the fall of her hair covering her from my vision temporarily. “Because this is where I want to be.”

My heart thundered swiftly. I kept my demeanor serious even though she wasn’t looking at me, but inside I was delighted, incredibly fucking pleased.

And as much as I wanted to finally take her, claim her as mine, the fact she’d been drinking put the brakes on all of that. I just wanted to take care of her.

Our first time wasn’t going to be tainted with drink, blurred by excess. The first time I took Grace as mine, she was going to be fully with it, absolutely absorbed.

Because I didn’t want just this one moment.

I wanted eternity.

* * *

I HELPED her inside my flat, shutting the door behind us but keeping my arm wrapped around her waist. She was tipsy and tired, and all I wanted to do was put her in my bed and wrap my body over hers, holding her close, making her know that I wouldn’t ever allow anything to damage her.

I walk her down the hall and into my room. She perched on the edge of the bed, supporting her hands on the mattress on either side of her. I crouched on my haunches and pulled off her shoes, letting my palm trace the arch of her foot.

She was very petite compared to me, almost delicate.

I glanced up at her to see her observing me, her eyes heavy-lidded, her demeanor lethargic. I didn’t stop myself from reaching up and stroking a lock of her hair away from her shoulder, letting my fingers slide lightly along the soft flesh of her neck.

She closed her eyes and breathed, and I pushed myself to move my hand away and stand.

“I’m sorry you have to see me this way,” she mumbled, slurred.

I pulled the covers down and helped her lie in the bed, covering her up and standing there for a bit observing her. Her dark hair was stretched out along the white pillowcase, a startling contrast that had me yearning to reach out and touch her.

Instead, I moved toward the door, stopping and glancing back at her. I observed the rise and fall of her chest beneath the duvet and peered into her face, which had taken on a peaceful expression as she went into slumber.

Tomorrow should be interesting, given the fact I had no intention of hiding how I felt. She needed to know what my objectives were, what I wanted with her.

The real question was, would she be on the same page as me?

Would she desire the same things I did?