Page 3 of Tempting the President (Oro Nero MC)

“My apologies, Dr. Stuart.” He doesn’t sound remotely apologetic.

If anything, the formal title sounds more intimate in his mouth than the endearment did.

“Let me be more specific. My sister has been researching material of a mature nature. Some of it relates directly to topics covered in your class. Some of it appears to be personal research.”

“And you think I’m encouraging this?”

“I think she might be observing and drawing conclusions.” His eyes haven’t left mine, and the direct assessment in them makes me feel uncomfortably exposed. “She mentions certain reading materials in her notes. Books that explore these...dynamics.”

Is he...is he implying what I think he’s implying?

“I don’t know what books—”

“Books like the one you were reading when my arrival interrupted you.” His smile is subtle but devastating. “The one you hid in your desk drawer.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “You couldn’t possibly know what I was reading.”

“Couldn’t I?” He leans forward slightly, and the movement shouldn’t be threatening but somehow it makes my pulse race. “I recognize guilt when I see it, Dr. Stuart.”

“You’re mistaken—”

“Am I?”

Before I can process what’s happening, he’s reaching across my desk, pulling open the drawer where I hastily stashed my Kindle.

“Mr. Steele!” I protest, too late, as he extracts the device.

“Let’s see what Dr. Stuart finds academically stimulating, shall we?” He taps the screen, and to my horror, it illuminates immediately. I forgot to lock it in my panic when Kassie announced him.

“Give that back.” I reach for it, but he simply holds it just out of reach, his height and longer arms giving him an unfair advantage.

“Claimed by the President,” he reads, one eyebrow rising. “By Eina L. Haze. Interesting choice of academic material, Dr. Stuart.”

Because that’s exactly what my life needed: more humiliation, right here, right now, in the hands of one Patrizio Steele.

“Listen to this,” he says, and I want to crawl under my desk and hide forever.

“She gasped as his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. She was his, completely and utterly, and they both knew it.”

Why, Jayne?

Why are you not yet dead?

Why do you still have to be alive long enough to listen to Patrizio Steele read your secret shame out loud in his sinfully attractive voice?

“Now, tell me, darling.”

I have no words. I’m just waiting for lightning to come out of nowhere and strike me. I need to die before hearing Annie’s older brother call me ‘darling’ again and again pushes me into doing even more stupid things.

“When you read scenes like that—” He closes the book but doesn’t put it down, just holds it like evidence of my complete lack of professional dignity. “Do you think about the psychological motivations? The power dynamics?” His eyes lock with mine. “Or do you think about how it would feel?”

“I think—”

I think...this conversation has gone so far beyond inappropriate that I can no longer breathe.

“—this meeting is over.”

“Do you?”

But Mr. Steele obviously believes otherwise, with how the words only make him take a step closer, and I’m effectively trapped between him and my bookshelf, surrounded by academic texts and the lingering scent of his aftershave and my own complete mortification.

“Because I think we’re just getting started.”

“Stop it!” I want to sound firm, but the words come out shaken. “This...this is...everything’s completely inappropriate, and you c-can’t just—”

“Can’t just what? Make you think about what you really want?”

Yes! I mean, no!

Because what I really want is, um...

What I really want is for him to stop!

Yes, stop!

Like...stop looking at me like he can see straight through my professional facade to the woman who spends her evenings reading about alpha males and innocent academics and all the deliciously inappropriate things that happen between them.

Just stop looking at me, period.

Because right now, I’m this close to forgetting who I am, and who he is, and why...why...oh, I can’t even remember what I’m supposed to think!

Focus, Jayne!

I clear my throat and straighten my spine while wishing I could do something similar to my brain, which is currently lost in a world of all things...inappropriate.

“May we please focus on what’s most important?”

“By all means.”

He reaches up while speaking, and I jerk involuntarily, but his fingers only come into contact with the spine of a book next to my head.

“Right now, our main concern—”

“—is you.”

Me?

“I want to know what you’re thinking.” His hand drops, but he doesn’t step back. “Because you’ve been reading about men like me. How does it feel to meet one in real life?”

“M-Mr. Steele, will you please stop saying such inappropriate things?”

“What’s inappropriate about asking a psychology professor about her thoughts?” His smile suggests he knows exactly how inappropriate this entire conversation is. “I’m curious about the psychological appeal of these scenarios. Aren’t you supposed to be the expert?”

“Not on—” I swallow hard. “Not on this.”

“No?” He glances down at my Kindle, still in his hand. “Yet you’ve bookmarked certain scenes multiple times. The hallway scene in Chapter Twelve, for instance.”

Oh gosh. He’s checked my reading history. The hallway scene. Where the heroine gets cornered by the hero and he—

Don’t even go there, Jayne!

Just...forget everything you’ve read and focus on the present!

“Research,” I manage to say, grasping for any professional explanation. “Purely academic interest.”

“Mmm.” The sound is noncommittal but somehow devastating. “So if I were to ask you what you find most compelling about that particular scene, academically speaking, what would you say?”

“I...” My mouth has gone completely dry. “The power dynamics are...interesting from a psychological perspective.”

“The power dynamics,” he repeats, and the way his mouth curves around the words makes something in my stomach clench. “You mean the way he corners her? The way he makes her admit what she wants?”

I should maintain professional distance. Should remember that this man is my student’s brother, that we’re in my office, that everything about this situation crosses approximately seventeen ethical boundaries.

“Mr. Steele—”

“Patrizio,” he corrects, and somehow his first name feels even more dangerous than ‘darling’ did.

“Mr. Steele,” I repeat firmly, “I think we’re getting off track. You came here with concerns about Annie’s academic work.”

“And I’ve discovered something far more interesting.” He finally steps back, giving me room to breathe, but somehow that’s almost worse. “You’re exactly like the women in my sister’s case studies. Brilliant, controlled, and desperate for someone to see through the facade.”

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” He tucks my Kindle into his jacket pocket, and I’m too stunned to protest. “I think we both know it is.”

“Give me back my Kindle.” I find my voice, fueled by indignation and the absolute certainty that I cannot let him leave with evidence of my reading habits.

“I will.” His smile is all predatory satisfaction. “When you’re ready to have an honest conversation about what you really want.”

“What I want is for you to leave my office. Now.”

“As you wish, Dr. Stuart.” He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I’ll be back tomorrow. We have more to discuss about Annie’s academic future.”

And then he’s gone, taking my Kindle—and with it, any pretense that I’m just a serious academic with purely professional interests—with him.

I sink into my chair, heart racing, face burning, and the horrible certainty that Patrizio Steele has seen straight through every defense I’ve ever constructed.

All because I couldn’t resist reading one more chapter about fictional motorcycle club presidents and the women who love them.

Only Patrizio Steele isn’t fictional. And based on the way my body responded to his presence, my attraction to his type is dangerously real.