Page 30 of The Professor

“Got a date?” A pang of jealousy stabbed at my heart.

“What? No.” He stopped.

“Good.” I chewed on my bottom lip.

“Good?”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to have a date.” I let the right side of my mouth tip into what I hoped was a sexy come-get-me smile.

“And why would that be?” His gaze was intense and seemed to burrow right into my soul—right past my smile.

“No reason.” I half shrugged. Surely he could guess it was because I wanted him. I wanted to scream that. Shout it from the fucking Oxford rooftops.

He nodded slowly and swallowed.

I couldn’t read his body language. He seemed to have tension rolling off him. But tension because of what? Me?

“Chelsea Taylor,” he said in such a low voice it was almost a growl. “We deal in truth, we’ve already established that.”

“Yes,” I said breathily and suddenly seeing where this was going.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to be going on a date.”

Goddamn it, I was so turned on. “Because…” I stepped closer to him, so close I could smell his faded aftershave. It was time to make my move. “I want to discuss the fact that as I’m no longer an undergraduate student, we could have an entirely different relationship.”

“Entirely different relationship?” He cocked his eyebrows at me.

“Yeah.” I pushed boldly on and moved so close my breasts grazed his chest through our clothing. “We could have a sexual relationship, raw fucking, hard fucking, whatever you want to do to me, sir. I’d be yours, at your mercy.”

His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, and his briefcase fell to the floor with a bang. “Fuck it, I can’t stand this any longer.” He suddenly grabbed my upper arms and pushed my back against the wall.

I gasped as my shoulders hit, air rushing from my lungs.

He kept on going, pressing his body to mine and staring down at me. “You need to be careful what you wish for, Chelsea.”

“I don’t want to be careful. I like danger.” I tipped my chin defiantly.

“You couldn’t handle me.” He was breathing fast now.

So was I.

“I can handle you, I know I can.” I studied his eyes, trying to work out if he knew he’d fucked me already. I couldn’t tell.

And then his mouth was on mine. A heated, sexy-as-hell kiss, that was a wet and urgent mating of our tongues.

I groaned and hung on to the collar of his soft cotton jacket. Need rushed through me, a craving for more that I’d never experienced in my life. He tasted of everything I’d ever needed.

He pulled back and caught my face in a pincer grip, squeezing my cheeks. “Later.”

“What?”

“Later, meet me.” It wasn’t a question, more of an order.

I nodded a little. “Where?”

“Do you know Dean Court?”

“No, but I could.” It was difficult to speak with him holding my face so tight.