Page 35 of The Professor

“Prostitutes?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes. Prostitutes.”

“You run a brothel?”

“Not exactly.”

She was quiet for a moment, then, “I have no judgement. If that’s how they want to make their money.” She shrugged.

“Neither do we, which is why we run this place.” I set my hands on her warm knees, over her skirt, and leaned forward. “Prostitutes are the most at risk from winding up dead in back alleys and no one giving a damn fuck about them if they’re raped and murdered. We aim to right that.”

“And your payment is free fucks?” She tipped her head.

“What? No!” I straightened and folded my arms. “I’m not one of their customers, none of us are.”

“So what are you to them?”

“Protectors is probably the best word.” I paused and glanced at the ceiling. “We watch over them, make sure their punters don’t get free and easy with their fists or worse. We also don’t take any of their earnings, instead we encourage them to save and then move on to a less risky career. Start afresh. Get a bona fide job.”

She said nothing, just studied me with narrowed eyes.

“We’ve had lots of success, or rather they have. They’re smart girls, talented in some cases, and have more to offer than just their bodies.”

“This is all very noble of you.” Her nostrils flared. “But what has it got to do with me?”

I nodded slowly.

“Andrew?”

“We have a situation. We need cash.”

“How much?”

“Four million.”

“Ha!” She laughed. “And you think my father will cough that up for me? He might give the impression of being rich, but his funds are all tied up, property, shares, stocks and all that. He can’t pay you that much in cash.”

“He’ll have to.” I sat forward again, this time slipping my hands beneath her skirt to rest on her bare knees. “And soon.”

“Or else? You just promised not to hurt me, or are you a liar as well as a creep?”

“Creep?” I tipped closer and stared into her eyes.

Her bottom lip quivered slightly.

“You might think I’m a creep, but fuck…you’re beautiful, Chelsea Taylor, and you get more beautiful every bloody day.”

Her breaths quickened.

“From the first moment I saw you.” I paused and remembered the day she walked into my lecture theater. A flame of beauty, poised, charming, sharp-witted and so off limits I had to do my best to ignore her for years.

Three years of torture for my cock.

“From the first moment you saw me,” she repeated breathily.

“I wanted you. Wanted you so bad.” I moved my hands upward, sliding my palms along her warm thighs, her skirt concertinaing at my wrists. “And all that time I had to resist.”

“Andrew,” she gasped. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”