My Professor(50)

He stops walking first, and then I follow suit. We turn to face each other.

This is what I’ve wanted for two long weeks. It almost feels heady to be in his presence with no one else around, his full attention on me.

“How would you like to play this during dinner?” I ask, sounding unaffected. “Should I pretend I barely know you?”

“You do barely know me.”

I sear him with my gaze. He can try to convince himself of whatever he likes, but that’s a crock of shit and he knows it.

“Strangers it is. If you’ll excuse me…”

He blocks my path with his large frame so I’m forced to stand there and tip my head back to look up at him.

His blue eyes rove over me, eating me up.

“I noticed you left work early yesterday.”

“You noticed?” Why do I sound delighted by that? I continue with something far less cringeworthy. “You don’t need to worry about me slacking—I only ducked out an hour early.”

His gaze is on my lips when he responds. “You usually don’t leave until six.”

Okay, fine, two hours early.

“Sounds like you keep careful watch. I’ve often wondered if you can see my desk from your office.”

He looks away, and I try not to smile.

His mention of my leaving early reminds me of the reason behind it.

“I’m sure you’re glad Miranda is in town. She’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he echoes, his gaze on me again. He looks like he’s forgotten who she even is.

I want to press him about their relationship, but I don’t have the guts to ask a question that will break my heart.

Instead, I warn, “People are taking their seats for dinner.”

“Then go,” he says, not moving an inch.

I take a baby step toward him. It’s barely anything, but it’s enough to feel intimate and wrong. If someone were to turn a corner and find us here, it wouldn’t look innocent.

I look him over, taking my time. “I like when you’re dressed like this. This suit fits you to a T. Your tie is done perfectly, your pocket square is folded neatly. You look so proper…” Knowing I’m playing with fire, I lift my finger to trail it down the center of his tie and my eyes follow, but then I pause and let my gaze flit back to his as the truth spills out. “Just like the professor I can’t stop fantasizing about.”

My words are kerosene.

He has me hauled back against the wall behind me so fast I almost whimper, and his hand reaches up to grab my chin in a punishing grip—a grip he knows I like.

“Emelia…I don’t think you understand just how tightly wound I am at the moment. Should I keep on…and keep on…and keep on resisting you?” He sounds exhausted by the prospect. He leans his face down toward mine, our lips almost touching. “When will the torment end?”

“Make it end,” I challenge in a whisper.

“Should I take you just like this, right here in your brother’s home? How depraved.”

His free hand skims up under my dress.

“Please,” I whimper.

Can’t he see how much I want the same thing he does?

I’m transfixed by him.

His hand rounds up over my hip, and his hold is so tight I feel like his handprint will be there hours from now.

Then a voice speaks from down the hall.

“Now, now, Jonathan, surely you know having dessert before dinner is bad form. Especially since my brother has gone through the trouble to get us all here tonight.”

My eyes squeeze shut as I realize the voice I hear, the shadow in my periphery, belongs to Emmett Mercier.

Quickly, Professor Barclay shifts his body, blocking me from view so I’m given some modicum of privacy as I straighten my clothes and gather my wits. The gesture is thoughtful and kind, but I’m still so flushed I feel like I might go up in flames. For as long as possible, I avoid looking at Emmett, hoping perhaps he’ll disappear in a puff of smoke and this won’t be how we end up meeting.

No such luck.

As Professor Barclay steps back, I come face to face with Emmett Mercier for the first time. I thought seeing him in photographs had helped me come to terms with how much he looks like his father, but he’s truly the spitting image, so tall and foreboding my spine wants to bow in reverence.

His hair is as black as his suit. His eyes are nearly the same color. His jaw is clean-shaven so I can see the permanent dimples in his cheeks and his chin. His sharply chiseled face is so utterly French. He’s handsome, extremely so, but I catalogue his beauty the way I would any other family member. He’s my brother, or at least that’s the way I look at him. He’s looking at me not like I’m family, but like I’m nothing. There’s only derision in his gaze.

“Oh.” He smiles cruelly. “I didn’t realize who you had pinned there, Jonathan, but now it makes perfect sense…” Emmett juts his chin out in recognition. “Sweet Emelia. The whore’s daughter.”

I flinch.

“By all means…continue as planned.”

Professor Barclay moves so fast I barely register what’s happened before he has Emmett held by the jugular, hoisted up against the wall.

“Enough,” he bites out through clenched teeth.

I stare at them in silence, adrenaline and fear mixing to a boiling point. I feel tears prick my eyes and my knees tremble as if they’re about to give out.