To Professor, with Love (Forbidden Men #2)(12)

Hard-ass, straight-laced teacher or not, there was something about the soft curve of her porcelain pale face with an almost invisible splash of freckles dusting her cheeks and nose to go with her succulent lips that stirred me. I instinctively knew I should never touch her.

She must’ve sensed my unease because she shifted and cleared her throat, not making eye contact. “Well, then. I assume that’s all you need.”

“Yeah.” With a single bob of the head, I murmured, “Thanks.” I turned, but just before I left the small room crammed with shelves of books, I paused and glanced back. “And I’m, you know, sorry...about calling you a bitch earlier.”

This time, both of her trim, dark eyebrows lifted. She pressed a hand against the center of her chest. “What? You’re rescinding what might possibly be the nicest compliment I’ve received from a student all semester?”

I snorted out a laugh but nodded. “Yeah, I am. It was rude and undeserving. And I apologize.”

Her lashes responded by beating in overtime against the tops of her cheeks. When moisture glistened like a fine sheen over her green eyes, I panicked. Shit, I didn’t want to make her cry.

But wow. Who knew I could actually make the hard-ass, expressionless Dr. Kavanagh cry? She must not be nearly as tough as she put herself out there to be. It made me wonder just how soft she could get.

Which was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She held it together, thank God, and nodded. “Apology accepted,” she murmured as she motioned toward the door to let me know I was excused.

Wavering another second, I studied her delicate features, still amazed she was old enough to be a college professor. If she didn’t act so hoity-toity and wore such frumpy clothes, I probably would’ve mistaken her for an underclassman and hit on her by now. I wouldn’t have stopped my pursuit either, not until she gave in and let me have a piece of her, because my type or not, there was something about her that drew me in.

“How old are you?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Shit. Why had I just asked that? It made no difference what age my teacher was.

Lifting her eyebrows with what was either irritation or amusement—I couldn’t quite tell—she murmured, “None of your business,” in a low voice packed with heated sensuality.

It stirred every hormone inside me, even though I knew she hadn’t meant it to.

I shook myself free of the generating lust and muttered, “Right.” It was time to get out of here. Now.

***

“Quotable quotes are coins rubbed smooth by circulation.” - Louis Menand

***

ASPEN



Noel Gamble turned away and was about out of the door of my office when he paused and glanced at my quote board. A pincushion of cork for all my thumbtacks to hold up Post-it notes and scraps of paper, my quote board was full of sayings from books I had collected over the years.

Slowing to a stop, he studied some of the quotes I had accumulated. “What’s this?”

No one had ever asked me that before.

I ducked my hot face, feeling suddenly shy. But it felt like he was scanning a piece of my soul. Still unsettled by how he’d asked how old I was, I mumbled, “It’s nothing. Just my quote board.”

He glanced back, and the curiosity in his blue eyes sizzled my insides.

I cleared my throat. “When I read a line from a story I like, I tack it up there.” It was kind of my thing.

“Hmm.” He lifted his hand to slip aside one of the newer quotes to read one of the older ones hidden behind it. When he gave a low chuckle, my hormones jackknifed into immediate awareness. God, his laugh was stirring. “That’s a good one.”

Since I had no idea which one he was referring to, I didn’t respond. Then again, I considered all of them good since I’d taken the time to put them there, so I probably couldn’t help but agree.

He glanced back. “‘Sometimes the questions are complicated but the answers are simple.’”

That had to be the deepest thing anyone had ever said to me. But what did he mean? Was he referring to my assignment? Did he think I’d made it too convoluted? Should I work on my teaching approach?

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me?”

He flushed slightly and turned back to the quote board to tap the Post-its. “It’s Dr. Seuss. Another quote you could add.”

“O-oh. Thanks. That...that’s actually an excellent one.” And it was. It really was. Strange.

Noel gifted me with the hint of a smile. Then he ducked his face and headed from the room.

Once he was gone, I felt bereft. Setting my hand over my heart, I sank back into my chair and blew out a long, shaky breath. Okay, so my crush on a student had just grown to epic proportions. Wonder what my flawless, judgmental mother would have to say about that?





CHAPTER FOUR




"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun.'" -Groucho Marx



NOEL



Tenning was loitering in the kitchen when I came through the front door of our apartment. As I kicked it shut behind me, he appeared in the opening next to the breakfast bar, barefoot and shirtless with his track pants hanging low around his hips. He only had to look at my face to know something was up.