To Professor, with Love (Forbidden Men #2)(71)

He glanced back at me as if he wanted to argue about it. I knew he wanted me to follow him so we could go somewhere else together. But this had to stop here. And he must’ve seen something in my face, known I wasn’t going anywhere with him, because he clenched his jaw but silently nodded his acceptance.

So, he took off one way down the hall, and I went the other, telling myself this could never happen again. No matter how amazing it had been, no matter how much I loved being with him, no matter how great I felt just looking at him, this could never...happen...again.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO




"I want to know everything about you, so I tell you everything about myself.” - Amy Hempel



NOEL



I gave her twenty-four hours. I knew Aspen. She needed time and space to wrap her head around what had happened. It killed me to give it to her, but I allowed it. But only for one day. I knew there was no way I’d be able to enter her class on Thursday and watch her teach without imploding, so on Wednesday afternoon, beyond grateful I didn’t have to work that night because I’d reorganized the schedules at work, I hiked to her place as soon as I thought she’d be home for the day.

She answered her door, cracking the entrance open and peering out at me with her large, adorable owl eyes. As her mouth fell open, I stepped forward. She had to scurry backward and pull the door open wider to let me in, but she did, without any kind of fight. The shock might’ve prevented her from trying to bar my way.

I was okay with that, because I was inside.

Shutting the door behind me, I held her shocked gaze. “You about done freaking out yet?”

She swung her head back and forth. “No.”

“Well, I’m done waiting.” Cupping her face in my hands, I added, “What we’re doing is wrong. Making it a one-time deal is wrong. Trying to convince ourselves it was dirty and tawdry and something to be ashamed of is wrong. It was the best damn sex of my life, Aspen. I felt connected to you, like hell, I don’t know. I wasn’t just getting off in some random girl; I was sharing something deep and meaningful...with you. I don’t care how many school policies tell us no. I’m saying yes.”

She drew in a loud breath and shook her head. “Why do you make it so hard for me to resist you?”

Hot damn, I was winning. My lips kicked up at the side. “Because you want to say yes just as badly as I want you to.”

A groan, telling me her will was crumbling, exited her lungs. “This is going to end badly.” She leaned forward and thumped her forehead against my chest.

“Maybe.” My arms swooped around her as I kissed her hair. “Maybe not.” Then I kissed her cheek. “I hope not.”

Looking up at me, she showed me all the faith she had in me. “So do I.”

Finally, I kissed her mouth. Her lips trembled under mine, so I eased up on the pressure until she was the one straining forward for more.

Her fingers settled in my hair. I walked her backward to her couch and settled her down. There was so much I wanted to do, and touch, and see. The closet had been nothing but a giant tease. I hadn’t been able to undress her completely, or taste her nipples or kiss the inside of the thigh. I planned to rectify all that right now.

But about as soon as we were both horizontal and I was slowly peeling her shirt up over her head, a buzzer went off somewhere in the back of her house.

Lifting my head in absolute confusion, I glanced around. “What the hell?”

Under me, Aspen laughed and swiped at my hair with fingers as if smoothing it back into place. “Oven timer.” She wiggled under me to let me know she wanted up.

I sat back, blinking at the concept of an oven timer going off. Nothing had ever been cooked in the oven at my apartment, and it sure as hell hadn’t back home. I’d had home-cooked meals a few times when the neighbor lady three trailer houses down had taken pity on us kids and invited us over. But to think of Aspen making a home-cooked meal was...unreal.

“Food,” I said dumbly as my stomach rumbled happily over the idea. Well, hell. She cooked too? This was too good to be true. “What’re we eating?”

“We?” Aspen arched her strict, professor eyebrow at me as she stood and smoothed her shirt back into place. “I don’t remember inviting you to supper?”

“Oh, come on.” I popped up after her and trailed her into the kitchen like a begging puppy. “I’m a poor, deprived college kid. Are you really going to deny this face?” I pointed out my puckered lip and batting eyelashes.

When she glanced over and caught sight of them, she laughed. “Oh, my God. You’re pathetic. Okay, fine. You can stay for supper. I have plenty.”

After she turned off the timer, she grabbed a set of hot pads, but I snatched them from her. “You’re injured. I’ll do it.”

She frowned. “Injured? What’re you talking about?”

“Your arm,” I reminded her as I opened the oven. “Falling box of books. Gashed shoulder. Fifteen stiches. Ring a bell?”

Her hand fluttered to her shoulder. “I don’t even notice them anymore. They’ve stopped pulling when I move.”

“Well, that’s good. But just wait until they start itching. After one of my mom’s friends put me in the hospital one time, I—oh, shit. Lasagna. You made lasagna?”