I guess you could say this class was a kneejerk reaction to my own nerves about being COO. I started thinking maybe I don’t know as much as I should to successfully manage our rapidly growing company. I just wanted to be as prepared as possible, especially knowing in a few months Dylan plans on taking paternity leave to be with his firstborn. Everything will be on my shoulders, and I can’t let him down.
The moment class ends, Becca announces her office hours and quickly joins the line of students out the door without a backward glance toward me. I get the feeling she’s avoiding me—she barely made eye contact the entire three hours—but we need to deal with this. I didn’t miss how flustered she looked when she saw me sitting in the back of the room. I was just as shocked when she walked in. The wildcat from last night is a business school professor with an MBA and impressive job experience. I marvel for a moment that our paths crossed not once but twice. I don’t think they normally would at all, but to happen twice? Maybe there’s something to that.
I make it out to the hallway in time to catch her. She’s talking to another student from class. I wait for the guy to leave and step close the moment she’s alone. “Hey.”
Bright red dots her cheeks. “Hi. Uh, I need to…” She gestures down the hall like she needs to go.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“This is inappropriate,” she says under her breath, keeping to a fast pace.
“We’re just walking. I didn't realize you were Rebecca Edwards.”
“Becca is short for Rebecca,” she mutters.
“And I didn't know your last name. This is all a bizarre coincidence.”
She lowers her voice. “I knew last night was a mistake.” She gestures wildly. “I always take my time, do my research—”
“Research?”
She gives me side-eye. “You don't Google people you get involved with?”
“Uh, no.”
She lifts her chin. “Well, I do.” She speeds up.
I keep pace with her. “Let’s just look at the facts.”
She shakes her head. “I should've reviewed the class list more closely.”
“I never told you my last name. Remember how we joked about me being a one-name guy like Prince?”
The pink from her cheeks creeps down to her neck. She remembers the naked spooning when we had that conversation. If I hadn’t been so tired, it would’ve led to forking right away. I suppress a smile at my own joke. I want to get back to that good warm feeling between us. I definitely don’t want it to be over so soon.
“Becca, I know this is a shock for both of us, but it doesn’t cancel out last night.”
“Shh!” She stops walking and steps close to me. No red lipstick today. It’s pink. A tempting pink. God, she’s beautiful. “Obviously nothing further can happen between us. Please just delete my number and let's pretend last night never happened.”
“What if I don't want to pretend it never happened?”
She narrows her pale blue eyes. “You have to. I'm only an adjunct professor, and this is my first class. I want this gig to work out.”
I lower my voice to a husky tone. “What if I need extra help?”
She stiffens. “Then you can see me during my office hours on Thursday nights.”
I cock my head. “Isn't that dangerous, you, me, an office alone at night?”
“I don't think you're taking this seriously enough,” she says through her teeth.
I’m teasing, but clearly it’s not the right time. “Trust me, I’m not gonna do anything that gets you in trouble.” She nods once, and then the devil gets the best of me. “Unless you don't give me an A.”
She gives my shoulder a poke. “This is not funny.”
“It’s absurdly coincidental. That makes it funny. Just a little.”
Her mouth opens and then snaps shut. She turns on her heel and strides away, head held high.
I watch her go for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. We’re going to see each other every Saturday morning. Possibly Thursday nights if I need extra help. So wrong. I swear I’m not usually so devilish. That’s my brother Brendan. I’m the angel of my family. At least that’s what my parents always used to say. I’m the fourth-born son, and they said I was such an angel they decided to have another. The next kid, Brendan, shocked them with his mischievous behavior. (They called him a “little devil.”) I’m pretty sure Beast (Garrett) was an oops because after him my dad got snipped, and our family was set with five rambunctious boys and me, the angel. I’m not that angelic, just on the reserved side, keeping my thoughts to myself. Guess my parents appreciated a little quiet. Ha-ha.
I slowly walk out, keeping a distance behind her. I’m pretty sure we’re heading for the same nearby subway stop. We both live in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn. I decide to stop for coffee to give her a head start. I’ll catch a later train. Obviously she’s not ready to deal with me as both her awesome lover and her so-so student. I smile to myself, remembering last night. She sure sang my praises then. I’ll have to remind her of that next time I see her.
Outside the classroom of course.
5
Becca
I did it. I survived my first class, even with my unexpected student. I didn’t pass out, flip out, or embarrass myself in any way. I head down the stairs to the subway. In fact, I’d go so far as to say today was a success. I even got myself an iced mocha coffee to celebrate. I take a last slurp from my drink and toss it in the garbage. Once I got past the first half hour, I relaxed, and I think we had some very thoughtful and interesting class discussion. Not from him. He was quiet. Thank God because I don’t think I could’ve ignored him so easily if he was participating.
My shoulders slump as guilt creeps through me. It’s really not fair to hope Connor won’t participate for the rest of the semester. He signed up for this class to learn something, and that means being part of the group discussion. Next Saturday, during class break, I’ll discreetly pull him aside and encourage him to participate. I’m sure, over time, it will get easier to hear his deep sexy voice and see his gorgeous everything. I exhale sharply. I’m being entirely shallow. My life plan says it’s time for me to find a true partner, someone good for the long haul, someone appropriate. Connor Rourke is the exact opposite of what I need at this point in my life.
I’m pretty sure I can get fired for sleeping with a student. I don’t dare ask anyone. I’ll have to discreetly review the employee handbook. It’s really dicey territory, especially for a brand-new adjunct professor on probation. I’m not sure I can hide the attraction if we keep seeing each other and I let myself get in deeper. What if the other students think I’m playing favorites? It would be so bad for my rep.
Firm boundaries are key.
I shift down the platform to wait for my train and pull out my phone. Just to close the Connor door completely, I look up the official policy on professor-student relationships. Yup, no surprise here. It’s strictly prohibited, even at the graduate school level, and the only exception is extraordinary circumstances that have to be approved by your supervisor to eliminate any possible conflict of interest. There is no way I’m going to Dean Sears—my father’s close friend from college—to ask special permission to continue to see the guy I hooked up with once. Me, a teacher on probation. I can’t even imagine going there. Not only would it be excruciatingly embarrassing to ask my boss for permission, which he probably wouldn’t grant, I’m sure Dean Sears would tell my dad. My parents would be so shocked and disappointed in me. They take their jobs as teachers very seriously— my dad was New York Teacher of the Year last year—and would never under any circumstance encourage a professor-student relationship. They’d never accept Connor. I’d be lucky if they didn’t disown me.
Okay, so we had a good time and that is that. Eventually, I’ll be able to comfortably teach class with him in it. All I need to do is keep those firm boundaries in place. Keep it professional.
I rock back on my heels. I really hoped last
night was the beginning of something more. He’s the first guy I ever hit it off with immediately. Everything felt so easy, so natural. I’m really bummed I can’t follow up for more. Sometimes it sucks to do the right thing.
I refocus on my phone and tap over to Google. Privately doing research just to satisfy my curiosity about the royal thing is not crossing the line, I assure myself. On the walk over here, I remembered more about the Rourkes. When I was in England last spring for work, the royal Rourke wedding in nearby Villroy was on the news. It was a big deal that the groom was from the exiled family, and I’m pretty sure he was from New York. My heart kicks up at the thought that I might’ve been with a real prince last night. I type in “Rourke Villroy New York,” and a boggling number of articles and images pop up. There’s a lot about Dylan Rourke here.
I get the sudden sense that someone is staring at me, and lock eyes with the man himself. Not Dylan. The man who won’t stop following me!
I quickly shove my phone back in my purse, my heart jackrabbiting, my cheeks flushed.
Connor tosses his coffee cup in the garbage before closing the distance between us. “Relax, I’m not following you. We live in the same neighborhood.”
Oh, great, so we can take the subway together every Saturday, I think but don’t say because I’m above such pettiness. And I’ll probably run into you around the neighborhood. Gah! How am I supposed to keep firm boundaries when I keep seeing him everywhere? I’m only human and I’m incredibly attracted to him. Distance is my only defense against temptation.
“You don’t have to look so appalled that we’re neighbors,” he says. “You seemed to like me okay last night.”
I glance around, checking for any familiar faces from class. Coast is clear. Though I’m not sure I could pick out every one of my twenty new students in a crowd. I cross my arms and say in my sternest voice, “I shouldn't be seen with you outside of class unless it's during official office hours.”
He studies me for so long I have to try not to fidget. Does he suspect I was Googling him? Or that even now I’m finding it hard to resist him? “You're really a stickler for the rules, huh?”
Oh, good, he doesn’t suspect a thing.
I relax my arms. “In this case I am.”
The screech of brakes announces our train has arrived. As soon as the doors clear of exiting passengers, I dart forward. I’m lucky enough to snag an empty three-person seat near the front of the car, which is the best kind of seat. See, it’s not all awkward, excruciatingly embarrassing stuff today. I take the window seat and put my messenger bag in the center seat. Ah, space.
Connor drops down into the third seat, and I suppress a groan. Does he not get the urgency of this teacher-student-lover situation? We need distance.
A few moments pass and he just sits there quietly, like he’s a casual stranger sitting on the subway when we both know he’s more than that. I saw him naked. I kissed him, touched him, tasted him. I go damp at the lusty memory. Getting off the porno brain train now. Not getting off, that also sounds lusty. Just halting it. Permanently. Porno brain train is now officially out of commission.
I turn to him, determined to take control of the situation. “Do you not see the difficulty of the circumstances I find myself in? This is my first teaching job, and I really want it to go well. I’m only there on a part-time probationary basis. I can’t screw that up in any way.”
“You won’t.”
“I can’t be with a student!”
He shifts to the middle seat, setting my messenger bag on his lap, and whispers in my ear, “Would it help that I'm auditing the class and not getting an official grade? I got special permission to take the class from one of the assistant deans.”
I let out a small breath of relief that it wasn’t the head dean he dealt with because that’s my boss and my dad’s good friend. Do not want that connection being made under any circumstances.
I shift to stare at him and we’re suddenly very close, kissing close. I ignore the flash of heat that brings, ignore the thrumming of my pulse, and nonchalantly shift out of kissing range. “Why're you auditing?”
His voice is a silky caress—soothing, soft, drawing me in. “I’m not in the business school. I just wanted to learn more since I'm moving into a management position at work. I never went to college. I'd have to do that first before I could go to business school.”
“Is this the only class you plan on taking?”
“Probably. It’s not easy to fit in with work.”
I lean back in my seat, thinking over this new info. One class, my class. I wouldn’t have to avoid him for years. He’s more like a visitor to the business school. Does that change things?
No, the optics are bad. He looks like my student. And there’s no way he’d wait three months for me for class to end. We just met, and look at him, obviously he could have his pick of women.
Should I ask if he’d wait for class to be over to date me? But what if he sees this as a casual thing? Waiting for me would be more serious relationship territory.
“We good now?” he asks.
I sigh. “It's still a problem. It looks bad. I could get fired for being with a student.”
“But I’m not getting a grade. Isn’t that different?”
I still can’t imagine asking Dean Sears for special permission to see Connor. How would I explain myself? We met at a bar the night before class, and I didn’t know his last name, so the whole thing was a surprise. Even leaving out the hookup part, it sounds bad. Super casual and flighty. I need to look like the professor you want on staff full time. And I do not need this getting back to my parents.
“You still look like a student,” I say firmly. “The other students will see you as one of them.” And I’ll give myself away. I’m not at all confident I can hide my attraction if I keep seeing him. The lusty memory bank will be full of many, many multiple orgasm nights. Ugh, this sucks. I finally found passion and now I have to kiss it goodbye. I don’t even get that. Just a goodbye. No more wonderful kisses, no more wonderful orgasms from this wonderful man. Worst morning after ever.
He takes my hand, his thumb brushing the sensitive underside of my wrist. A hot shiver races up my arm. “I don’t want you to get fired either, so what if we kept it quiet, ya know? Just between us.”
I pull my hand away. I can’t let myself be tempted. “No.”
He faces forward. “Okay.” He hands me my messenger bag.
I set it on my lap with my purse on top. That’s it, huh? I thought he’d care a little more. He must’ve seen it as a casual thing between us.
I grind my teeth and turn away. Seriously, after all the dirty things we did to each other last night. I’m peeved and fully aware of the irony in that. I just can’t help it. I hate to admit it, because I’m trying to stay strong and do the right thing, but it would’ve been nice if he was bummed too. I guess this is for the best. Sure, the sex would’ve been fantastic, but if it’s not leading anywhere, then what’s the point? That’s not what I want. I know that about myself.
I glance over at him, and his eyes are closed like he’s about to take a nap. Seriously? He sits right next to me in a three-seater and ignores me?
I whisper in his ear, “See, you just proved my point. You’re not serious about us, so why would I risk my future just for sex?”
He doesn’t bother to open his eyes. “What sex? I forgot about it, like you said.”
I slump in my seat. I did tell him to forget it, but does he have to be so agreeable?
“That’s fine,” I assure him. “I forgot about it too.”
He smiles, his teeth flashing white against the dark scruff of his jaw. “No, you didn’t.”
So cocky, so arrogant, so damn sexy. I refuse to be drawn in. The only course of action is to ignore him. We have to learn to coexist without interacting too closely if we’re going to make it through the semester.
I pull my phone from my purse and tilt it away from him in case he opens his eyes. A few taps
later, I’m scrolling through the Dylan Rourke wedding pictures. Oh my God, it’s him! Hot Builder Guy really is a secret prince. Ooh, this is bad. He’s a double fantasy for me, wrapped in one package—a royal renovator. What are the chances I’d meet a guy who ticks all my fantasy boxes? Before I got hooked on hot builder shows and that whole shirtless-guy-with-tools fantasy, I had my prince fantasy. He’d whisk me away to his palace, where I lived as a princess with all the beautiful clothes and horses a girl can dream up. (I was a bit younger when that fantasy started, but it’s still exciting to think about.) How am I supposed to resist temptation for three long months? Especially knowing he’s a multi-orgasm-giving royal renovator. So unfair.
I glance over at him still resting with his eyes closed. “You’re a prince.”
He opens his eyes a crack. “Are you Googling me?” He sounds amused.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a prince?”
He closes his eyes, a smug expression on his gorgeous face. “Too bad you’re not interested, cuz I’m a catch.”
“Whatever,” I mutter.
Since his eyes are still closed, I immediately go back to Google and learn the fascinating, complicated history of his family’s tie to this faraway kingdom. His father abdicated the throne to marry for love. So romantic! No wonder Prince Connor carried me when I fell. He’s got those gallant royal manners in his genes.
I let out a small wistful sigh and suddenly realize the train stopped and Connor is standing. It’s my stop. I grab my stuff and hurry out.
He follows me. Ah, hell. Watch he lives down the block from me. This is the universe’s way of reminding me that veering from the life plan just makes a mess of things. That’s why I have a plan in the first place.
“You can relax,” he says as we climb the stairs to the street. “I’m three blocks away from where you live. You’ll only see me if I want to see you.”
Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10) Page 5