Joy Ride: A Virgin Romance (Let it Ride Book 3)

by Cynthia Rayne

  I got to class extra early. When I arrived, Ian was already there, standing at the lectern—broad-shouldered and impossibly handsome. Even the sight of him made my stomach clench.

  I wanted to touch him so badly. I kept raising my hands as if my fingertips had minds of their own, and they were determined to lead me into temptation.

  “Hi.” My throat ached from suppressing all the things I longed to say. And so I stood there, gawking at him, like some doe-eyed idiot.

  “Hi.”

  And then I remembered my special stop this morning.

  “I brought you some tea.” I held out the venti cup. “Actually, it’s hot water, since you’re a tea snob.”

  “No, I have standards.” He lifted the travel mug. “Thanks, I’m about out.”

  I handed the cup to him, and our fingers brushed. Yet neither one of us pulled away. His fingertip slid up and down the back of my hand. Even such a small touch set me on fire.

  Neither one of us pulled away. When he didn’t back off, I swayed closer. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent.

  This was such a bad idea. Any moment someone could walk in and catch us. Ian could lose his position, and I’d be infamous on campus.

  Instead of stepping away, like any sane person would, I brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his lapel. I just wanted to feel his tweed jacket—it felt even better than I imagined.

  When I glanced up, I found his gaze transfixed on my mouth. Dammit. I should’ve kissed him last night. What if I never got another opportunity?

  “Do you…” I trailed off, losing my nerve.

  “Do I what?”

  “Have plans later? We could, um, have dinner again.”

  “I have another evening class and then a late meeting with the department chair.”

  “Oh.” I backed away as though I’d been burned. His rejection made sense—Ian had more to lose than me.

  He grasped my hand. “Why don’t we have a drink later instead?”

  “Where? Maison Rose?”

  “No, my place.”

  My breath caught. His place. I was going to get another run at him—I just hoped I didn’t chicken out.

  “I’d like that. What time?”

  “Ten.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Students started filing in. And I backed away from him so fast, I nearly fell. Ian retreated behind the desk. While he lectured, I tried my hardest to pay attention, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen tonight.

  But first, I needed some sage advice.

  ***

  “Kate called a meeting?” I frowned at the email on my phone. “As far as I know, we have parties, not meetings.”

  Iris and I stood in the elevator together, heading up to our apartment. She glared at her screen like a random guy had sent her a dick pic.

  The hours had slowly ticked by, and I’d finally finished with classes. I’d been hoping to have a private discussion with Iris when I got the bizarre message from Kate.

  “Did you open the attachment?” Iris asked. I shook my head. I’d been too distracted by the subject line. “Well, don’t—she made an agenda.”

  “Ugh. Look, I’m happy she’s enjoying the new corporate lifestyle with her marketing gig, but this is too much.”

  “I know. Right?”

  We both shook our heads.

  The elevator opened, and Iris and I made our way down the hall. When we walked in, Kate and Poppy were seated on the sofa.

  A carton of orange juice and an open bottle of champagne stood at the ready on the coffee table. After Kate poured us all a round of mimosas, she handed them off.

  Poppy sniffed hers experimentally before putting it back on the table as if the scent alone disgusted her. Hmm, she’d been feeling queasy lately, racing to the bathroom, holding her stomach.

  “Ladies, we need to talk,” Kate said.

  I groaned.

  “It’s time to check in in on the last-gasp plan, see how everyone’s doing.” Kate stroked her chin. “Maybe we should’ve given it a better name—like a senior project.”

  Oh yeah, that’s what’s wrong with this proposal—the marketing.

  “Well, I’ve agreed to go out on a date with Jackson—there, I said it.” Iris took a swig of her drink and sat down with a groan.

  We all congratulated her—at least she wasn’t as hung up on Will anymore, though I suspected she still had feelings for the jerk.

  Poppy lifted a hand. “In the immortal words of Harry Potter, mischief managed. I’m seeing Sebastian.”

  “And things are going well with Malcolm and me.” After Kate chimed in, she downed the rest of her glass.

  When I glanced up, they were all looking at me, like they expected a lecture or something.

  And then I had a terrible realization. I hated how judgmental my family was, and yet I’d been doing the same thing to my friends. I felt awful. Especially because I had my own forbidden romance in full swing.

  I held up my hands in surrender. “Feel free to give me hell. I’m sorry for being such an irritating know-it-all and not trusting your judgment.”

  Instead of giving me what for, Poppy and Iris wrapped their arms around me. And then Kate joined in, too.

  Weird.

  “Hey, no big. Don’t worry about it.” Poppy kissed my cheek.

  “We can’t all be the fun one.” Kate offered a half-smile.

  “What am I going to do without you guys next year?” My vision swam with unshed tears. When I glanced around the group, we were all subdued.

  “Enough.” Kate cleared her throat. “Know what we need? To shake this off.” Kate picked up her phone, and Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” blared.

  We danced to the beat, but we were only delaying the inevitable. Soon, we’d be off in four different directions, and things would never be the same again.

  ***

  “I need to talk with you.”

  As soon as our meeting/party broke up, I followed Iris to her room for a private conversation.

  “About what?” She sat on the bed.

  “Ian.”

  “Okay.” Iris patted the bed, and I sat beside her. “Let me have it.”

  “I’m going over to his place tonight for a drink.”

  “Ain’t that a sweet euphemism? You mean to have sex.”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.” I groaned. “But I need some pointers.”

  “Well, bless your heart.”

  I scowled. “Which is Southern for something rude.”

  A couple years ago, I’d confided in Iris about my lack of sexual experience. Nobody else knew, though. Kate would’ve made fun of me, then tried to hook me up with every guy I crossed paths with—no thanks. And it’d never come up with Poppy. Mostly because I was embarrassed.

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

  “I’m just freaked. This is no longer a schoolgirl crush—it got real.” I started to pace the length of her room, too stressed to sit still. “And this could get messy.”

  “Too bad—relationships are messy. I know you’re a control freak, Darcy, but when it comes to love, you gotta let go. But first, decide if you want to let him in. Is Ian worth the risk?”

  “I think so. So, we never actually talked about it. Did you enjoy your first time?” I needed some reassurance here. I’m not quite the 40-Year-Old Virgin guy, but I’d cut it pretty close.

  “God, no. I slept with a guy named Carter at a drive-in.” She grimaced. “In the back of his rusty old Ford pick-up.”

  Ick. “Not the most romantic scene.”

  “An understatement.”

  “So, bad, huh?”

  Iris shrugged. “Well, I liked the movie. The Avengers was much better than Carter.”

  I snickered. “No offense, but I hope my first time’s better.”

  “There are a few ways to get a preview of a man’s bedroom skills. Is Ian a good kisser?”

  Now we were getting to the good stuff.

  “J
udging by the panty-melting kiss on the cheek? Yeah.”

  “And you like him?”

  “I do. Can’t stop thinking about him, actually.” He made me feel dizzy, lightheaded. “Though he sort of makes me want to vomit. Not in the disgusting sense, more like butterflies gone wild. Whenever I’m around Ian, it’s like I’m keyed up or something.”

  “That’s an excellent sign.”

  “It is? Because nausea is usually a telltale symptom of a bigger problem. Like the time we ate the week-old potato salad.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “What I mean is—Ian affects you on a physical level, so the attraction’s in full swing. You’ve got it bad.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “I don’t love him.”

  “Yet. And trust me, you can’t go back to being neutral—I’ve tried. So be careful who you give your heart to, because you might not get it back so quickly.”

  She was right. Whatever I felt for Ian, I couldn’t be dispassionate about him anymore. For better or worse, I cared about him. Splitting my focus was unsettling. Up until now, I’d had this intense concentration on my life, my goals.

  “Got it.” I didn’t intend to give Ian my heart. “So you don’t think this is a terrible idea?”

  “Okay. Let’s break this down. You’re both single, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re both adults?”

  “Check.”

  “Is he some kind of sex pervert?”

  I flinched. “What?”

  “Unless you’re into that sort of thing, then never mind and good for you.”

  I glared. “Neither one of us is pervy.”

  “So, the only issue is the sexual harassment policy at the university, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you’ve got a green light, girl. Go for it. What do you wanna know about doin’ the deed?”

  “Well, I had sex ed in school, and I’ve got the basic details down. Google was helpful, too.” In between classes, I’d had a bit of a refresher course. “Plus, I’ve kissed other guys, did some over-the-clothes, er, stuff. And I’ve read romances, like really intense, descriptive ones. But…”

  “I get the picture.”

  “Good. What do I need to know?” I never walked into a class unprepared, and I didn’t intend to start now.

  “Sorry, Darcy, but you can’t take a crash course on this kind of thing. Sex is something you have to learn by hands-on practice.” She nudged me.

  “You’re enjoying this a bit too much.”

  “Can’t help it. It’s not every day I see you all flustered.”

  “I’m not flustered.” I folded my arms across my chest.

  “Oh yeah, you seem just fine.”

  “Shut up.”

  Iris chuckled. “Just put on somethin’ pretty and do some intense grooming.”

  I touched my hair self-consciously.

  Iris pointed to me. “No, honey, not there.” Her fingertip lowered, moving further and further down.

  “Hey!” On instinct, I shielded myself with my hands.

  “Off you go now.” She pushed me out of the room. “I expect a full report tomorrow.”

  ***

  An hour later, I stood in front of my closet. Ever feel like you have nothing to wear?

  I didn’t own anything even remotely sexy. With my preppy clothes—sweaters, jeans, and cardigans—I’m not exactly a femme fatale type. And I doubted my white cotton briefs and bras would cut it tonight.

  Kate probably had drawers full of racy stuff. Not that I’d go “shopping” in her room. Sometimes we borrowed each other’s clothes, but wearing someone’s sex outfit was just plain gross.

  I could go to a store, but my nerves were shot. Pawing through lacy underthings in a public place wasn’t my thing. Thank God for online shopping—too bad I couldn’t order something in time.

  After laying out my limited options on the bed, I settled on a pair of skinny jeans and black V-neck cashmere sweater. Hey, it’s better than a turtleneck. You don’t even want to know how many of those I owned.

  The undergarment selection was sad, but I found a pair of black boy shorts with a matching bra. Not exactly Victoria’s Secret-worthy, but they’d work.

  So now I had an outfit. Up next, a long shower.

  One way or the other, things would never be the same after tonight. I’d no longer be a virgin, and Ian and I wouldn’t be just student and professor.

  What if I’m about to make a huge mistake?

  Chapter Ten

  Ian

  No one wants to go to the boss’s office, especially not at the end of a long work day. Walter, the department chair, also taught an evening class, so he’d wanted to fit a “quick meeting” into our schedules.

  Walter either wanted to discuss my tenure, or he was trying to strong-arm me into chaperoning the English club’s class trip to Richmond, Virginia at the end of the month. They planned on visiting Edgar Allen Poe’s house, but being put in charge of a hundred college students on a road trip sounded like my idea of hell.

  “Walter?” I knocked on his office door.

  “Come in, Ian, have a seat.” He tucked some paperwork into his briefcase.

  I sat at his conference table, where we usually held meetings. Unlike my shoebox of an office, Walter’s was spacious, with a massive walnut desk, fireplace, and bookshelves lining every wall. I could barely fit a desk and a filing cabinet in mine.

  “How’d your class go this evening?” Walter, a man in his late fifties, sat across from me.

  For some odd reason, he favored sweater vests. Tonight’s was a mustard yellow, paired with khaki pants. And it hurt my eyes. Walter’s a good guy, if a bit awkward.

  “Very well, thanks.”

  I wanted to get this meeting out of the way. I’d been distracted all damn day. In less than an hour, Darcy would be at my place, and anything could happen.

  And I couldn’t even bring myself to feel guilty about it. I wanted Darcy, and what Walter and the university didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Right?

  “Excellent. I’ve been going through your file. The students rate you highly.”

  Every year, the university distributed course evaluations, and students had the chance to grade our performance. It’s one of several factors that determined tenure.

  “Glad to hear it.” I smoothed my jacket. “You wanted to see me about…?”

  “Just touching base about tenure. Right now, the committee has you under consideration. We’d like a formal interview with you next week. I’ll send you an email with available times.”

  “Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.”

  But I wasn’t. Strange. I’m close to getting tenure, putting down roots, overcoming my wild past. I should’ve been overjoyed, but I wasn’t. If anything, it made me restless, and I wanted to leave.

  “I must say, I read your paper on Keats, and it was exemplary.”

  “Thank you. I enjoyed researching his life.”

  Yet another factor in deciding tenure—publishing well-received articles in prestigious journals was good for the university’s reputation. Since I’d come here, I’d made it a point to publish as often as possible.

  Although learning more about Keats had been depressing. His life was a cautionary tale. He’d died young, destitute, and hadn’t gotten the opportunity to marry Fanny. Perhaps I over-identified with him.

  “Good. I hope to read more of your work. You’re a prime example of the sort of professor the university is looking for—dedicated, hardworking, popular with students. I’m looking forward to speaking with you next week.” He offered me a hand, and I shook it.

  “Me too. Have a good evening.”

  “Toodle pip.”

  I raised a brow. I hadn’t heard the phrase since I’d come across the pond. And it’d come from my grandfather—a dapper old gent with a fondness for old-fashioned language.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. When my wife and I v
isited London over the holiday, I picked up a few charming British expressions. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Had they been spending time with octogenarians? There’s nothing worse than a Yank who tried to speak the mother tongue. More often than not, they made a dog’s breakfast of it.

  “Cheers, then.” And I was out the door.

  Time to meet up with Darcy.

  ***

  Darcy

  At ten, I knocked on Ian’s door and braced myself as it swung open.

  “Good evening.”

  Was it my imagination, or did his voice sound darker, deeper? Or maybe my erotic daydreams were leading me on, ratcheting up the sexual tension.

  Ian, as always, looked amazing—brown sweater and well-worn jeans, five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, and damp hair. He must’ve just stepped out of the shower. I had a sudden image of him—the rippling muscles of his back moving as suds slowly dripped down lower and lower.

  Woah. And I’m back to the present. He watched me with a quizzical expression. Geez, how long had I been distracted?

  “Oh, uh, hi.”

  “Come in.” Ian kissed the corner of my mouth, and my heart stopped.

  And then I stood in his foyer in my not-sexy outfit—trying to act normal, casual, and not having much success.

  “You look smashing, pet.”

  “Thanks.” Mmm, he called me pet again. I always went a little melty when he used the nickname. “It’s not very girly.”

  He winked. “I like it all the same. Although, if you happen across an old prep school uniform, I wouldn’t mind a peek.”

  Wait, was he implying…? “You like the whole teacher/student thing, huh?”

  He wore a wolfish smile. “Hey, I’m a creative type. Love role playing—among other things.”

  Talk about taking an advanced class. I was way over my head here. Most likely, I’d bore him silly in bed.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem frazzled.”

  “I’m fine. No, I’m good—great, actually.” And then I gave him a thumbs-up for some reason. Ugh.

  Ian chuckled. “Why don’t I pour you a glass of wine, while you sit by the fire and relax?”

  “Okay.”

  The next thing I knew, I lounged by the crackling fire, sipping wine, and trying not to hyperventilate.