by T. K. Leigh
“This semester,” Dean Morrison interrupts pointedly. “She doesn’t have the best track record.”
“Compared to her classmates who are fortunate enough to have their parents support them financially and emotionally, you’re correct. But when you factor in that she works a full-time job, I’d say she’s doing pretty well. In my opinion, she’s a brilliant student. One of the most promising I’ve had in my class.”
“I don’t doubt that. Her father’s a brilliant man. But Professor Gordon has voiced her concerns regarding your relationship with Miss Davenport. I must admit, I find it disconcerting you would share a cab with a student, even if she is the daughter of your boss. You’re aware this school has a policy regarding personal relationships between faculty and students.”
Lincoln places his palms to his desk, leaning toward the dean, his eyes narrowed. “What are you insinuating?”
“That your behavior is raising eyebrows.”
“Well, it shouldn’t.” Straightening, he widens his stance. “You’ve been in higher education long enough to know this place is often worse than a soap opera. Miss Davenport needed help. I decided to act like a decent human being instead of ignoring her simply because my actions may, as you put it, raise a few eyebrows. If I saw one of my male students in the same predicament, I’d help him, too.”
“That may be true, but I’d still like to take a look at all the coursework Miss Davenport has submitted so far this year. Make sure it’s on par with the level you claim.”
I study Lincoln’s demeanor, arms defensively crossed in front of his chest, eyes unwavering, everything about him giving the impression that he has nothing to hide.
An impressive performance, considering he’s hiding me underneath his desk.
I notice Lincoln’s jaw twitch slightly, then he sits, careful to give me space, and opens a drawer. Tossing a file onto the desk, he leans back into the chair. “There it is.”
I hear the subtle rustling of pages as Dean Morrison presumably flips through the few papers I’d handed in throughout the semester. Seconds turn into minutes as my heart thunders in my chest. I pray the dean can’t hear it in the strained silence. And that he doesn’t find my high marks suspicious.
“It appears she does have a knack for the law,” Dean Morrison finally says. “Much like her father.”
“She certainly does.”
It’s silent for a moment before the dean speaks once more. “Very well. I’ll let you get back to…whatever it is you were working on. I apologize for jumping to conclusions. This school takes these kinds of things seriously.”
“Completely understandable, sir. I should have informed you of the incident previously. In the future, I’ll be sure to report any encounters with my students outside class or office hours.”
“You do that.”
Footsteps echo, followed by the welcome sound of the door opening. I don’t think my heart has ever pumped as fast as it has these past few minutes.
“And I’d strongly advise you to stay as far away from Miss Davenport as possible. No more requesting she come to your office to discuss her work, as I’ve heard has happened. Even if it’s innocent, you don’t need anything else to add fuel to the fire, so to speak.”
“You have my word.”
“Good.”
When the door finally clicks closed, I blow out a breath, never having been so relieved in my life.
“Hey…” Lincoln crouches down to my level, extending his hand toward me. “It’s okay. I locked the door.”
Nodding, I put my hand in his, allowing him to help me to my feet. “I am so sorry.” Rattled, I adjust my clothes, then collect my things. “I didn’t mean for something like this to happen. You could have lost everything because of how careless I was. You should have—”
“Hey…” He grabs my biceps, forcing me to stop. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But you’re risking so much to be with me. Too much. It was fun role-playing earlier, but this…” I step out of his touch and gesture between our bodies. “This isn’t a game, Lincoln. It’s not just a fantasy, although I wish it were. You are my professor. If you stay with me, I will ruin your life. There’s no way around it. No possible way this will have a happy ending, no matter the risk you’re willing to take.”
He stares at me for several long moments, and I expect him to agree and send me on my way. Instead, he smiles.
“Do you know how my parents met?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve read about your father because of what happened to him, but other than that…”
“He was the teaching assistant in one of Mom’s English electives. Granted, it’s not the same as our situation, but they still weren’t permitted to be together. They had to wait. They weren’t allowed to date while he was the TA assigned to her class.”
“So he waited for her?”
He lowers his mouth toward mine, his breath kissing my lips, sending a shiver through me. “He did. Said he knew she’d be worth the wait. But that’s where I’m different from my dad.”
“How’s that?” I murmur, craning my neck back.
“I’ve already had a taste. And I’m greedy for more. So I’m not going to stand by and wait for you, Chloe. I need to have you now, even if that means we have to be careful while we figure this out.” He traces my jawline with a single finger. “I already lost you once. Already pushed you away when I should have begged you to stay. It’s going to take a lot more than the risk to my career for me to push you away again.”
Comforted by his sweet words, I fling my arms around him, kissing him with everything I have. I’ve never been with a man who was willing to risk everything to be with me. I still don’t know how I deserve this, but I won’t question it. Not now.
“There’s just one problem,” I murmur against his mouth.
“What’s that?”
I glance at the door. “How do you suggest we get out of here without raising any suspicion?”
A contemplative look crosses his face as he scans his office, weighing his options. “Right.” He shifts his eyes back to mine. “I’ll leave first. It’s probably safer. When the coast is clear, I’ll text you. I can’t guarantee you’ll have much time, so when you get my message, make it quick.”
“But what about locking your office?”
“I’ll double back and lock it once you’re in the clear. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He collects a few papers, meticulously separating them into their appropriate folders before sliding them into his messenger bag. He heads toward the door, pausing when his hand touches the knob. A thoughtful expression crosses his brow as he looks back at me.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
I give him a sideways glance, seeing the wheels spinning in his head. “Why?”
“I want to see you.”
“What did you have in mind?” I saunter toward him.
His lips brush mine. “You’ll have to wait and find out. I’ll have a car pick you up at seven. Wear a dress.” His eyes skate over my body before returning to mine. “And heels. Definitely wear heels.”
“Any reason why?” I bat my lashes.
“Because I love the way they dig into my skin when I make you come.”
I whimper, rendered speechless by his wanton and lust-filled statement, the way he says it with no hesitation. It makes me want him right now, code of conduct be damned.
Smirking, he twists the knob, pausing before opening it. “For the record, I don’t regret a thing. We’ll figure this out, Chloe. Promise.”
My lips curve into a smile, my heart warming. “Okay.”
He holds my gaze a moment longer, then says, “Seven o’clock.”
“It’s a date.”
He beams, his eyes sparkling. “I like the sound of that.” Then he disappears, closing the door behind him.
“I like the sound of that, too,” I whisper into the darkness, feeling unusually content, despite our close call.
He’s right. Our situation isn’t ideal, but it’s better than the alternative of not being together at all. I don’t want to go back to that. Not now that I have him again.
When my phone buzzes mere seconds later, I yank it out of my purse and read Lincoln’s text telling me the coast is clear.
Drawing a deep breath, I crack open the door, peeking into the hallway. Once I confirm no one’s lingering nearby, I sneak out of the office. Adrenaline pumps through me, making me hyper-aware of every sound, every cough, every sniffle. The corridors through the faculty area feel like they’re miles long instead of just a couple dozen feet.
When I finally step into the main corridor, my muscles relax and I can breathe again. I pause briefly to collect myself, then continue to the elevators, grinning deviously when I see Lincoln heading toward me.
“Miss Davenport,” he says as he passes, mischief in his gaze.
“Professor Moore.”
“Have a great evening.”
I glance over my shoulder, lasciviously licking my lips. “I already have.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
One of my strongest childhood memories is sitting in my mother’s room, watching as she got ready for some important function, usually a political rally or fundraiser. She’d always dress in smart pantsuits. Told me they made her feel more powerful, insisted skirts and dresses were tools the patriarchy used to keep women where they wanted them.
While I may not have acquired her flair for feminism, since I actually feel incredibly powerful in a skirt or dress, I did inherit a few of her other habits, like always spraying a bit of perfume behind my ears.
As I do that same thing now, peering at my reflection in the mirror, I pause. For the first time in years, I see my mother in me.
Correction.
For the first time in years, I don’t mind seeing my mother in me.
The mass quantities of makeup I’d typically wear on a “date” is absent. Minimal contouring and eyeliner take its place, along with a bit of gloss on my lips to make them shine. But that’s not the biggest change.
I wrap a lock of hair around my finger, the blonde hue mixed with darker highlights giving me a more mature look. Gone is the gray and lilac color that’s become my signature style, something I’ve kept simply for the attention it garnered. I liked that guys came up to compliment my bold choice in hair color, then slyly invite me back to their place. I don’t want that kind of attention anymore. Lincoln is the only person I want to notice me. And I want him to know who I really am. Want to show him I’m ready to let him in, to let him see the real me. The me few people have seen over the years.
The me I haven’t seen much of these past few years, either.
The knee-length dress I chose for tonight has a halter neckline that accents my back and shoulders. It’s not as tight-fitting as I’m used to, but the belted waist adds a sensuality, as does the slit going to my mid-thigh. I never would have been able to pull off the emerald green shade before, since I hated how that color contrasted with my hair, but now that I’m a blonde again, I can get away with it. It actually suits me, bringing out a few green specks in my eyes I hadn’t noticed before.
When I hear the buzzer, I tear my eyes away from my reflection, my heart ricocheting into my throat. With shaky hands, I grab my clutch and shrug my belted coat over my dress, then walk toward the door, smiling a greeting at the chauffeur standing on the doorstep.
“Good evening, Miss Davenport. I’m Charles, your driver.” He helps me down the steps and opens the back door of the idling dark sedan.
“Thank you.”
Once I’m secure inside, he shuts the door before running around the car to get behind the wheel. Pulling into traffic, he glances at me in the rearview mirror. “We should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Mr. Moore requested I not give any information away.”
I can’t help but grin, the unknown of what awaits causing my insides to vibrate. It’s been years since I’ve been on anything remotely resembling a date.
Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever truly had a “first date”. Not in the adult sense anyway. My only other serious boyfriend was Parker, but we met in college. I’m doubtful a stolen kiss at the local pizza place where the entire university hung out qualifies as a date. Or going to the dining hall together. Or holding hands as we walked across campus, since we both had the same class.
As Charles maneuvers through the streets of Manhattan, I stare at the buildings as they become increasingly taller the farther away from the Village we get. Each time we pass a hotel, I perk up, thinking this is all another buildup to whatever fun role-playing game Lincoln has in store for tonight.
So when the car pulls up alongside a French restaurant in Midtown, I’m convinced I’m in the wrong place. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Lincoln and I discussed how we had to be more careful, discreet. Now he’s taking me to a restaurant mere blocks from Central Park? There’s no way we won’t be seen. The risk is too great.
Charles opens my door, helping me out of the car and walking me toward the restaurant. I steal a peek at the windows in an attempt to peer inside, but they’re all made of mirrored glass, ensuring the patrons’ privacy.
“Mademoiselle Davenport?” a voice says in a thick French accent.
I snap my eyes to see a man dressed in a dark suit standing inside the double doors, holding one open for me.
“Monsieur Moore is expecting you.”
Aware of the domino effect I fear tonight will cause, I look from the man back to Charles, who gives me an encouraging nod. I don’t exactly have the best of luck. Hell, Murphy’s Law should be renamed Chloe’s Law. If something in my life can go wrong, it will.
“Enjoy your evening,” Charles says before retreating with a smile.
“Mademoiselle Davenport?” the maître d’ repeats, his brows raised in expectation, extending his arm into the foyer.
I chew on my lower lip, torn. Isn’t this what I wanted, though? Didn’t I want Lincoln to treat me like he would a normal girlfriend, not kick me out of a hotel room after having sex? But at what cost? Lincoln’s always been a very rational and pragmatic person. He wouldn’t bring me to a popular restaurant without some sort of safeguard, would he?
On a deep inhale, I walk through the doors, allowing the maître d’ to take my jacket.
Once the exterior door closes behind us, I’m met with serenity. There’s no ambient chatter, no clinking of glasses, no scraping of forks against plates. The only sound is that of soft music coming from a piano.
When I turn the corner, following the maître d’ into the dining room, I know why. The entire restaurant is empty…apart from Lincoln sitting at a table in the center.
The instant he sees me, he stands, buttoning his suit jacket. It’s not unusual for me to see him in a suit. But tonight, he looks…different. His hair appears damp from a shower, his beard and mustache neatly trimmed to resemble just a bit more than a five o’clock shadow. Exactly how I like him.
“Chloe…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow as he rakes his gaze over my changed appearance.
I was so wrought with nerves over the idea of being exposed that I didn’t have time to obsess about whether Lincoln would like the new me. But it appears I had nothing to worry about, not with the way he currently admires me with nothing short of unabashed reverence.
“You look…”
Emboldened, I do a quick spin, allowing him to get a full view of the dress I bought just for him. For tonight. For this new me.
“You like?” I pass him a demure look.
His gaze unwavering, he takes several long strides toward me, drawing me into his embrace. “You’re stunning.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, toying with the few tendrils of hair that curl over his collar. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He runs a finger down the curvature of my face, then grabs a lock of hair, twisting it around hi
s digit. “You got rid of the purple.”
“I figured it was time for a change. Time to be me.” I pause, bringing my lips toward him. “Time to let you see the real me.”
His mouth finds mine, the kiss ardent, yet still respectful as he communicates how much this gesture means to him. When he pulls away, he cups my face. “Thank you for letting me see who you truly are.” He kisses my nose, then places his hand on my lower back and leads me toward the table. He holds out the chair, helping me into it before sitting catty-corner to me.
“Do I want to know what’s going on here?” I glance around the space, still a little confused why one of the premier French restaurants in the city would be empty on a Friday night.
“What do you mean?” Lincoln responds nonchalantly.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “This place. Being here. The lack of other diners.” My brow furrows. “What’s going on?”
He reaches for my hand, grabbing it in his. As he runs his thumb over my knuckles, his eyes remain focused on my skin. “I never thought I’d be able to do this in public,” he remarks contemplatively, almost in awe.
“What?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “Hold your hand. It’s…everything I imagined it would be.”
I’m pretty sure another piece of my heart floats across the table at his words, wrapping around him.
“I don’t want to deprive you of the normalcy that goes along with a real relationship because of who we are to each other. You deserve better than that. All last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about what we discussed yesterday. How we’ll never be able to do normal things. Go out for a romantic dinner, hold hands, steal a kiss for no reason at all. Right now, there are definitely some complications.”
I blow out a laugh. “Ya think?”
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t take you out. That all we’ll ever be able to do is hide away in one of our apartments or a rented hotel room. Granted, yesterday, my plan for tonight was another hotel room. But you deserve romantic dinners. Starlit walks through Central Park. Surprise flowers at work. I promise you…” His grip tightens, his voice firm. “In time, I will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and more. There will come a day I’ll be able to shout to the world how fucking happy I am because of you.” He moistens his lips, pausing as he collects himself, his tone softening. “But right now, I hope this is acceptable.” A hint of a smile curves his mouth. “We are in public, even if there are no other diners present.” He winks.