by Claire Adams
Her eyes flew over the first few lines. "This is the expose? You started it before we knew anything for sure."
"I know a few things for certain, and one is that that's a good-looking byline," I tapped the draft of the article where Clarity's name shared the byline with me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Clarity
"You realize that once we publish this, everyone is going to be looking for us," Ford said.
I smiled as my stomach skittered with excitement. "Isn't your apartment the first place they are going to look for you?" I asked.
Ford nodded as he turned his key in the lock. "Yes, but there's no rule that says I have to open the door. You sure you want to come in?"
I stepped inside his apartment. "I'm not sure how many people would look for me here," I said. Besides my father, and Lexi, and ... I tried not to think about what Lexi would say. "I don't mind laying low for a while if you don't mind the company."
"Company?" Ford snorted. "I didn't cleanup for company. You're my co-author."
A pleasant chill raced over my body. "I don't think you actually have enough stuff in here to make a mess." I wandered from the short entryway hallway into his living room.
"I've got the essentials," Ford said. "Sofa, chair, lamps, television, stereo, and, most importantly, my computer." He sat down and pulled up our expose article.
While he made a few of my suggested changes, I tried to take a tour of his apartment. From every angle, all I wanted to look at was him. We had realized that publishing the article from Landsman College was a bad idea, so when Ford invited me to his apartment, it had felt natural. Now my stomach wouldn't stop fluttering. I tried to tell myself it was only the excitement of exposing Michael Tailor's misdeeds, but that was a lie. There was more to it, and the full extent hit me every time I glanced at Ford.
His white dress shirt was rumpled and he had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. The top buttons were undone and exposed the deep V-neck of his white undershirt and a fringe of dark chest hair. I remembered being pressed to his chest when he comforted me and missed the question he asked me.
"Sorry, what?" I asked.
Ford smiled. "I asked if you wanted me to turn music on. The radio's right there, but I also have a decent record collection. Do you even know how to turn on a record player?"
I stuck out my tongue at him. "I'm not that young."
He laughed and turned back to the computer screen. I started to peruse the records he had stacked tightly on a bookshelf, then I ran across another framed photograph of his sister.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked. "I feel like I pushed you into it but you're the only one that really has anything to lose."
"That's not true," Ford said. He pressed saved and stood up to join me at the mostly bare bookshelves. "This could change your life."
"Not as much as yours. You're going to lose a steady paycheck. I'm not some sheltered college girl that doesn't get what it's like to work for a living," I said. His proximity brought a bright warmth to my cheeks.
Ford's brow furrowed then he saw the picture of Liz and smiled. He picked up the frame. "This was taken about ten minutes after she fell off her bike. Her entire leg was scrapped up. Somehow, she managed to fall on part of a broken glass bottle. She's smiling that big because she just helped the doctor stitch up her knee," Ford told me.
"She always wanted to be a doctor," I said.
"I was a mess. All the blood and the big gash across her knee. It was awful, and yet look at her smile," Ford sighed proudly. "Liz could always take care of herself. She just let me help."
"So she'll be okay, but what about you?" I asked. Ford was inches away, his fond smile drawing me in. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
He put the photograph back and caught both my hands. He tugged me closer and looked deep into my eyes. "I am sure." He brushed a kiss across the back of my knuckles. "In fact, I'm ecstatic."
Ford's bright grin surprised me after the gentle caress. I took a step back and gave him a wary look. "Ecstatic? Have you lost your mind?"
He dropped my hands only to bring one hand to my cheek. "Clarity, you have no idea. You inspired me. You gave me a way to get my integrity back and do something good. I feel renewed, excited. The anticipation is intoxicating."
My body thumped as if a large door had just swung open inside me. I knew he meant the anticipation of breaking the news story, but the heat where his hand touched me suggested otherwise. We were off campus, Ford was off the clock, and we were finally just two consenting adults alone in an apartment.
"So let's do it," a voice said and a heartbeat later I realized it was my own.
Blue blazed through Ford's eyes and his gaze dropped to my lips. There he fought for a moment, then dropped his hand, and turned to his computer. "You're right, let's get the truth out there and see what happens."
Ford sat down at his computer and I looked over his shoulder. With a few swift keystrokes, he signed in to the School of Journalism and used his faculty password to access the department web page. He uploaded our article, and it became the cover copy within seconds.
"Your phone's ringing," I said.
"They'll take that down right away, but I couldn't resist." Ford then opened our student newspaper page and published the expose as the main headline. "This is password protected and should take them longer to shut down."
I leaned over him and reached for the keyboard. "Then let me link it to social media. If students don't read it, they'll at least get outraged when the article is removed."
Ford scooted his chair back. I was so intent on getting the message out there that I perched on his knee so I could type easier. When I was done, we sat together and watched the article circulate through the student population and beyond in a matter of minutes.
A strand of my hair caught in Ford's stubble and he gently brushed it away. The faint caress sent a bolt of lightning through my body. Ford felt my reaction and the muscles of his thighs tightened underneath me.
There was no one way to stand up without giving him an intimate view of my backside but I did it as quickly as I could. I hated the nervous giggle that escaped my lips. "My stomach's growling," I lied. "Too bad we can't really order a pizza now, or people will know you're home."
He stood up and took my breath away with the first step he took towards me. The rumpled white shirt, his charcoal dress pants, the sheen of his black leather belt. Ford's dark hair was tussled and his five o'clock shadow was dark. He looked so delicious, it was no wonder my brain had jumped on hunger as an excuse.
Ford took my hand and guided me into the kitchen. He opened up his freezer and grinned. "My apartment might be bare, but the kitchen is fully stocked. What are you in the mood for?"
The thought of what I was in the mood for covered me in a wave of heat the freezer could not combat. I had only had two serious boyfriends since high school, and one silly fling last summer. They had given me good ideas, but none of them had elicited such a deep-seated craving.
"I've got frozen scallops and sirloin steaks. We could do a little surf and turf. Maybe a salad on the side? I think there's even frozen breadsticks in here somewhere," Ford said.
"You know how to make all that?" I asked.
He laughed. "You thought I survived on cafeteria food and take-out, didn't you? There's more to me than you know, Clarity."
As he rummaged around in the freezer, my eyes dropped to the firm outline of his backside, and I shocked myself. There was no way Ford's mind was anywhere near my thoughts and I was horrified at how out of control I was getting.
"You don't need to go to any trouble." I retreated across the kitchen to lean on the opposite counter.
Ford gathered the ingredients and put them down next to me. Then he leaned in close and smiled down at me. "What if I'm excited to cook for you? Will you let me?"
Words deserted me and my traitorous body lifted a hand to finger his open collar. All I could do was nod.
Ford's br
eath came faster, but he reached up and opened the cabinet behind me. "Then since we're stuck in this self-imposed quarantine, we might as well relax. Would you like a glass of wine?"
I slipped into the corner between the counter and the sink. Ford followed me and reached behind me again, this time to find two wine glasses. He didn't move to release me as he uncorked the wine on the counter next to me and poured us each a glass of deep-red wine.
"Here's to Ford Bauer, crusader against corruption," I raised my glass in the small space between us.
He tapped his glass against mine and it chimed softly. "What, no more Professor Bauer?"
"You might not be a professor anymore," I said.
Ford took a slow sip of wine and then smiled as he looked at me. He leaned forward again and his voice was as rough and soft as I imagined his stubbled cheek to be. "Why does that suddenly make me so happy?"
"Well, I'm hoping you're a chef instead because I have no idea what to do with any of this," I quipped.
"Want me to show you?" Ford smiled and stepped back. He found a bowl and started thawing the scallops in the sink. Then he unwrapped the steaks and set them to defrost in the microwave.
His kitchen was small but well-equipped. The counters weren't Spartan, but they were meticulously clean, and soon he opened drawers and cupboards and covered the counters with ingredients. There were cutting boards with fresh vegetables and apothecary jars full of spices. In between his whirlwind prep, Ford rushed out to the living room and put on a record.
All I could do was stand back and enjoy the view. Ford was relaxed and his eyes sparkled. It reminded me of when we met at my father's cocktail party, before Ford knew me as a student. When he taught me how to mix up a rub for the steaks, there was no awkwardness between us.
Ford eyed the stovetop as everything sizzled. "Do you think it's enough?" he asked.
I took a long sip of wine. "I think it is an amazing last meal," I joked.
"You're right," Ford chuckled. "We might as well go all out. How about a fire in the fireplace?"
"I can do that. At least let me help with something." I marched over to his fireplace and grinned. His bare apartment was deceiving, he had everything we needed and more. The pine logs were dry, there was a neat stack of kindling, and the matches were long-handled and easy to strike.
When I turned around, Ford was smoothing a white sheet over the coffee table. "It's brand new," he said, "just out of the package." He shoved the rest of the sheet set underneath the sofa and then placed two sterling silver candleholders on the coffee table.
I helped set the table and my hands trembled as I set down our wine glasses. Ford brought in our plates and my mouth watered as he sat down on the floor next to me. Buttery scallops nestled next to spice-rubbed steaks and a crisp green salad. The breadsticks were warm and toasty from the oven.
Ford watched me take the first bite of perfectly grilled steak. My eyes rolled up to the ceiling as I savored it and a small moan escaped my lips. His fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. "So, what do you think? Can I be a chef instead of a professor?"
I murmured my agreement through a large bite of scallop. "How about you skip the chef part and just be my personal kitchen slave," I said.
His eyes darkened to midnight blue and Ford reached out to brush his finger over my lower lip. "I know I'm not supposed to say it, but I think I'd be happy being your personal anything," he said.
I laid my fork down before I dropped it. "You would?"
Ford brushed his thumb over my lower lip again. "You know, I pretty sure my department head has already left a voicemail firing me. I'm not your professor anymore."
I dipped my chin and kissed his passing fingers. "I'm not your student anymore either."
He pulled back his hand with a sharp intake of breath. "You know, even if I was still employed by Landsman College, I don't think I could let that stop me." Ford took a swig of wine. "I'd have to go to the administration and declare our relationship."
"Wait, you can do that?" I asked.
Ford cut a bite of steak and pretended like we were having a perfectly normal conversation. "Your father mentioned it once. He was telling me about an economics professor that fell in love with an art student. At the time, I thought he was really talking about his crush on Polly."
"The art professor? Oh my god, that makes so much sense," I said. I remembered the way my father always talked about painting in a whole new way.
Ford looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Have you ever been in love?" he asked.
I looked at the candles on the coffee table. Ford leaned back against the sofa and sipped his wine as he watched my face. I shifted my glance to the fireplace, then up to the record player crooning a bluesy ballad. I thought about my past boyfriends, but nothing about those relationships compared.
I had never felt such a jolt of recognition and desire as when I ran into Ford at my father's party. Even when I caught my high school boyfriend kissing another girl, it didn't compare to the depths of disappointment I felt when I saw Ford was my professor. Now my heartbeat echoed his words over and over again. He couldn't let that stop him.
"I've had boyfriends, yes. I'm not some naïve girl." I defied the new sensations even as they racked my body.
Ford's lips quirked around the rim of his wine glass. "I have never thought of you as a little girl," he said. "So, I guess the question is, what do you think of me? Am I some old, lecherous professor?"
I snorted. "Some lech, we've barely even touched."
A spark ignited in his eyes. "What about that kiss or am I really so out of practice that it had no effect whatsoever?"
The memory of that kiss still spun my head like a top. I fought off its dizzying affects and tried to sound cool and in control. "Out of practice?" I asked.
Ford turned his attention back to his plate. "I've been taking a little break from relationships. I don't know, trying to atone for past mistakes, but also there hasn't been anyone that stood out."
I wondered if his self-imposed break had lasted two years. Suddenly the sore topic of Libby Blackwell seemed like a distant and forgivable instance. It was a mistake, and Ford had spent long enough trying to pay for his mistakes.
"How do you know when someone really stands out?" I asked.
His gaze flicked up to mine in surprise and he took hold of the new subject gratefully. "It feels like you've already know them, or you recognize them somehow," he said.
Ford's words unknowingly echoed my thoughts and my heart leapt against my chest. I pressed a hand to it to calm myself down. "Like love at first sight or just strong attraction?" I asked.
Ford set down his wine glass and leaned forward. The corner of the coffee table was small in between us and I wondered if it was gone if I might fall right into his arms.
"I think I might believe in love at first sight," he said quietly.
"Really?" I scooped up my wine to hold something between us. "That statement was riddled with qualifiers."
Ford smiled and plucked my wine glass from my weak fingers. "You of all people should appreciate my desire to do firsthand research," he said.
He set aside my glass and closed the space between us. I held up a shaky hand and asked, "You would really declare our relationship to the college administration?"
"So there wouldn't be a single thing between us," Ford said. He captured my hand and pressed it to his heart.
I could feel his pulse racing under my palm and the pace matched the blood rushing like wildfire through my body. Ford's mouth was serious but his lips parted with a faint smile. I leaned forward, holding the corner of the coffee table for support.
Ford's lips brushed lightly against mine. "I'd lay it out on the line, just please, tell me it leads somewhere."
I slipped my hand from his heart up to curl around the back of his neck. I pulled him close and parted my lips to welcome his kiss. We fell together and our lips moved hungrily. Ford groaned deep in his throat and I caught his d
esire on parted lips. He delved deeper into the kiss and our tongues tangled together, tasted until we both gasped for air.
I pulled back half an inch and whispered against his mouth. "There aren't any rules holding us back anymore?"
"You tell me, Clarity; I want you, I want all of this, but I won't push." Ford pushed himself back and leaned against the sofa again. His eyes were a clouded midnight blue, his lips still shining from our kisses.
"Was it only hot when you felt like we were breaking the rules?" I asked.
Ford gave a harsh laugh. "No. It was never about the rules or some illicit affair. It's just this." He lunged forward again and caught me in a searing kiss.
His mouth pressed against me, demanded me to open, to give in, and it felt so good I moaned my surrender. Ford was right. This passion that passed between us like a crashing wave had nothing to do with cheap thrills or taboos. It felt as natural and as powerful as a storm and we were powerless to control it.
"No more rules," I murmured. "We're both consenting adults."
"I consent," Ford panted against my wet lips. "You can have me, Clarity. You can have all of me and there's not a single policy that can keep you from taking what you want."
His kisses, peppered hard and soft against me, dispelled my guilt more than his words. My mind raced back to the first moment we met when we were simply a man and a woman meeting at a party. The freedom of that thought felt like wings on my back. I lifted off the ground.
Ford sat back, fearful that I was getting up to leave. All I could do was shake my head. I reached a leg over his seated body and slid into a straddle across his lap.
"Oh, god, Clarity," Ford's whisper was rough with passion. His hands clasped around my waist.
I leaned forward, capturing his strong jaw between my hands as I kissed him with abandon. He answered by running his wide palms up my back, pressing every inch of me against his taut chest. When his hands reversed direction and ran down to the curve of my lower back, I whimpered with delight. He pressed me down against him and I felt the surging press of his desire.