by Tessa Bailey
Her feet shuffled in the darkness. “I’m premed at Columbia. It’s my first year.”
“Really.” He called himself ten kinds of asshole for being surprised that a girl with a gorgeous ass wanted to be a doctor. Honestly, Ben. The fact that she attended the same school he taught at barely registered. Columbia was massive. They would likely go her entire college career without crossing paths once. Still, he was curious about her. Annoyingly curious. “What made you want to be a doctor?”
Her breathy sigh washed over him, and he closed his eyes before forcing them back open. “Actually, I always wanted to be a veterinarian. My family owns a farm in Kentucky, you see, so it just seemed natural. I’d get to work with animals and help my daddy at the same time.” Oh Lord, he loved the way she spoke. They weren’t even done talking yet and he already missed the sound of it. He’d begun to crave lemonade and sunshine, things he knew little about, being from Concord, Massachusetts. “When I was thirteen, my little brother, Teddy, who really isn’t little at all, got thrown from his horse and broke his leg. My parents weren’t home. It was just me and my poor brother. And I couldn’t do a thing. I had no idea what to do to make him better.” Her shrug moved the air around him. “Something changed after that. I didn’t like feeling helpless when someone I loved needed me.”
Ben’s heart started to knock against his ribs. There was something familiar about how her words made him feel, but he couldn’t place it. Couldn’t think through the sensual web her voice continued to spin around him. He only knew one thing. Screwed. I’m screwed.
Chapter 3
HONEY COULDN’T BELIEVE it. If she closed her eyes and tried to come up with the ultimate fantasy scenario, it couldn’t compare to this. She was locked in a closet with Professor Dawson in all his tweedy, leathery, butterscotch glory. The second he’d spoken, every nerve ending in her body had stood up and done the cha-cha, and they hadn’t stopped for a rest yet. At some point in her short life, she must have done something right, because he was so close that she could feel his body heat, hear him breathe as she spoke. Was she rambling? Probably. Stop rambling and ask him about himself. Anything to prevent him from making another phone call. She didn’t want to be pulled from this musky, dusty heaven anytime soon.
And yet her conscience, the conniving wench, was preventing her from enjoying this moment completely. As her professor, Ben had something to lose here. Even after a month at Columbia, she knew students engaged in relationships with professors, but it wasn’t allowed. By not telling him he was sharing the darkness with his student, she was taking away his choice to do what he might consider right. After today, though, after what she’d seen in his expression and body language, would he really turn her down in the name of following the rules? She didn’t know. How could she? She only knew Professor Dawson. She didn’t know Ben. Just a little longer, a few more minutes to get to know him better without their roles as professor and student in play, then she’d tell him.
After her story about the day she replayed in her head early and often, Ben had gone silent. She swallowed the worry that she’d rambled him into a coma and spoke. “What about you? Why did you decide to become a—” She cut herself off. Maybe she should take this as a sign that deception wasn’t really her thing. “What do you do?”
“I’m an English professor,” he said after a minute, voice a little deeper than before. It sent a warm shiver down her spine that abruptly ended when she reminded herself she already knew that and wasn’t telling him. “I wasn’t supposed to be,” he continued almost thoughtfully. “My father was a wide receiver for the Patriots, and everyone expected me to follow his lead.”
Talk about unexpected. She hadn’t thought much about how he’d been raised, but no one expects the answer to be “by a professional football player.” He would have been the equivalent of a rock star in her hometown. “But you didn’t want to play football?”
“No. Well, yes. I did. Every son is supposed to . . . make an attempt to follow in their father’s footsteps, right?” He laughed under his breath, but it didn’t sound like he meant it. “Unfortunately, I didn’t hit a growth spurt until junior year of high school, and by then, I’d discovered books.”
She thought of his broad shoulders and the way his thigh muscles flexed when he walked around the classroom. “That must have been some growth spurt.”
“What?” Oh wow. Had he moved closer? The body heat he gave off felt like it came from a radiator. Was that his breath on her forehead? She wished she could see in the dark. Wished she could see what he looked like close up. He’d be breathtaking. “How can you say that—‘that must have been some growth spurt’—when you didn’t even see me before the door closed?”
Honey shook a little at the underlying harshness in the question. There was no irritation or suspicion. No, he sounded like she felt. Edgy and breathless. Hungry. “Well, your voice is coming from a good eight inches above my head, so I know you’re tall.” There was a reason this was supposed to be wrong, but she was fast losing the ability to reason. Professor Dawson, Ben, the man she’d been fantasizing about for weeks, was right in front of her. Wanting her. She couldn’t be imagining it, right? Just a little longer. “Maybe I can figure out the rest a different way.”
It sounded like he bit back a groan. “That sounds like a bad idea.”
“Why? Because our friends are dating? Are you worried that—”
“No. It’s because you couldn’t be further from my type.”
“Oh.” Ouch. More than ouch. Honey rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest, trying and failing to ease the epic sting of rejection. Hadn’t seen that one coming. Maybe she should have. He was all smooth Yankee perfection, and she was a country bumpkin in ratty sneakers. Heck, they probably still had mud stains on them from the farm. Ben never looked anything less than put together and polished. In a mere two seconds before the door had closed, he’d summed her up and found her lacking.
Screw. That.
Honey put a lid on her insecurities. They were always there, waiting to pop up like some kind of needy jack-in-the-box toy, but she’d come to this city to shed them. She knew what she’d seen in his eyes this afternoon in the classroom, and he was full of shit. Not his type. This was her seduction, and he had another think coming if he thought a well-delivered lie could knock her off course.
She took a deep breath and eased closer to him. The door rattled, telling her he’d backed up and hit it. Good. He couldn’t go any further. She placed her palms on his chest and felt him shudder. Heard him curse in an almost desperate manner. Memorizing every inch of terrain encountered by her hands, she smoothed them higher, over his shoulders, before dragging her fingertips back down the way she’d come. When they reached his hard abdomen, Ben heaved an exhale and tunneled his hands into her hair. It was so sudden and so fierce that Honey’s knees almost gave out.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Touching you. Feeling what you look like.” It was part lie, part truth. She knew what he looked like, but he kept himself hidden behind tweed and podiums and glasses. Her hands moved on their own, scrubbing over his unyielding stomach while his breath accelerated at the top of her head. Her pulse sounded like a storm in her ears that only increased in volume when he tilted her face up.
“You want to put your hands all over me?” He slipped his mouth over her open one, his breath gliding over her tongue without actually kissing her. “It’s only fair if I do the same. So if that’s what you want, by all means, keep going.”
Honey was reeling from the touch of his mouth. Butterscotch. She’d known that was how he’d taste, yet she hadn’t had a clue. When combined with his unique flavor, he was . . . drugging. He wants to touch me. Wants me to keep going. Yes. Without reservation, her palm dragged over his belt buckle and encountered his hardness. The evidence of how she’d turned him on, the feel of him after weeks of imagining it, had her moaning loudly against his parted mouth.
Ben’s responding groan m
ade the muscles in her belly contract. One of his hands left her hair to cover her grip, tightening until they both squeezed his length. “Fuck. I’ve been so hard all day, babe.”
She felt dazed at hearing her straightlaced professor curse. Admit to a weakness. “Why?”
“So many reasons.” His laughter sounded pained, turning into a hiss of breath as she began to stroke him through his pants. “But it feels like it was all for you. I don’t know how to explain that.”
The beating in her chest expanded, reaching her throat. Her limbs felt heavy but pliant at the same time. Coupled with the darkness, the anonymity, his words emboldened her. I’ve been so hard all day, babe. It feels like it was all for you. She went up on her toes and laid her mouth on his ear. “I’ve been soft for you all day, so I guess we’re even.”
Her back hit the cinder-block wall before she’d completed her sentence. The breath whooshed from her lungs, and Ben swallowed it with his mouth. Time stood suspended as he kissed her. Finally kissed her. And it was nothing like she’d imagined as she’d lain in her bed at night. At all. It wasn’t proper or romantic or precise like everything else he did. No. Professor Dawson kissed like a certified bad boy. His mouth taunted her with gentle bites and teasing licks, before he swooped in and kissed her hard enough to bruise. It was glorious and . . . oh God, it was making her wet and achy. Excruciatingly so. She still held his impressive arousal in her hand, and the harder she gripped him, the more he growled and—
Ben tore his mouth away, and she almost dropped like a stone. Strong hands yanking her skirt up to her waist and settling firmly on her ass anchored her, though, made her fight to keep standing. To see what he would do. “Soft for me,” he breathed against her throat. “Should we find out where?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her thighs together, trying to dull the pulsing, but the movement made it worse. Strengthened it. “Please.”
Slowly, so slowly, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. At the same time, his fingertips trailed down the back of her thong, dragging lightly down the center of her bottom until they were between her legs. Honey held her breath as he placed pressure over her clit with two fingers, testing, torturing. He let her bottom lip go with a pop, then moved to her top one, sucking it into his mouth with a savoring noise. His lips, his fingers were sparking so many sensations inside of her that she couldn’t focus on any of them. She could only hang in some sensual balance and wait for what he chose to do next.
Ben released her top lip, and she could feel him staring at her in the dark, even though the air was ink black, impossible to see through. His breath was warm and ragged on her face as he hooked his two fingers into her panties and drew them to the side. Their lips slipped together, meshed, but didn’t kiss. There was too much anticipation hanging in the air, and neither of them wanted to upset it. His knuckle nudged against her clit and Honey gasped.
“This is where you’re soft, babe. Right here.” He drew his knuckle through her folds, back and forth, in a devastating pattern. “Does this soft pussy need something hard?”
The closet door flew open.
BEN OPERATED ON instinct, crowding his girl—his girl?—against the wall and yanking down her skirt at the same time. As soon as light had flooded the closet, she’d ducked her head and tucked it under his chin. It was a gesture that had taken the crazy, protective feeling she’d instilled in him and ramped it up about eighty notches until he wanted to strangle whoever had interrupted them. Sweet. She was so sweet and hot, and fuck why wasn’t he still kissing her? She’d been so wet for him that he could barely think past the need to feel her again. Jesus, she still had her hand on his cock, like she’d forgotten it was there. He hadn’t forgotten. And his cock definitely wasn’t showing any signs of forgetting anytime soon, either.
He squinted into the hallway light to find Russell and—was that Abby?—staring back at them, mouths agape. Of course, Russell spoke first. What else was new? “Well, this explains why you were late.”
“Do you mind shutting the goddamn door?” Ben growled. His girl shook her head, bumping his chin and reminding him of their predicament. The initial one, anyway. “Oh, right. Don’t close it. We were locked in.” Let me out of here so I can get this girl somewhere private. I’ll worry about my bullshit rules tomorrow. Need her now.
“Honey?” Abby looked concerned. “You okay under there?”
Honey. Ben shook off the recognition at hearing the name of his student, Ms. Perribow. Abby had obviously meant the word as an endearment, not a name . . . right? But the longer his girl stayed tucked under his chin, refusing to raise her head, a sinking feeling took over his stomach. She was completely covered now, and thankfully—or not thankfully, depending on how you looked at it—had removed her hand from his dick. There was no reason for her to be hiding. Unless she was extremely shy, but he hadn’t gotten that impression from her. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Hey.” He pushed her blond hair out of the way and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “You okay?”
She blew out a breath and looked him in the eye. And his world ground to a halt. No way. This was a dream. His alarm clock would go off in a minute and he’d be back in his studio apartment in Bushwick. Not looking down into the eyes of his student. No. Not just any student.
“Lolita,” he whispered.
“Who?” Abby asked from the doorway. “Her name is Honey. And I’m not judging, but that seems like something you might have chatted about before kissing in a dark closet.”
Ben grabbed her shoulders and eased her away, his throat dry as dust. Lolita, Ms. Honey Perribow, and closet seductress. All the same girl. One and the same. The holy trinity of hot, intelligent, endearing girl, and he couldn’t have her. But she hadn’t given him a choice, dammit. He hated, hated, the desire that flared even brighter at the sight of her face in the light. Beautiful. Way too young for him. But completely and utterly beautiful.
And a liar.
“You knew it was me,” Ben grated, scenes from his past rushing through his mind like a sick slide show. “There’s no way you couldn’t have known after listening to me lecture for hours. You knew. And you pretended not to.”
“Uh-oh,” Russell said to his left. “She’s one of his—”
“Students?” Abby finished, then gasped. “Oh my God, this is him? This is—”
“Abby, stop,” Honey croaked, face bright red. He could tell it wasn’t easy for her to look up at him, but he squashed any kind of sympathy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to lock yourself into a dark closet with me, and I just . . . it wasn’t supposed to go that far.”
Ben laughed a little too loudly. His neck was on fire. He had to get out of there. When he looked at her, all he saw was her deception. The same deception his father had faced so many years ago. The one that had bankrupted him, his family. All for a pretty young girl. Ben had sworn it would never happen to him, that he would never allow his body to overrule his common sense, and she, this girl, had done it to him three times in one day. No, four. Four. If you count his insane urge to throw her up against the wall and give her a nice, hard fuck for doing this to him. Stranding him in lust with a liar.
“What did she mean? ‘This is him.’ ” He pointed at Abby, but he kept his gaze trained on Honey. “What did she mean by that?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Russell shoulder his way into the closet. “Hey man, let’s go upstairs and have a beer. This just sounds like a misunderstanding.”
Ben ignored his friend, batting away the hand he tried to lay on his shoulder. He couldn’t look at anyone but her, and God, she looked miserable. Too bad. Not his problem. “Answer me, Ms. Perribow.”
She flinched at the formal use of her name, those golden eyes imploring him to understand. “She didn’t mean anything. I didn’t mean to—”
“Was this your plan when you walked into my class this morning?” He could see immediately that it was. She ripped her gaze away so quickly that he almost stumbled forward at the l
oss of it, which made him twice as angry. I have my father’s weakness. It’s in my blood. What if she’s already there, too? “Did you stop to think of the consequences for someone besides yourself? Or has pretending to be a grown-up in your big Chelsea apartment gotten boring? So boring that you thought, I’ll fuck with someone else’s life today.”
Abby stepped in between them and got right in his face. “That’s enough. You made your point, Ben.”
He didn’t like having Honey distanced from him. Not at all. He should want to get as far away from her as possible, but as soon as Abby blocked her from his view, he tried to get Honey back in his sights. Needed to. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Russell shouldered up beside Abby. “Let’s go, Ben. I’ll walk you out.”
He actually considered shoving his friend out of the way to get a final look at her. That’s when he knew he had to go. Something told him that if he saw even an iota of hurt in her expression, hurt he’d caused, he would take back everything he’d said. He refused to do that. Refused to absolve her. If she chose, she could report him to the administration for misconduct with a student, and everything he’d worked for would vanish. Someone holding that type of power over him was unacceptable.
Not giving himself another minute to think, he left the closet and slammed out of the building.
Chapter 4
HONEY SET DOWN The History of Medicine and picked up Lolita. Really, she was only torturing herself, but she figured she kind of deserved it. What a complete clusterfuck. She groaned at the memory of Ben storming out of the super’s closet last night, his parting shot still hanging in the air so heavy she could have reached up and plucked out the vowels. Thank God she didn’t have her Medical Sociology class until later this afternoon, because she needed a few hours to work up the nerve to leave the building. She’d come up to the roof in hopes of escaping Roxy and Abby, who were both a fun combination of hungover and annoyingly curious about what had gone down with Ben in the supply closet. Hell if she knew.