The Professor's Spring Fling

by Annick Claire

  He nodded, the same blank look in his eyes. “Yes, I guess you do. Another warm body makes it better."

  "No one could ever accuse you of being just another warm body.” His lack of emotion was starting to scare her. “Nick, what's wrong?"

  He stood up and crossed the kitchen to lean against the counter. His easy motions, the sensual line of his body, sparked awareness in every one of her cells. An image of them earlier, intimately connected on the edge of another counter in the house, flashed across her brain and her fingernails curled into her palms.

  He didn't answer her directly. “You're leaving for Denley tomorrow."

  It wasn't a question, rather a statement, but she nodded. “I have to get back. I have a full day on Monday."

  "So this is it?” Some subtle emotion drifted under the words like mist, but she couldn't place it.

  Still, she dug her nails deeper into her palms, and hope, like delicate wings, brushed her heart. She would never know the answer if she didn't have the courage to ask the question.

  "Why me, Nick? Of all the women at Denley, why me?"

  "Denley? Professor ... no, damn it—Amelia. There. I've called you Professor long enough, and it was a fun little game, but it's not a game anymore. Not to me."

  She shivered. Her name on his lips was like a drug, one to which she was sure she would become addicted. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't known for fidelity and certainly not longevity.

  She wanted him forever.

  What did he mean, not a game? He hadn't answered her question, but he was glaring at her like she owed him something.

  This whole week had been a sensual dream, and they'd talked over so many things—books, movies, common interests. But they'd never discussed anything about them.

  How had he found her? Why had he come?

  She tried to find her voice, but the question pressed though her lips as a ragged whisper. “Why did you come to Hilton Head?"

  He laughed, a brittle crack of sound in the silent, shadowy kitchen. “I came here because I couldn't stand one more day of not having you. Damn, Amelia, the thought of a whole week without seeing you, not even in that godforsaken classroom surrounded by horny pups who undressed you with their eyes, depressed me.

  "I went to your office to have it out with you, to beg you or force you to come with me to some private spot for Spring Break so I could finally get my hands on you. I was desperate. And then I heard you on the phone with your sister, and it all fell into place. ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ That's what you said. It made perfect sense at the time."

  But he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as if he'd been insane when he'd had the idea. “I did a little research, found out about this place, and followed you here."

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out, so she clamped it shut again. There was something missing here, but she couldn't think straight, couldn't put all the pieces together, even the few that she had. Something didn't make sense.

  She stared at him, confused yet still hopeful. He'd said he was desperate. He'd followed here. Those things had to count for something, didn't they?

  "I don't understand...” she finally faltered.

  "Yeah, well, you and me both, baby. I haven't understood this thing since it grabbed me by the throat and dragged me into hell.” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

  "You know what fascinates me most, Amelia?” She shivered again as her name tumbled off his lips, but she shook her head in response to the question. “You have no idea what you do to me."

  That wasn't exactly true. She knew she had some power over him, that their sexual experience together blew both their minds. She wasn't naïve, she knew how rare that kind of chemistry was. But could it last? Was it something he'd be willing to commit to forever? She doubted it.

  "You're an amazing lover, Nick, and every woman wants you. For some reason, you and I ignite when we're together, but you'll grow tired of me. Sex will fade and you'll want something else. Someone else."

  There. She'd laid it on the line, exposed her deepest, darkest fear where he was concerned.

  Something sparked in him, something she recognized. It surprised her, because she didn't know why it was something he'd ever need. His eyes began to glow.

  With hope.

  "Is that what you think?” The words weren't angry though, rather exasperated and ... Was that amusement she heard? How could this amuse him? But his body eased, tension rolling off of him like water from a duck.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, a defensive gesture to buy time as she tried to assimilate his words and their meaning, but he made it easier when he laughed and kept going.

  "Boy, Professor, for a brilliant lady you sure are dumb.” For the first time since she'd left her bed, he seemed gentled toward her, even if the words weren't very kind.

  "I've been waiting for you all my life, Amelia."

  Her breath caught, but she couldn't believe him. What did she possibly have to offer this amazing, incredible man? “Don't be ridiculous."

  His eyes narrowed. “You think I don't know my own mind? You think I don't recognize a priceless treasure when it's right in front of me? You obviously don't know me very well. Don't worry, though, we have a lifetime to solve that little problem.” He grinned like a friendly pirate, cunning and determined.

  Her stomach dropped, but she forced herself to finish this conversation, to allow him the possibility that he'd made a mistake. “You don't really know me at all, Nick. You've seen me in the classroom as a professor, where I'm paid to be patient and intelligent and kind."

  He rolled his eyes. “What academic ivory tower are you living in?"

  She didn't allow herself to be distracted by that one. “And we've shared an idyllic week on Hilton Head. That's all. You can't base a lifetime on that."

  He shook his head at her, as if he was chiding a wayward child. “I knew you long before I ever went to Denley. I've read every word you've written. I think I fell in love with you a little bit each time I came across something new. Still, a writer can be like an actor, and you can't be too sure who they are just by their words. I developed a very real desire to meet the celebrated Amelia Bradley, but I never managed to make it happen.

  "When I heard you'd been offered a teaching position at Denley, I pulled a few strings to get ‘transferred’ there. It's been fun, but I'm really too old to play college boy.” He paused, considering. “I might have to keep up with the crew team, though. It's the best shape I've been in for years."

  She didn't know about those years, but she could attest he was in amazing shape right now. His words sank in. Her knees went weak so she grabbed the lip of the counter for support. “You came to Denley to meet me?"

  His casual shrug belied the searching look he gave her. “I just wanted to meet the real you, independent of your writing, and see if everything matched up. But damn it, Amelia, the second I saw you, I knew I had to have you, that you were even better than my fantasy."

  She licked her lips, vaguely aware that he noticed by the way his eyes narrowed at the gesture. But as for thinking, she wasn't doing such a great job. Her mind tried to put all the pieces together, but they seemed to whiz past each other in a dizzying blur. This couldn't be real. Could it?

  "Who are you?” Even as she asked the question, she felt him tighten. The hard, distant man was back.

  "You know me. You know me better than any woman I've ever met. I've given you more of me this week than I've ever given anyone."

  She'd definitely struck a nerve. His voice was angry and accusing. She wanted to soothe the suspicion and hurt that lay beneath that answer, feeling a sad wave of compassion for the man who'd obviously been hurt over this issue. She pushed away from the counter and crossed to him, lying one flat palm against his warm cheek, allowing him to see her own insecurities before she tackled his.

  "My little sister was the prettiest girl in three states, Nick, and no one ever took her seriously, including our fath
er, a college professor who didn't believe pretty girls ever had any brains. I, on the other hand, excelled early in school, and he made sure I had every advantage possible academically, while dressing me like a goddamn nun until I was sixteen. That was the first time it ever occurred to me that I could rebel, that I had a right to make my own fashion decisions. My own decisions period, even if my father disapproved.

  "My parents were good people, but misguided. My sister and I paid for their mistakes for a long time. I'm still paying for them in a sense.” She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to be honest and authentic about her fears. “I have never been able to trust that a man will love me enough to want me for more than more than a quick tryst. I'm fun and intelligent and interesting, but ultimately he'll get bored and want someone else. Someone prettier.” She took another deep breath and studied the polo player on his royal blue shirt.

  He tilted her head back up so she could look into his eyes. His long elegant hand flattened over hers, pressing it more firmly against his face before he lifted them both and placed them over his heart. She studied him while he stood unnaturally still and let her, his eyes never leaving her face.

  She saw echoes of all the men she'd come to know in the last few months, the easy going college boy, the sensual partner and attached-at-the-hip companion of the last week, the hard, driven man he'd hinted at this afternoon. He was right. She knew him.

  She smiled into his eyes, her heart cracking open at the glimmer of the idea that this was real. For both of them.

  What a gift.

  Some unspoken message passed between them, and she knew they'd taken a huge silent step. He squeezed her hand and for a shadow of a second she thought she saw tears in his eyes, but she blinked and they were gone.

  They weren't finished yet, though. She knew him, body and soul, but she needed a little information as to his identity.

  "All right, pretty boy. Time for a little truth.” His pecs tightened under her hand, but she rubbed her index finger over his fabric-covered nipple in an attempt to soothe him. “I know you're richer than sin, otherwise you'd do a better job trying to advertise the fact. You'd better ‘fess up and tell me just what exactly we're talking about."

  His muscles tightened again, and her heart actually hurt for him, for all the mistrust and suspicion he'd so obviously built up over this aspect of his life.

  "Oh, don't worry.” She infused the words with just the right amount of amused bitterness. “I'll sign whatever prenup you want. I never wanted to marry a rich boy. I was so eager to live an artist's life of shabby respectability, and then, can you believe it? My first book sold like wildfire. I wasn't even out of college and already I was a fucking literary institution. Good thing I actually enjoy the process of writing. Otherwise, the pressure would've fried me five years ago."

  He laughed, a sound so seeped in joyous wonder that she thought she might faint. Those writer's instincts had served her well. She'd known just what to say in that tense moment. She sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever god might be listening.

  He levered himself up onto the counter and pulled her between his thighs. “You never cease to amaze me, Professor.” He reached down and grabbed a small piece of her hair, which he twirled and untwirled around his finger as he talked. “I hate to disappoint you, Amelia, but I can't offer you a life of respectable poverty. I'm the proud owner of exactly fifty-one percent of Cresswell's Department stores and associated business investments."

  She'd used the phrase in her books before, but it occurred to her that she'd never really felt the blood drain from her face until that moment. “Oh."

  He chuckled, a deep, affectionate sound that warmed her slightly. “'Oh?’ Is that all you have to say? One of the twenty richest men in the country is in love with you, and all you can say is ‘oh?’ You're a writer for God's sake. I expected better from you."

  The gentle teasing and allusion to the Forbes list both went unnoticed. The other part caught her attention. “Are you really in love with me? How can you be sure, Nick?"

  "I'm very well known for my decision-making and good judgment, Amelia. Trust me on this. I'm sure."

  She dropped her head into her hands, her elbows jabbing into his thighs. “This can't be happening."

  "Oh, it's happening baby. If I had any doubts left at all, you've just erased them. That's the first time any woman's actually been intimidated by my money. They usually think they've won the lottery."

  She looked up at him, the sight of his bitter expression twisting her heart. “They were idiots, Nick, to think that you weren't more valuable than your money."

  He traced a soft finger over her cheek. “No, darling, everything happens for a reason. It just meant I had the opportunity to meet you.” He pressed a hard kiss against her lips before he pushed off the counter and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down the hall to the bedroom, a childlike, infectious energy radiating from him. But once he pulled her in front of the simple pine-framed mirror hanging on the wall, he was intense, brooding sexuality.

  "Take the robe off, lady, and face the mirror."

  Suddenly, he was the man who'd found her in the shower on that first day, and an excited charge coursed through her. Nick Creston would certainly keep her on her toes. She smiled to herself.

  She slid her robe—well, technically, his robe—off her body and onto the floor with a slow shimmy, catching it on one fingertip before she tossed it to the foot of the bed. She turned toward the mirror and braced her hands on the top of the dresser, her body bent slightly forward and her feet slightly farther apart than the width of her shoulders. She kept eye contact with him through the mirror, feeling sexy as hell.

  Two could play this game.

  "What are you going to do to me, mister?"

  He touched her, fingers curling around her hip bones, thumbs tracing circles on the tender skin at the small of her back, setting her on fire.

  She arched, spreading her feet a bit more. Her arms were shaking and she thought they might not support her. God, her whole body was shaking.

  He ground his swollen erection against her, his shorts sliding against her ass. He moved his hands up to pinch her rigid nipples and she actually gasped at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

  He leaned in, a gravelly whisper in her ear, “I'm going to have my way with you, lady. Every which way I can. And we're both gonna watch."

  Her fingers clutched the wood as if her life depended on it. She knew her knuckles were turning white, but his green eyes smoldered, and she couldn't have looked away if she wanted to.

  He stepped back for a brief moment, tugging his clothes off until he, too, stood naked and their eyes melded together in the mirror. He grabbed her hips again and rubbed his cock against her, the hard, velvet skin drawing moist heat from her. He pressed into her slowly, and she felt him fill every possible inch, his chest flush to her back.

  One hand wrapped around her breast while one erotic finger pressed against her clit. It was the most amazing feeling, especially when he drew tiny circles on the skin, charging her up like a nuclear reaction.

  She moaned, floating somewhere between heaven and earth, her eyes closing at his sensual assault.

  "Look at me, baby."

  She forced them open to watch again, mesmerized by this erogenous coupling and his sexy voice.

  "I love your body, baby, and I love your soul. I love what you do to me, and I love watching you. You are the sexiest woman I have ever met. And if I ever think you need some reminding, I will happily tie you up and make love to you for as long as it takes to force some sense back into you. Got it, Professor?"

  She was on the edge. Her eyes wandered to watch his fingers play with her. The sight nearly made her come, and the onslaught of his fingers on her most sensitive skin set every nerve on fire.

  "Now tell me you love me."

  Her eyes jerked back to his. “I love you.” It was barely a whisper, she could hardly find her voice, but a bright flash of satisfaction bl
azed through his eyes anyway.

  "I know you do, Professor. You just hadn't said it yet."

  He pressed in and out of her slowly, his eyes locked on hers in the mirror. It had been a week of eroticism and intense sexuality, but this was sweet and tender and touching. Tears welled and slid, but she kept her eyes on her lover, determined to finish this with eyes wide open.

  His fingers pinched, and her whole body contracted, but she kept her eyes on his, enjoying the satisfaction of seeing the same hot, burning need on his face that she knew he saw on hers.

  They came together, and his strong arms somehow managed to keep her from tumbling to the floor.

  "You're mine forever, Professor. Don't ever forget it."

  He said it in the gruff tones of the bandit lover, but she knew what he meant. Not a threat or intimidation, but an enduring, loving promise that he wouldn't leave her or grow tired of her. That he was there to stay.

  The rest, they'd figure out.

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  Epilogue

  Elite Personalities Magazine

  Literary wunderkind Amelia Bradley electrified the broader world this week with news that she's eloped with the country's most elusive eligible bachelor, Nick Creston, heir to the great Creswell's fortune. Court documents show that Ms. Bradley and Mr. Creston obtained a marriage license three days ago, though no details have come to light as to the ceremony. The couple is rumored to be on their honeymoon in Aruba. While Mr. Creston's name has been linked to a number of renowned beauties, especially of Hollywood celebrity, he has shunned the limelight in recent years, ostensibly focusing his energy on the family business. Ms. Bradley, considered one of the great literary voices of this decade, has never been linked to anyone, so the match comes as a bit of a shock. Ms. Bradley's agent had no comment on the marriage, but offered that the author had met Mr. Creston during her recent professorial turn at a small New England school, Denley College, which ended at the conclusion of the spring term. School officials claim the author's academic debut was a complete success and would welcome her back should she decide to return, though she has no plans to do so. According to her website, Ms. Bradley's new novel is expected early next year.