Educating Sophia (The Moran Family Book 5)

by Alexis James

  Sophia turns slowly, brown eyes hazy with need. “I could ask you the same question.”

  Jesus, how the hell did we get here? I’d had myself convinced that setting her free would be the best thing for both of us. Just mere seconds after that, I’m holding her and pressing my erection against her. Fuck. I have most certainly just signed my own termination papers.

  “You should leave.” Returning to my seat, I grit my teeth to ward off the need that’s still channeling through my body and prop my elbows on the desk. “Meet with your advisor. I need you gone.”

  Hurt drifts through her eyes. “Yes, of course.” She starts to move away, but her feet come to a grinding halt. I can hear the deep, inhaled breath she takes. See the strength and resolve wash over her like an incoming wave. She immediately turns and strides right back to the desk, leaning over until our faces are almost touching. “You may need me gone, Caleb, but you want me. And you hate yourself for that.” She tries to reach out and touch my face, but my hand comes up to grab hers tightly. “Go ahead. Keep right on ignoring this and ignoring me. It won’t change a thing. Believe me, I know. I’ve tried.”

  “Get out.” Flinging her hand away, I lean back in the chair and drag my shaky hands through my hair. “Just get the hell out of here.”

  Eyes narrowing, she tenaciously stands her ground. “You are just as scared as I am. Why can’t you admit it?”

  The need to grind my lips against hers and kiss away that smart mouth has me growing even harder. Somehow, this beautiful young woman has chiseled her way into my heart and my head. Every part of my body reacts to her.

  And she knows it.

  Guarding my features, I force a low, menacing tone. “I see a desperate young woman attempting to undo all that she’s worked so hard for.” Leaning closer, my jaw ticks in anger. “I see someone who is trying very hard to convince herself that there are no repercussions for her actions.” Pointing to the door, I snap, “Get out of here. Don’t bother coming back.”

  She spends long moments considering my words, never once attempting to hide the pain I’ve inflicted. Her eyes swim with emotion, with unshed tears, but as I expect she blinks them away. Standing upright, she nods. “I can promise you, I won’t.” Turning on her heel, she marches confidently out the door and pulls it closed behind her with a firm, decisive click.

  Eyes to the ceiling, I growl, “Fuck!”

  What the hell have I done? How could I have allowed this—us to get so off track? Damn obstinate woman. Doesn’t she realize how close I was to saying fuck it all? My fingers itch to touch her again, and the knowledge of that only increases my rage. Now knowing what it feels like to hold her in my arms, I cannot imagine never experiencing it again.

  I have to, though. I must. Picturing the two of us together is what got me here in the first place. Having her outright admit she’s been experiencing the same thing wasn’t a big surprise, but having her go toe to toe with me was. Her refusal to give in, to stand her ground, only makes me want her more.

  This. Cannot. Be. Happening.

  I have enough troubles with my ex without worrying about losing my job too. And though I admit I want Sophia more than I can ever recall wanting a woman, nothing good can come of it. Sure, I could have stripped her bare and fucked her into oblivion. I could have, and she would have easily let me.

  Fuck, I’m still so damn hard. I don’t know what turns me on more: holding her close or watching her fight for what we both want.

  Adjusting my erection, I glare at the closed office door and attempt to come up with a solution. Removing her from the position of being my TA will go a long way in solving my predicament. It will not, however, do anything to dismiss the undefined feelings I have for her. She’s right … I am scared. I’m fucking terrified. Of her. Of what I feel for her and of how detrimental this can and will be for me.

  For both of us.

  I move with purpose down the long hallway of the Administration Building. Anger and frustration drive me as I push past other students without any consideration. I want to go home and bury my head under the covers, but that is a luxury I cannot afford. Somehow, I have to figure out how to face Caleb and tell him my advisor refused to let me out of my TA position with him.

  Karen is a decent lady, but she had zero sympathy for me when I pleaded my case and begged to be assigned elsewhere. Her demeanor during the meeting suggested that she’s been down this road before. No big shocker there. I’m certain I’m not the first person to have issues with Professor Bonham. Rude bastard. It would serve him right to be without an assistant for the remainder of the year.

  Shoving the door open, I step out into the warm sunshine and take a deep breath. I can still hear her telling me I need to have patience and that I need to get my job done without ruffling his feathers; that the letter of reference I’ll receive after graduation will be worth whatever stress I’m going through now. Blah. Blah. Blah.

  I should have known this would happen. After that complete debacle the other night, and the subsequent words he and I shared, I should have known it would all come right back to bite me in the ass. Provoking Caleb that like … a big old fat backfire right in my face. Of course he’d fight me on this and refuse to admit he feels something for me other than disgust. I’m certainly no expert on men, but even though his words said one thing, his body said something completely opposite. It sure as hell didn’t lie, even if he did. The man was hard. For me. Only for me.

  It makes me giddy just thinking about.

  I wonder if he’s thought about what happened between us and if, like me, he’s fixated on all the what ifs. I have to believe he wasn’t holding me that tight to make a point. I have to believe he needed to touch me as much as I needed to touch him.

  What would have happened if we hadn’t argued? The possibilities are endless. I imagine the outcome had I turned in his embrace and faced him. Would he still have pushed me away or would he have rolled his hips and teased me with his cock? Would he have kissed me or shoved my pants down around my ankles and fucked me from behind?

  I find it difficult to breathe, thinking about how it felt to be in his arms. The safety and warmth. The struggle for restraint. The man exudes confidence and command, and yet his embrace spoke of an underlying gentleness he hides very well. Regardless of how angry he was right before I walked out, nothing could conceal the effect I had on him.

  My lips turn up into a smile at that thought. The other students I’m walking past must think I’ve lost my mind. Who knows? Maybe I have. I’m so busy dealing with how I feel about Caleb, concentrating on anything but him is becoming an enormous challenge.

  I do have to consider why he touched me in the first place. Yes, he was angry. And yes, I’m certain he didn’t appreciate that I pointed out the obvious when I accused him of being as scared as me. But why hold me? Why continue to pull me close if all he wanted was to keep his distance?

  Goodness, no wonder I’m so bewildered.

  My phone chimes to life in my pocket, and I continue to move across campus as I talk to Charlotte, confirming my dinner plans with her later tonight. It sure pays to have a best friend when you’re waffling around in confusion over a man. Though, I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to tell her what transpired the other day. I trust her completely, but I fear the minute someone finds out he and I even thought about getting close physically, it could ruin us both.

  How stupid is this? People who are attracted to one another should be able to be together without all these stupid rules. Granted, there’s more wrong about the idea of Caleb and I together than there is right. Aside from the fact that he’s my professor, he’s considerably older than me. I’ve heard rumors that he’s been married and the occasional hush-hush phone calls he takes that always irritate him point to a contentious ex. But what do I know? I’m just a stupid college girl, right?

  Reaching my car, I toss my backpack on the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel. I certainly don’t feel like a girl when I’m aro
und him. The woman inside of me comes screaming out whenever he’s around. She’s loud, demanding, and will not settle for being pushed aside. That woman challenged him thoroughly the other night, and it was that woman I believe he’s attracted to, not the passive, somewhat shy worker bee I am the rest of the time.

  My shift at the preschool is a good distraction from everything Caleb related. The three and four years olds I work with keep me on my toes, so there’s little time to be self-absorbed or lost in thought. We play outside for a bit, and after snack time, I guide them through a craft. The work is rewarding on every level and certainly a good example of some of the challenges I will face once I’m in charge of my own classroom.

  I love this job, but like any teaching position, the pay is sorely lacking. Thank goodness I can pick up the occasional tutoring job here and there. Although, recently even those have been few and far between. Not that I’ve exactly had a lot of extra time, but the money would be worth rearranging my schedule.

  When the last child has gone home for the day, and I’ve finished straightening up and cleaning, I pick up some cheap fast food for Charlotte and me and head for home. We get together a few times each week to have dinner, do homework, and share some girl talk. Even though I have no intention of spilling my guts, I’m certain the subject of my handsome professor will come up. It always does.

  Since she has a key, I’m not surprised to find her sitting at the small dinette table, laptop and books spread out before her. Tossing my purse and backpack on the floor, I wave the paper bag in front of her face. “I brought cheeseburgers and fries. Dollar menu fine dining.”

  She rolls her eyes and gets to her feet, stretching and following me into the kitchen. “I just love how you spoil me.”

  With a smirk, I reply, “Right?” Dipping my hand into the bag, I extract her food and hand it over then unwrap my burger and take a bite, glancing at her while I chew. Charlotte is one of those women who has no idea how attractive she is. She barely takes any time on her appearance, and yet she looks like a supermodel. Currently crushing on not one but two seniors, she’s quite enjoying playing them against each other. “What’s new, my friend? How are your boys?”

  She laughs and waves a fry around while I open the beers she brought and hand one over to her. “Well, boy number one asked me out to the movies tomorrow night.” She grins and wiggles her eyebrows. “Boy number two I’m meeting up with later tonight.”

  Giggling at her, I shake my head. “You’re a bad, bad girl. You know that?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, but at least I’m not letting some hot older guy drag me around by the hair.”

  Frowning, I force aside the sting of pain and attempt to remain casual. “There’s no dragging being done, Char. He hasn’t figured out yet what he’s missing, that’s all.” My confidence is completely fake. That strong, fierce woman I sometimes am around Caleb … she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “So are you gonna tell me why you haven’t worked for him all week?”

  “I told you, I need to get caught up on some things.” My lame excuses for having her fill in for me this week have never been more unbelievable until right this moment. What did I expect her to do, pretend like my avoidance of him is normal?

  Charlotte pulls her arms across her chest and glares at me. “You’re lying. Tell me what’s really going on.”

  “I can’t.” That’s all the honesty I feel I can muster. Although, I’d love to get her take on all of it.

  “Did something happen between you two?”

  I refuse to lie to her, so I manage, “I can’t talk about it, Char. There’s too much at stake.”

  Her brows lift high on her forehead. “So something did happen … and you won’t talk about it because you’re afraid I’ll somehow go running through the quad, announcing that you’re sleeping with the professor?”

  “I am not sleeping with him.”

  “Whatever you say.” She pops another fry into her mouth and regards me with a narrow look. “Please don’t let that man pull you into some secret relationship. You deserve better than that, Soph.”

  With a heavy sigh, I shove the uneaten food aside and grasp my beer bottle between both hands. “He’s not pulling me into anything. There’s nothing going on.” That is sadly the whole truth. Considering he’s going to blow a gasket when I inform him about the meeting I had with my advisor, I might as well kiss my chances of ever being close to him bye-bye.

  “Can I ask you something?” She waits for me to nod. “Where exactly do you see a relationship with him going? I mean, it’s not like you guys could ever go public. And from what you’ve told me about your brothers, I highly doubt they’d approve of your affair with a much older man.”

  “He’s not that much older than me,” I mutter, avoiding her knowing look.

  “He’s a goddamn professor! There is no future with him, so why are you wasting your time?”

  Good question. I toss the uneaten remnants of my dinner into the trash. She’s right, about all of it: his position at the college, the potential conniption my brothers will throw if they were to get wind of it. Mostly, she’s right about there being no future for me with him. As hard as it may be for me to accept, holding out for him is nothing but a waste of my time. So what if we had a few moments of inappropriate touching. The truth is that my crush on him is, indeed, a big waste of time. Mine and his.

  Chances are he most likely responded to me that night like any man would. I certainly can’t blame him for being a fully-functioning male. It’s not his fault I pushed him into a corner and started making demands. That’s all on me.

  I owe him an apology. I need to make this right. Come Monday morning, I’m going to march into his office and set a few things straight. Then I’m going to return to the quiet, unapproachable TA I’d been prior and get myself back on task. I need to focus more on getting my degree and spending less time submerged in some schoolgirl crush. Sadly, I’m no longer a girl. I’m a full-grown woman, responsible for my own life. Screwing this up now would be a huge blow to me professionally as well as personally.

  A pang of regret surges in my chest. What am I going to say to him to make this right? Will words be enough? There is so much I don’t know about the intriguing man who fills my dreams, so I have no idea how to anticipate his reaction. I can only concentrate on what I need to do and say and hope he’ll at least allow me the time in which to do that.

  “You okay?” Charlotte asks.

  Lifting my head to look at her, I shrug. “I don’t know. I need to figure a few things out.”

  “Well, my friend…” she smiles, taking my hand in hers “…just say the word, and I’ll be happy to help.”

  I wish it were that easy. Unfortunately, I’m the only one who can make this right. No matter what happens next, I need to let this whole thing go. I’ve carried around this obsession of mine for far too long. It’s time to tell him—and it goodbye.

  “Pop?” I call out as I step inside my childhood home. Memories come at me, one after the other, as they always do when I walk through the front door.

  Most of what I recall from my childhood is the usual stuff like playing with my friends in the backyard or an intense game of chess with my father in our sunroom. There was nothing particularly remarkable about my early years. An only child, my parents doted on me completely, though not without a fair share of good, hard discipline. I grew up wanting and needing nothing, and yet I’ve spent my entire adult life doing just that—wanting to better myself and needing to do whatever possible to attain it.

  Does that explain the out of character craving I have for my young assistant? Hell no. That right there, that’s the stuff you read about in the papers; some fine, upstanding man brought to his knees by a young and innocent girl. Sophia sure as hell brought me to my knees, but I have my doubts about whether or not she’s innocent.

  She sure as hell wasn’t acting like it, challenging me and daring me to come clean. The woman in my arms was not innocent, that’s f
or sure. Given how I responded to her, and how her only reaction was to rub herself against me like cat, I have to wonder if there isn’t another motive. Is this some sort of payback for all my nasty comebacks, fiery retorts, and generally grumpy attitude? Stranger things have been known to happen. Good thing I managed to get my head focused on something other than my cock. Otherwise I’d be standing in my childhood home as an unemployed professor right now instead of merely a blue-balled one.

  “I’m here,” he calls from upstairs. “Be down in a minute.”

  Strolling into the living room, I take a seat on the couch and glance at the pictures that are propped on the mantel. My parents’ wedding picture sits directly in the middle as it has for as long as I can remember. Their young, happy faces denote a much simpler time long before the chaos of raising a rambunctious boy and many years before the threat of lung cancer would ever upend either of them.

  My mom passed peacefully over ten years ago, and yet I miss her just as much as I did in the beginning. Some of the memories have faded, but if I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of her laughter, still see her reaching for my father’s hand whenever they’d go on walks together.

  It sounds silly, but my mom was one of my best friends. We could talk to one another about anything. She understood my driven need to succeed in my chosen field, but was always right there reminding me that work wasn’t everything and that I needed to learn to live a little. She was the only woman who has ever been able to love me unconditionally, while still calling me out when I behaved like an arrogant prick. Losing her devastated me and ever since then I’ve kept my heart on lockdown, even with the woman I once called my wife.

  There’s a picture on one end of her and me, a favorite of mine. I was thirteen or so, all gangly arms and legs, a mop of wavy black hair curling around my neck. Even at that young age, I stood a foot taller than my petite, beautiful mother. Though, it’s fair to say she had no problem kicking my ass if need be. If she were still alive, she’d be kicking it all over the French Quarter for a variety of reasons—first and foremost for the situation with Rianne. Mom wouldn’t have liked the man I’ve become, and she certainly would not approve of my less than respectable feelings toward the young Sophia.