by Shelly Bell
“Monday through Friday from one until four. In addition to general office responsibilities, I was supposed to help him with his research for a journal article.”
“I’ll find something for you to work on. Let me get you my contact information in case anything comes up.” He handed her his business card, then typed her hours into his schedule and shut his computer. She stayed, her eyes tracking his every move, and he knew right then it was going to be as difficult for her to put that night behind them as it would be for him.
It was up to him as the authority figure to maintain a professional distance.
* * *
Dazed, Isabella stumbled out of the business school, thankful for the blast of fresh air that cooled her heated skin. She’d done her best to convince Tristan that she could handle being his assistant, but honestly, it wasn’t going to be easy.
How could fate be so cruel?
That night with Tristan had helped set her on the path toward the rest of her life. Everything was supposed to be in her past once she got to Edison. But now, past and present had collided to become one giant fucked-up mess.
If only she could pretend she didn’t know the feel of his lips against hers or the flavor of his skin.
But she did.
And she wanted more of it.
More of him.
And if his words were any indication, he wanted her too.
She’d told him she’d sneaked out of the room to avoid an unpleasant scene. Truth was, she’d known that one night with him hadn’t been enough, and if he’d asked to see her again, she wouldn’t have declined, despite her fervent promise to herself to remain single for the next four years of school.
Nothing had changed in a week’s time.
She hadn’t made the promise lightly. After discussing the issue at length with her therapist, who had suggested she keep her options open to the possibility of dating again, Isabella had come to the decision she didn’t want anything to keep her from her goals. She was going to get into the business administration program, and nothing was going to get in her way.
Not even her less-than-professional feelings for Professor Kelley.
Settling on a bench in front of the building, she pulled her cell out of her pocket to call Dreama and saw she had missed two calls, one from Erin and the other listed as an unknown number. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the bench as she listened to her voice mail from Erin.
“Hi, Isabella,” Erin said a bit breathlessly, giving Isabella the image of her power walking to another courthouse. “Immediately after getting your phone message this morning, I called to speak with Tony’s doctor. He was extremely dismayed to hear that Tony was somehow able to mail a letter to you and assured me that the matter will be fully investigated. He also promised that it would not happen again and that Tony will temporarily have his mail privileges revoked.”
That was it? A figurative slap on the wrist for violating the restraining order against her?
Erin continued. “The doctor did indicate he was surprised to hear that Tony had broken a rule. According to him, Tony has been a model patient who has responded well to both his medication and group therapy sessions.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Based on our conversation, I got the feeling they’re thinking of releasing Tony soon, but I don’t want you to worry…”
Isabella didn’t hear the rest. Her heart was thumping much too loudly.
It wasn’t even lunchtime on her first day of college, and her past had already reared its head twice. Would the past ever let her go?
And in Tristan’s case, did she want it to?
The next message played and loud static crackled in her ear. Rolling her eyes, she waited a moment for the inevitable solicitor’s message that would tell her to call for her preapproved credit card. Instead, she swore she heard someone repeatedly whispering her name underneath the crackling.
The wind blew across the grassy courtyard as clouds blocked the sun’s rays, and the scars on her wrists itched as if the wounds were recent.
Tony’s letter was making her paranoid. This had nothing to do with him.
She replayed the message, this time closing her eyes in concentration. Frowning, she couldn’t decipher whether the voice was male or female.
It was probably nothing, but she didn’t erase the message. If she got another one, she’d forward them both to Erin.
In the meantime, she really needed to talk to Dreama. As a probation officer, she might have some insight into what factors the judge would consider for Tony’s potential release from the mental hospital. When Isabella had asked Erin, the attorney had told her not to worry until it was time. But Dreama would give it to her straight.
And just wait until Isabella told her the news about Tristan. Her cousin would definitely have some advice for her on that.
Whether she listened to her was another matter.
With only twenty minutes to get to her next class, she stood from the bench. Across the way, a man with a cell phone glued to his ear paced back and forth on the steps of the business school. She recognized him immediately from the school’s website. It was Isaac Lancaster, dean of the business school. Judging by the tone of his voice, he was not a happy camper at the moment.
Dean Lancaster ceased his pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you can’t deliver the cakes tonight, I’ll come by and get…What do you mean you didn’t bake anything? I’ve had a standing order with you for five years. First day of school followed by the first Friday of every month, like clockwork.” He paused, his face turning red. “Yes, I understand you’re in the hospital and I’m very sorry that you’re sick, but I can’t serve prepackaged desserts.” He heaved a sigh. “Very well then. We’ll speak when you recover. Good luck on your operation.”
Was it possible that fate was finally throwing her a bone?
With her head held high, she strode straight up to Dean Lancaster. “Dean Lancaster?” She extended her hand. “My name is Isabella Lawson and I believe I can help you.”
Eight
Someone kill him and put him out of his misery.
Would he really have to suffer through one of these department nightmares every month? So far, Tristan had met half of the business school’s professors, and each had a personality to rival tepid bathwater.
How was it possible he was as bored by them as he’d been sitting in the back row of their classrooms as a college student?
He’d convinced himself it was the subject matter, the ability to make microeconomics exciting a challenge when simply reciting passages from the textbook. But the men and women he’d been introduced to tonight made textbooks seem like pornography when compared to their dry conversation.
If he stayed on as a professor here, would he too stand as though he had a wooden stick up his ass?
He took another sip of the champagne, wishing he’d had the foresight to have a couple of drinks before the event. Maybe then he’d have something to add to the current conversation about the sustainable price of oil instead of nodding his head and laughing along with everyone else when he’d missed what was funny.
At least the food was good. He popped another bite-sized cannoli into his mouth and let the pastry melt on his tongue, the sweet, creamy filling reminding him of the last time he’d eaten something that sweet. He’d been between Isabella’s thighs, licking the moisture from her glistening pink flesh as her cries rang in his ears. She’d tasted like honey, her climax even more intoxicating than the combination of champagne and cannoli. Tonight’s desserts were a distant second compared to Isabella, but he’d take what he could get. And since he would never be getting Isabella again, he’d settle for pastries.
Shit, he needed to purge her from his thoughts. This was the wrong place to be fantasizing about a student.
Not that there was a right place.
But certainly the parlor of his friend, mentor, and boss wasn’t it.
No matter how many times Tristan had been there, Isaac and Cassandra�
�s home never ceased to amaze him. Built in 1895 by Isaac’s grandfather after being inspired by his stay at a French château, the three-story, redbrick Victorian contained most of its original furnishings. Although Cassandra had updated the home with new appliances and modern-day conveniences, it had retained enough to make Tristan feel as if he stepped back in time whenever he visited.
“Having a good time, Tristan?” Isaac asked, slapping him lightly on the back and interrupting his companions’ debate about…hell, he didn’t even know.
“Let’s just say it’s given me an appreciation for what you do,” Tristan said, snagging a mini cupcake from a passing waiter’s tray. He was about to toss it in his mouth, but halfway to his lips, he stopped, admiring it instead. He’d never seen such a work of art on a dessert outside of those television shows about pastry chefs. A rose decorated the top of the cupcake, its delicate petals reminding him of the pink folds of Isabella’s pussy.
He nearly groaned out loud. Fuck, he had Isabella on the brain tonight. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be thinking about her at all, much less at a department dinner with the dean of the business school next to him.
He puffed out a breath, willing himself to think of anything else. The principles of microeconomics. Math equations. The sustainable price of oil.
Isaac lifted his brows in mockery, knowing full well Tristan was miserable here at tonight’s event. Thank goodness the man couldn’t read his mind, or he’d find himself out of a job. And he couldn’t allow that to happen. There was nothing more important than Novateur. He had to remember that whenever the thought of Isabella’s creamy thighs crept into his mind.
If he was this obsessed after a single night, what would he be like if he ever took another sip? He’d lose his job, his chances to get that loan, and even worse, he’d lose his self-respect.
“You’ll get used to it,” Isaac said. “I did.”
Tristan’s heart jumped into his throat until he realized Isaac wasn’t talking about suppressing his desire for Isabella. “I doubt I’ll be here long enough for that.”
“We’ll see. Teaching has a way of getting under your skin. Speaking of which, how did it go today?”
Other than running into Isabella, his day had been rather uneventful. “Let’s just say I’m not that impressed with today’s youth. I can’t tell you how many times I lost a student’s attention to an incoming message on his damned cell phone.”
“It’s not a professor’s job to simply teach the day’s lesson.” His friend’s habit of imparting bits of wisdom into their conversations had always reminded him of Dumbledore.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tristan asked.
“It’s your classroom. It’s your role to make the rules and teach them that there are consequences if those rules are broken. As I recall, you enjoy disciplining those who’ve broken your rules,” Isaac said with a grin, causing Tristan to choke on his champagne. He did not want to talk about sex with his mentor.
A professor he’d met earlier in the evening, Dr. Nanci Weaver, stopped beside Isaac, a cupcake in her hand. “Are you using a new bakery this year? The desserts are quite an improvement over the usual dry cookies and brownies.”
Isaac nodded. “Our usual caterer lost our order, and for a moment, I thought I’d have to serve cookies out of a box, but a young lady—a student—overheard my phone conversation with the caterer and offered her services.”
Nanci tipped her head to the side, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Really? A student? Is she part of the hospitality program?”
“No, believe it or not, she’s studying business. A freshman,” Isaac explained. “She did all the shopping and used my kitchen to prepare everything in less than four hours.”
The back of Tristan’s neck heated, his heart thumping wildly.
A freshman business student who baked?
“Well, you must give me her card so I can have her do my anniversary party,” Nanci said to Isaac.
“I can do one step better. She’s still here finishing up in the kitchen. I’ll bring her out and introduce her.” Isaac excused himself from the parlor and left through the door that led to the kitchen.
Waiting for his return, Tristan stood rooted to his spot. Luckily, Nanci didn’t try to engage him in conversation because at that moment, his mouth was so dry, he didn’t think he’d be capable of speech.
Before last week he’d never seen her, and now it was as if she was haunting him.
A man had only so much strength before he snapped like an overstretched rubber band.
Just as he’d expected, Isabella came through the kitchen door. Her beauty took his breath away, replacing it with an unfamiliar buoyancy that made him feel as though his feet were hovering above the ground. She was wearing the same pink T-shirt she’d worn when they met, only this time, she wore it over a pair of blue jeans, and had a dusting of white powder along the side of her neck. He wasn’t sure if it was flour or powdered sugar.
He wanted to lick her skin and find out.
Trying to appear nonchalant, he stood off to the side of Nanci. With a hand on her lower back that spoke of familiarity, Isaac led Isabella to them. Tristan’s eyes locked onto the sight, and he clenched his jaw so hard he could’ve cracked a tooth. His reaction shocked the hell out of him. Isaac was old enough to be her grandfather and there was nothing sexual about the way he was touching her. And yet he couldn’t deny the hot, gnawing sensation in his gut that felt a lot like jealousy. Isabella didn’t belong to him, but apparently, his gut hadn’t gotten the memo.
And judging by what was going on behind the fly of his pants, neither had his dick.
Thankfully unaware of Tristan’s discomfort, Isaac introduced her to Nanci. “This is Isabella Lawson, the student responsible for baking everything tonight. Isabella, please meet Professor Weaver. And of course, you probably know Professor Kelley.”
She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yes, sir. We’ve met.” A blush crept up her cheeks and her eyes widened. “I mean, we met this morning in class.”
Difficult as it was, Tristan kept his expression bland and willed his dick to stand down. “As it turns out, Isa—Ms. Lawson—is also my assistant this year.”
“Do you have any cards?” Nanci asked Isabella. “I’m having an anniversary party and I’d love to have you cater the desserts.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have cards yet,” Isabella said.
Nanci whipped a business card out from her clutch. “Call Anita, my assistant, and give her your contact information. We’ll talk and see if we can make this work. The party isn’t until December, so we have plenty of time to work out all the details.”
Isabella nodded. “I will.”
Isaac’s hand left its place on Isabella’s back, relocating to her shoulder. “How would you like the job as my permanent caterer? The first Friday of every month I host a department party at my home.”
Tristan suppressed the irrational growl that threatened to erupt from him at seeing another man’s hands on his Angel.
“I’d like that,” Isabella said to Isaac with a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you.” With a squeeze to her shoulder, Isaac’s hand finally went back to his side where it belonged. “You don’t need to stay to clean. I’ve got a service to do that. If you wait a few minutes, Cassandra will give you a ride back to campus.”
“That’s okay,” Isabella said. “I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
“No,” Tristan said a little too forcefully. “I mean, I walked here as well. You’re on the way. I’ll walk you home.” No woman should ever walk across campus alone at night. There were far too many dangers hiding in the darkness waiting to prey on an innocent like Isabella.
In a move he now recognized as her nervous habit, Isabella tucked some of her hair behind her ear again. “You don’t have to—”
“I insist.”
Nine
The air must have dropped at least twenty degrees since Cass
andra had picked Isabella up from the nearby market that afternoon, but she couldn’t feel it because her body was still on fire from being alone with Tristan. (She couldn’t think of him as Professor Kelley no matter how hard she tried.) She’d dated Tony for years and had crushed on boys before that, but she’d never experienced anything like the strange buzzing she felt every time Tristan was near.
Tristan, on the other hand, seemed quite relaxed as he walked her across campus to her dorm.
Earlier when Dean Lancaster had requested she come into the parlor to meet some of the business school staff, she’d wanted to bolt from the house, her pulse racing from knowing that Tristan was likely in that room. At the same time, it was a chance to separate herself from the mass of students who would sit anonymously in the classroom, so that when the time came for her to apply to the business administration program, the professors would be familiar with her. Of course, she would’ve preferred they not remember her as the hired help, but she figured it was better than nothing.
She’d been thrilled to finally meet Professor Weaver. Like the other teachers in the business school, Professor Weaver had experienced great success in the business world, but when Isabella had read her online bio, she’d related to her both as a woman and because they’d both worked with their families. The impressive woman had gone from a humble beginning of a salesperson at her family’s car dealership to buying her own dealership in only five years’ time and then in ten more years, boasting the largest car dealership franchise in North America. Deciding to slow down, she sold her business and now gave back to the students of Edison, teaching entrepreneurial enterprise and negotiation skills.
Isabella sneaked a glance at Tristan. She had no idea what he did other than work at the university as an adjunct professor.
What lessons could he teach her?
Her mind went to a vision of her on her knees in front of him as he instructed her on how he preferred his blow jobs. She nibbled on her lip. Did he enjoy a little tease with licks and kisses or did he like it hard, deep, and wet? She shivered, picturing her hair twisted around his wrist as he pushed her mouth down onto his cock and ordered her to take it all.