Despite his booming personality, Logan Jeffrey was drop dead beautiful. He was rough around the edges, with salt and pepper whiskers covering the lower half of his face and his hazel-colored eyes wrinkled at the corners. Peyton would say he was in his early forties but he certainly didn't look it. His jet black hair was slicked back from his face, making his features more prominent. He was lean with broad shoulders and pure muscle. He constantly wore a leather jacket and jeans. He was the definition of masculinity and that by itself was enough for Peyton to feel this irresistible attraction to him. Add the fact that he was her professor and advisor made him strictly off-limits, which just added a danger to her attraction. And finally, his dimples... Peyton didn't think she had been a dimples sort of woman, but on him, they made him look boyish. Approachable.
Until he opened his mouth.
Let's not forget that voice, a voice sing-songed.
Petition clenched her jaw at the thought. She did not want to be reminded of his voice, actually, especially not right now, not when he was looking at her with those sparkling hazel eyes and that cocky smirk she wanted nothing more than to slap off his face.
He knew it, too.
Logan knew that he got under her skin.
That was not a good thing. Logan Jeffrey was the type of person who sniffed out a weakness and made an effort to showcase it every chance he got, like poking a bruise over and over and over again. The gleam in his hazel eyes and the grin on his face only caused the butterflies of dread to flap their wings faster. It didn't help that a couple of caterpillars attracted to that face and to that look managed to sneak in so her emotions were in a strange stage of influx.
"And what are you fucking doing here?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Peyton was compelled to look down at his arms as he crossed those arms over his chest and watched his biceps tug at the soft grey sleeves on his v-neck shirt.
Shit. He was in excellent shape. He was built lean but it was all muscle. Peyton had no idea how old he was besides her estimation; he was way too old for her, almost half his age. She definitely shouldn't be attracted to him. His age, the fact that he was her professor and advisor, the fact that he was the biggest ass she had ever known were all compelling reasons to run away from this attraction. It was dark and twisted and totally not what she should be focused on.
But she couldn't help it if she tried. And his grin deepened because he knew it.
Of course he did.
"Well?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "Fucking cat got your fucking tongue?"
Peyton clenched her jaw. "I'm your TA," she told him. None of the students seemed to care one way or the other that Logan Jeffrey and Peyton were having a quiet, intense conversation, which was a good thing because she didn't want freshmen to notice her dilated pupils and the light flush on her cheeks.
He started laughing in a way that fitted him: loud and obnoxious. "How fucking fitting," he said. "I'm sure you put in a fucking personal request?"
"Actually, the girl who was assigned to be your TA begged to be released from the commitment," Peyton replied. "They needed someone last minute and I said yes."
"Well, you're a fucking fool, aren't you?" he asked.
"Probably," Peyton agreed, "but I need the money and you need the help. What would you call it? A mutually beneficial relationship?"
Logan threw his head back and laughed. This caught some of the front row's attention. "You have a lot of spunk, sweetheart," he said. "I like that. I've never had a TA, much less a student, with your fucking sass."
Peyton continued to stare at him but wasn't sure how to respond so she chose not to.
"Nothing to say?" he pushed, his arms crossed over his chest. "That's fucking rich, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?" a voice asked. It was high and obnoxious and decidedly young.
Peyton glanced away from Logan, which, oddly enough, was much more difficult to do than she thought it would be, and rested her eyes on a girl who couldn't be older than eighteen, staring at Logan with big doe-like brown eyes and a flirtatious smile on her pink lips. She could feel Logan's stare on her for a moment longer than was necessary, something she was starting to realize was common for him to do, at least with her.
"Darling," Logan began and Peyton watched as this girl, this young beautiful girl who had her entire future in front of her, was looking at Logan like he was the sky and the sun and the moon and the stars. She tittered when he called her darling. "Can't you see I'm fucking in the middle of something? Whatever you have to say can fucking wait after class so why don't you fucking scoot so I can finish this conversation with my fucking TA."
The girl's mouth dropped. Whether it was because of his dismissal or his language, Peyton wasn't sure. In reality, it shouldn't matter. But the girl spun on the heal of her foot and walked away with a huff, as though she wasn't used to being bypassed over for an older, plaid-wearing woman. Peyton didn't take it personally; she might have done the same thing when she was eighteen and infatuated with her bad boy professor at first glance.
When she a safe distance away, Peyton turned back to Logan and perked her brows. "I'm surprised," she murmured. "That girl was giving you goo-goo eyes. Might be the leather jacket. Pretty sure you have a shot with her, if you want it, of course."
There was a second, a moment that Peyton could feel hang in the space between them. Without warning, Logan leaned over and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently shoving her in the direction of the door. Peyton allowed him to move her to the door without pushing against him. He only released her when he opened the door.
Once they were in a small, vacant hallway with no light that must be used solely by professors, Logan placed both of his hands back on her shoulders.
"Think very carefully before you continue with that smartass comment, sweetheart," he said, his voice low, dangerous, his face mere centimeters from hers. She could smell a subtle hint of forest and ocean and cinnamon and anything masculine. Peyton could hear her heart beat pulsate through her head and reverberate throughout her ear canals. "I don't like fucking barely legal girls who have no idea what the fuck they're doing. I also don't fucking sleep with my fucking students. And it pisses me off that you would think otherwise."
Peyton swallowed. It was shaky but she didn't care. She held his gaze even though she wanted nothing more than to look away.
He nodded his head. "Glad to see you fucking know your place," he said after another moment.
"My place?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Who the hell do you think you are? My place. I shouldn't have said what I said. I get that. But you don't get to talk to me that way."
"You don't get jack shit, sweetheart," he countered. "You see" - he crossed his arms over his chest so the leather from his jacket crinkled - "I'm willing to bet that you're the type of woman who apologizes because she knows it's the fucking right thing to do but not because she actually fucking means it. You're a manipulator, aren't you? You know exactly what to say because you fucking pay attention. You adapt. And I must say, I respect that quality in anyone but I especially love to see it in a fucking woman. It's a rare fucking quality. What I don't appreciate it is that you fucking think you know everything. You fucking think you know me based on a couple of hours together. You think you have me all figured out. I'm not here to tell you that you don't. Quite frankly, I don't fucking give a shit what you think about me but you're the type of woman who likes to run her mouth. Personally, I don't mind a pair of balls on a woman. Keeps things fresh. Adds a little fucking spice in life. But one thing that I will not stand is disrespect, you got it? That doesn't mean you have to think like me or fucking act like me. I like a healthy debate. I like seeing things from a different fucking perspective as long as you're not a goddamn moron. It turns me on, to be honest. Intellectual debate. I would gladly argue with you and then fuck you against the wall right here, right before class, so you couldn't make any fucking noises out of your goddamn mouth because my students - wh
o I do not fuck - might hear."
Peyton's throat suddenly ran dry. She wasn't sure why but the intensity of his hazel eyes clashed with her sea-blue ones and her stomach did a weird flip like the kind she got when she was an elevator and it started to descend.
"I am your student," she murmured, her voice broken and raspier than she needed it to be.
He nodded once, biting his bottom lip as his eyes dropped to her mouth and lingered for a moment too long. A moment that made her stomach do more things she couldn't quite name.
"Yes," he agreed. "You are." His eyes shifted to the door they had just come from before sliding back to Peyton's. "Now, lest we get reported, how about we get the fuck back in my classroom and start this fucking intro class. Is that okay with you, princess?"
Peyton clenched her jaw but made no move to speak. Instead, she kept hold of his gaze and nodded once.
"Is there anything else you need to fucking say?" Logan asked. "You've already insulted me by insinuating I would even be attracted to barely legal teenagers who like my goddamn dimples. Any more gasoline you want to throw on the fucking fire?"
Peyton's throat was dry. "I..." She forced herself to swallow but that didn't do any good. He merely quirked an eyebrow and waited. "No," she finally said, shaking her head. "I've clearly said enough."
"Clearly." He was turning to head to the door when Peyton felt compelled to ask him a question.
"Do we need to meet?" Peyton asked, tilting her head to the side. "To talk about your expectations of me as your TA, what I need to look for in assignments, how you want me to grade things?"
Logan blinked once before throwing his head back and laughing.
"You don't need to be a prick about it," Peyton asked. She dropped her hands and started to head around Logan so she could get back in the lecture hall where there were witnesses and she didn't feel so confined in this cage. Not with those knowing eyes. Not with that vicious smile. In fact, the very notion of allowing him to confine her here with him alone was nonsensical. Why would she allow him to do that?
"No need to call me names, sweetheart," he said. Before Peyton could weasel around him, his hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist, tugging her back to him. She wasn't expecting the opposing force and nearly collided into his chest.
"It was just a question," she said. "This is my first time. I want us to work well together. I'm supposed to be assisting you so if you want to tell me what you want from me, I want to listen. I want to learn."
Logan's eyes dimmed as he took in Peyton. His jaw popped as he clenched his teeth together. Finally, he said, his voice dark and low, "You're telling me I get to pop your fucking cherry?"
"God, there's no need to be gross about it," Peyton said, scrunching her nose. She ignored the fact that his voice caused goosebumps to run up and down her arms. She ignored the fact that he had yet to drop her wrist from his grasp. His hand was big and tough, as she thought it would be. He probably played sports or did a lot of physical labor for his calluses to be permanently etched into his skin.
"You're right," he said with a single nod of his head. "Let's meet after class in my office. You know where that is?"
Peyton nodded.
"Good," he said with a nod. "Let's fucking get this shit over with."
Class went as well as could be expected, considering that Logan Jeffrey had a particular reputation and freshmen typically fell into two black and white categories: the bros who wanted to be like him or the girls, who wanted to sleep with him. There was one third group, a rare group consisting of students who actually wanted to learn without being belittled or sworn at, but Logan Jeffrey was also the best professor at the university, so it might be okay to deal with his questionable behavior if it got them a lucrative career. Which it almost always did.
Peyton sat in a folding chair at the corner of the room. It was different to be on this side of the conversation, where she could watch him teach without worrying about him calling on her. Instead of focusing on him, she focused her attention on the students. Some of the girls were already in love with him, giggling at his behavior and making goo-goo eyes at him as he paced back and forth in front of the lecture hall. He really wasn't like any of the professors here. He was beautiful and scary and dangerous and intellectual.
There was something about him that was alluring in a dark, atypical way. It was one of those things that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but whatever it was, he had it.
Peyton had taken this class her freshman year, and yet, she listened to him with her full attention, watching him from behind as he paced up and down the lecture hall like he owned the place. Although, if she was being honest, paced was the wrong word. Logan wasn't really pacing; he was casually walking around. He liked to gesture with his hands, she noticed. It was something she didn't particularly expect from someone so commanding but she found it humanized him a little bit. It was a tell; despite being a complete ass to his students, he was passionate about his career and, if she had to guess, probably the law in general.
When the hour and twenty minutes was over, he dismissed the class without even bothering to introduce Peyton as his TA. She bristled at this but made no mention of it when he turned round and perked his brows. It was only then did she notice that he didn't actually have anything with him in terms of a briefcase or any material that might help assist with his lectures. Which meant that he knew exactly what he was going to say somehow. Which all made it ridiculously hard to take notes in his class and to keep everything organized so when students visited her during office hours, she would have some kind of idea about what was going on.
"Ready?" he asked.
"For what?" Peyton asked, quickly grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She had to practically skip to keep up with him and his long legs.
"Don't tell me you already forgot this fucking meeting you wanted," he called over his shoulder as he stepped through the professor's door, the door students weren't allowed to use when exiting. "Just so you fucking know, I've never had a meeting with any of my TAs before in my entire tenure here. Doesn't look like you're off to a great, sweetheart."
Peyton frowned. "You know," she said, following him through the door and down the dark, narrow hallway, "it's not like you're a typical professor. Being a TA to you is not as intuitive as you think it is."
"Sounds a lot like complaining, if you ask me," he muttered.
"I'm sorry," Peyton said, not bothering to hide the snark from her voice. "Should I come up to you in a low-cut top and proposition you for sex? Is that what you're more used to than a woman asking questions and speaking her mind?"
Logan stopped abruptly and turned so he could look at Peyton dead in the eye. She had to immediately stop walking or else she would have walked straight into his back.
"You have a fucking mouth on you, don't you," he said rather than asked. “For your fucking information, I'm a leg person. Toned legs up to her neck is what does it for me. I could care less about her breasts just as long as she fucking loves them. I love them because they’re hers. I also love a good ass, too, but not as much as the legs. I love when they wrap around me. I love pushing her legs over her head. I love being between them. Legs are like the fucking road to a woman's holy grail. But she has to have more than a body on her. She has to have a fucking brain, first and foremost. A pretty face. And she has to have the decency to know that whatever is going to happen between us isn't going to last fucking forever."
"Quite the romantic, aren't you?" she asked, perking her brow. Her arms crossed over her chest and she didn't bother to hide the droll expression on her face.
He snorted. "I never claimed to be a fucking prince," he said with that arrogant smile. "And the women I'm with, they know that. We're very clear up front about what to expect and what not to expect."
Now Peyton rolled her eyes. "That's right," she said. "You and your rules." She cocked her head. “Is it true you don’t kiss the women you sleep with?”
His grin got po
ssessive. "You've been looking into me, sweetheart?" he asked. "Is that why you're asking all these questions about my personal life?" He quirked his brow. "Interested?" He looked her up and down. "You are my student but you could be the exception that proves the rule.”
Peyton snorted. "As if," she said.
He chuckled, standing up and sauntering over to her. His hands were in his leather jacket pockets, the smile still on his face as he walked toward her. Peyton felt rooted to her spot; he was this slithering predator and she was his prey and her fight-or-flight reaction left her both paralyzed and uncertain how to protect herself. "And just so you know, because I want to make sure I fucking answer your question, I would rather have a woman who spoke her mind and said her shit than a woman in a low-cut top. Ideally, she'd be both." His eyes dropped to her cleavage - a boyfriend top paired with a push-up bra did wonders - before snapping back into her eyes. "And you're both."
She knew why he was doing this. She knew he was trying to throw her off, that he probably didn't mean what he was saying because he wanted to push her. He wanted to scandalize her, probably get a reaction out of her. She could cower, which would be exactly what he wanted her to do. This was a power play, and if she wanted to continue to go head to head with him and keep her footing as equally as she could, she needed to do something more, something that would throw him off and give her the upper hand, temporary as it might be.
His scent filled her senses. It was raw masculinity and the soft smell of a hard rain. She didn't remember the last time she had been this close to a man before, rooted in place as she looked into his hazel eyes. She couldn't get around him without admitting defeat and the only way out, really, was through. Which meant she might have to...
The thought of kissing Logan flashed before her eyes and she immediately banished it away. She couldn't allow herself to even think about kissing him, regardless of how attractive he was, regardless of the fact that she hadn't kissed anyone in a long while and her hormones were jumping on the inside of her skin, begging for some kind of attention.
A Reputation Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 2) Page 3