"Jane Trouble Rascal Claremont nee Danger," he huffed, and ran both hands over his forehead and into his hair, disrupting the thick brown waves. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"
"Nice to see you too, Professor." I smiled at him as I walked to the seats at the front of the classroom, set down my bag and began unbuttoning my coat.
"Tell me Jane are you a Wizard? Because I cannot go anywhere it seems, on this campus without you—"
I took off my coat and threw it on the chair next to me.
"Turning up..." he trailed off, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the edge of the desk behind him for support. "Oh you...you are..." he breathed.
"Yes?" I asked sweetly.
"Calamitous," he answered, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his pants, his eyes traveled frantically over my body, landing, finally, exactly where I wanted them to.
I walked towards him, a slow sashay that sent all my fun bits jiggling softly for his gaze. "So now I'm also Calamitous?" I asked. "Every time I see you, I gain a name." I stopped in front of him, his eyes were glued to mine now. It was painfully obvious that he was trying very hard not to stare at my chest, and I found his discomfort adorable. "This name you have for me is getting awfully long," I teased, taking another step forward.
"Yes," he jerked up from the edge of the desk and moved around it, to the other side, away from me. "Yes, your name...," he said, his tone was distant, distracted. He reached for a leather case on the desk and removed a folder, flipping through the papers inside.
This wasn't going exactly as I hoped. He was supposed to succumb, to fall rapturously in lust with me the moment he saw me in this spectacular dress. Instead his head was buried in a stack of papers. I usually have no problem reading men. I figure out what they want and give it to them, which in turn gets me what I want. But the Professor was so confusing. Just when I thought I had him taking a step forward, he took two steps back. Literally! At a loss, I fell back on small talk.
"Hey. Who was on the phone?" I asked while he shuffled papers. "It didn't sound good."
"No, it wasn't good. Not remotely good. In fact it was very, very bad." He must not have found whatever he was looking for, because he threw down the stack of papers, and stalked to a door on the near side of the room, exiting to a hallway that led to the offices of the English department. Surprised, I chased after him, and followed when he disappeared through a paneled wood door into an office at the end of the hall.
"Get out," he said curtly, his back was to me and he was rifling through a filing cabinet.
"No," I said simply, dismissing his command. I walked to the desk and perched on the end, taking in the room.
It was an over-decorated mess of Professorial cliché's. The desk was huge and obviously an antique, the windows were covered with brocade curtains, oil paintings of fruit and pastoral landscapes adorned the walls. Two sides of the room were covered with bookcases lined with dusty volumes interspersed with the kind of clever nostalgic knick knacks you find in a Pottery Barn catalog. An enormous grandfather clock stood behind me, its pendulum swinging a lazy path, while the pièce de résistance, a large tarnished antique mirror, stood opposite it, on the other side of the room, perpendicular to the desk. Framed by hand-carved gilt wood, it stood on the floor in a location that, I couldn't help but notice, thanks to my dirty mind, was in fact, the perfect spot for some naughty voyeurism. I could just imagine it, me bent over the desk, the Professor fucking me from behind, watching his face in the mirror as he came inside me.
Was it suddenly hot in here?
"So who was on the phone?" I asked again. I needed to keep him talking, keep him looking, keep him interested.
"None of your business," he grumped. His tone was all business but, he stopped digging for a moment to shrug out of his suit jacket and throw it, without looking, onto the desk chair.
"Fair enough," I said casually, although I noted the action with triumph and definitely counted it as a mark in my favor.
Ha! He's hot and bothered too!
He stopped digging through the files for a moment, and rolled up his sleeves, never turning around. For the first time since the pool I could see his arm tattoos, and I remembered how much they'd intrigued me.
"Your tattoos are so unusual," I said. "Any special significance?"
"Not that I'm inclined to share," he snapped.
A tiny trickle of sweat slid down the back of my neck under my hair. I pulled at my dress, trying to create a breeze down the front to cool me off. It worked, too well, the moisture on my skin instantly chilling and pebbling my nipples into hard aching buds.
"How did you decorate your office so quickly?" I asked, changing the subject.
"I didn't," he said slamming the filing cabinet shut. He returned to the desk with a folder in his hand. "This is Professor Sullivan's office. I'm using it while he's on sabbatical."
"Ah. I'm glad this overwrought disaster didn't happen at your hand. Although I do like that mirror." I popped up off the desk and leaned over the surface, ass in the air. "It's placement in the room is very Feng Shui." I wiggled my bottom, hoping the same visual that had been dominating my imagination, might leap into his own. "Don't you think?"
"Stop it."
"Nope," I said casually, popping the p. "What are you doing?"
"Checking to see if you're actually enrolled in this class," he said, running his finger down a sheet of paper.
"I am. I wouldn't lie," I replied just as his finger stopped. He'd found my name on the page.
"Damn."
"Ouch. Hurtful." I grimaced and sat on the edge of the desk again.
"I'm sorry," he said. Sighing heavily he set the paper down, next to my thigh.
"Oh, there's the polite Dr. Grayson again. I was kind of hoping we'd gotten past that last night."
"We got past too much last night. At least I did. And that can't happen again."
"What?" I was stunned.
No, no, no, this is NOT how I wanted this to go!
"Nothing really happened," I protested.
"Something almost did," he said, hands in pockets he gazed at me stoically.
"No, we made plans for something. But nothing's actually going on now, not yet..."
"Then what's this?" he said, gesturing to my cleavage.
I looked down and realized that the ornate open design of my dress had caught one of my nipples. There it was, a delicious pink button, peeking through a hole in the knit, just begging to be poked. My tongue flicked to the corner of my mouth and I bit down, trying to stifle my laughter. It was no use. I shot him a sheepish grin, pressed my breasts together with my shoulders and bounced playfully.
"Titties?" I said, arching my eyebrows. "I just thought, I'd keep things interesting. While we wait for my graduation."
"There won't be a graduation. I mean..." he shook his head. "That's not what I mean, of course you'll graduate. I just mean this," he waved his hand between us, "can't happen."
"I…," I fumbled for something to say.
I was supposed to be seducing him, driving him mad with lust so that he'd throw me over the desk and have his wicked way with me right now, graduation date be damned. Instead I was in real danger of scaring him off for good. This didn't sound like two steps back, this sounded like total derailment. A complete reversal of all his promises from last night. How was I blowing this so hard? Where was my legendary guy intuition? Where there fuck was my Lizzy mojo? Stupid, irresistible, enigmatic Professor!
Think, Jane! Think!
"Jane you're incredible, charming, delightful--."
"But," I said, bracing myself.
Here it comes, here comes the blow off. Fuck!
"We don't actually know anything about each other. And what you don't know about me is that this little flirtation..." he said, and I winced at his flippant characterization of our attraction, "is a huge distraction to me, at a time when I cannot afford a misstep. I'm in the midst of negotiating some very complicated and exhaust
ing personal matters. And I just can't, I don't know..." his took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging the space between his eyes.
He looked weary, and suddenly I felt ashamed. He did have a small point. I'd heard his phone conversation, obviously there was something heavy going on in his life, and that could explain why he'd been wishy-washy with me.
"You can't do this," I finished his sentence for him. "You can't get involved with me, even after I graduate. That's what you’re saying? Right?"
"I'm sorry," he said, returning his glasses to his face.
"No, I'm sorry," I said. "You've sort of tried to tell me to back off." I stood up and walked towards the door of the office. "I mean you also promised to fuck me hard and slow," I laughed, "but yeah I admit I've been provoking you. You've been a bit hot and cold, and I've been doing the best I can to keep you hot."
"Your endeavors have been both admirable and effective." he smirked and folded his arms across his chest.
"Gee, thanks," I rolled my eyes.
"But it's just," he shook his head, searching for the words.
"It's a distraction," I said.
"Yes"
"Your life is complicated," I was talking for him now, echoing his words, writing my own rejection speech.
"Yes."
"You've got a lot of stuff going on."
"Yes, I've got a lot of stuff," he nodded, and lifted his fingers, making air quotes around the last word.
"Well, I'll just leave you alone then," I said, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.
"Jane, if I may," he said, walking around the desk, to stand in front of me. "This infatuation you have with me, it's an illusion, it's temporary, and it's really very common. I've seen it, time and again."
"I've? You've? Time and again?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him, my breezy facade was starting to fade.
Where was this going? And WTF? My infatuation with him? If I recalled correctly he was the one that had me pinned against a dryer last night, promising all manner of indecent behaviors that would have had the Dean frowning. This electricity between us was most definitely mutual, and while I'd been pushing the envelope, last night he'd practically licked the stamp.
"I've never been involved with a student, or a former student for that matter," he said, his hands raised, anxious to clarify. "But I've witnessed it and the truth is, I don't respect that kind of relationship."
"I see."
"No, you don't. This is an impressionable time in your life. You're young..."
"I'm not that young," I said. "I'll be twenty-five in July." I could see where this conversation was headed now and I wasn't having it. If he wanted to let me down over "life complications" and "his job," fine, but I wasn't about to be lectured to.
"Oh," he looked surprised. "I didn't realize."
"Yeah, I started college a little later than most. Took some time off first," I shrugged.
"And you're graduating earlier than most. That's impressive."
"Thanks."
"I don't think I've asked you. What is your major?"
"Business," I answered. "I'm still not sure exactly what I want to do, but I figure whatever it is, a business degree will help."
"It will at that," he smiled at me, and the wariness had almost left his eyes. Now I saw only kindness, sympathy and a hint of paternal amusement.
I didn't want any of it. I may be a stripper and an incorrigible flirt, but just like the Professor, I've got ethics of my own. If he wanted me to back off, I was going to back off. But not before I left him hard, hungry, and full of regret.
"Look. You're right about one thing Professor. We don't know each other. I don't know you, I don't know your stuff," I said, making air quotes around the last word, mocking his earlier gesture. "But, I'm sorry I've made you uncomfortable."
"No, Jane, you didn't make me uncomfortable--" he took a step toward me, and I put a finger on his chest, stopping his advance. He'd left with the upper hand last night, but I was taking it back. Right now.
"Here's the thing. You don't know me either. I'm not the impressionable, infatuated, unworldly girl you imagine me to be. I've had my own stuff. I've walked through it, and I've come out the other side," I took a step forward, laying my palm flat on his chest. "The simple truth is this chemistry between us -- I'm experienced enough to know that it's rare, that it's intense and that it would've been explosive." I slid my palm up and let my fingers linger on the open collar of his dress shirt for a moment. "I know my own mind Professor, I know what I want," stepping closer, I pressed the fullness of my curves against his body, and looked up. He towered over me, those brilliant blue eyes were hooded now, darkened with arousal. "What I want--" I held his gaze in my own, and moistened my lips, "is you."
He inhaled sharply at my words and I smiled when I felt the hard length of him swell against me. I let my fingers breach the threshold of his dress shirt to caress the skin beneath it, to play briefly with the fine sprinkle of dark hair that lay there, to slide over the masculine lines of his throat for a moment. His lips parted, his head inclining towards mine, but he stopped himself, just as that awful grandfather clock chimed 3:00 PM. Clenching his jaw, he drew his head back and closed his eyes.
We stilled for a moment, the last chime of the clock echoing in the room as I stepped back. His hand came up and caught mine, trying to halt my retreat. But I pulled away and let his fingers slip through my own before I strode towards the door.
"Jane?" he breathed. I turned to face him.
"It's Ms. Claremont, Professor," I flashed him my business smile, all work, no play. "I'm just a student. And it's time for class."
4
Chapter Four
"I've brought you DJ Mandy's playlist for tonight, Jane." Sasha St. Cloud, owner and proprietress of Clouds Gentleman's Club strode across the white tiled floor of the dressing room on seven-inch heels. Her softly accented English lilted over each word, turning a simple statement into a melody. Glossy black hair hung nearly to her hips and framed her classically beautiful face with a sexy fringe of bangs. A form-fitting pencil dress embraced her sleek curves. Its hue, a deep turquoise, reflected in the pale teal of her eyes, and complemented the tawny glow of her complexion. She was stunning, as usual.
"Oh great!" I said, stuffing the last bite of my pizza dinner into my face. "I'd ask her to come up with some suggestions for my new act." I wiped my mouth with a napkin, settled back into my chair and tossed the playlist she gave me on the makeup counter in front of us.
"How do you do that?" I asked.
"Do what?" she said, coming to stand behind me, her eyes met mine in the mirror. She stroked my hair, and pulled it over one shoulder, smiling at me fondly.
"Look so completely gorgeous every moment of every day?"
"Are you trying to charm more money out of me Claremont? Because you should know I already give most of it to Lizzy Bendit," she said, referring to my stage name.
"And she thanks you for it boss." I grinned at her.
"Mmm-hmm, I bet she does," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I only dress like this at work, you know," she continued.
"Oh really?"
"Of course. At home I relax. The heels on my slippers are only five inches," she winked at me in the mirror.
"Please, please can I be you when I grow up?" I laughed.
"If you are a very good girl and you eat all your vegetables and you work that pole like a boss, then yes. Yes, you can. In fact…" she looked thoughtful for a moment, then patted me on the arm and walked towards the door.
"What?" I called after her.
"You graduate soon, correct?" she said turning back to me.
"Yeah." I swiveled in my seat to look at her, intrigued.
"Come to me after you've secured that piece of paper, sweetie. I might have an opportunity for you."
"Ooooo! What?" I asked bouncing in my chair.
"No," she shook her head. "We'll discuss it later. First, graduate."
"It's almost a
done deal. Just a couple of weeks," I whined.
"Right, I've heard that before," she said eyeing me side-long.
"Not from me!" I argued.
"No, never from you. Others," she smiled faintly. "Still, let's not taunt the gods. When the ink is dry, then we'll talk. In the meantime stay focused."
"Thhhppttt," I stuck my tongue out at her as she walked out the door.
"No distractions!" she shouted at me, her heels clicking as she made her way down the hallway and out to the club floor.
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled and turned back around in my chair.
There was that word again. The Professor had used that word. Distraction. Stupid little three-syllable noun. I was starting to resent it.
* * *
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, checking the screen. Incoming call from Charlie. Dammit. I put her on vid-chat, propped the phone up on the counter and smoothed my hair into a ponytail as I answered.
"Hey, baby sis. What's up?"
"What's up?" she said, incredulous. "You did not just ask me what's up! What's up yourself? What's up!" she glared at me from the screen, a large glass of wine, balanced precariously in her hand.
"So what's tonight's poison?" I asked, turning back to the mirror I reached for my makeup bag.
"Merlot," she snapped, taking a sip from the glass. "I was promised juicy details, where are my juicy details?"
"It was a bust, Charlie, there's nothing to tell. That's why I didn't call."
"Inconceivable!"
"You keep using that word..." I began.
"Nah, don't try to divert me with Princess Bride quotes, you geek."
"You started it." I grinned at her and began the process of applying my stage makeup.
"Whatevs," she rolled her eyes. "So...WTF Janie?"
I shrugged at the camera.
"No really. What the ever-loving fuck? That dress was perfection. Did you have like boogers, or bad breath or something?"
"Ha. Giggle snort. You're so funny Charlie." I flashed a snarky smile at the camera. "I take it Mason isn't over. You usually don't drink Merlot, or use such colorful language when he's around."
The Professor (Becoming Jane) Page 4