She holds out a hand. “Shirt, please.”
I slide it off and toss it to her. She smiles and holds it up to her nose, breathing it in.
“You want to keep that?” I ask.
She drops the shirt, her cheeks flushing pink. “You always smell so good. I’ll leave it with you so you can wear it more. Can I see the rear view?”
I’m beginning to feel like I’m in a strip show. It’s like nothing I’ve ever done before with a woman, and I’m enjoying it more than I thought. And I need to erase Clint Owens from her mind. I’m her fantasy man from now on.
I give her my back and flex my muscles.
“Oh, yes,” she says in a breathy voice. “Now let’s see you hammer that nail.”
I pick up the stud finder, turn it on, and run it along the wall.
“Ooh, a stud finder,” she says. “I found one—Connor Rourke, royal stud.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. I grab a pencil from the toolbox, mark the spot, grab the hammer, and drive the nail in with one stroke.
“Sexy studly builder man,” she croons.
I quickly put the mirror up and turn to find her right there in front of me, naked.
She throws her arms around me. “You’re officially my fantasy builder man. Now hammer me against that wall.” Her mouth slams against mine.
I practically rip my clothes off all while kissing her and maneuvering her to the adjacent wall. I roll the condom on, lift her, and she wraps those long legs around me. I take her in one hard thrust, moaning in relief at the same time as she exclaims, “Yes! Like that! Hammer me.”
I’m too far gone to even smile at her funny turn of phrase. I pound into her over and over, her throaty moans driving me on. Her hips lift with each stroke, taking me deeper. I’m sweating, fighting to keep control long enough…not yet, not yet. She goes off, her body squeezing me rhythmically, and I let go, shuddering with a powerful release as I press my lips to her neck with a long guttural groan.
She runs her fingers through my hair and, a long moment later, I lift my head to her beaming smile. I love that smile, love seeing her so happy. I kiss those smiling lips.
“Now I don’t know what to call you,” she says. “Stud, hot builder guy, or royal renovator.”
I laugh. “Royal renovator, seriously?”
“Or my secret prince. There’s so many possibilities.”
“Just call me Con. Or king if you must have a nickname.”
“But you’re not a king, you’re a prince.”
“I’m the king of you, babe.”
Her brows lift. “So I’m babe and you’re king. That seems unbalanced.”
I laugh and then I kiss her tenderly. She’s just so feisty and sexy and funny. I break the kiss, stroking her hair back behind her ear, and gaze into her pale blue eyes, which seem softer now. It hits me like a hammer—I’m in love.
“What?” she asks softly.
“Nothing, babe.” It’s too soon and everything’s still dicey with her teaching job. I lift her off me and set her down.
She grabs my arms, her legs wobbly. “If I’m going to call you king, you have to fuck me like a king. Royally. Let’s make that happen soon, hmm?”
I have no idea what a royal fucking means, but it doesn’t matter. I’m in. I wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear, “You got it, babe.”
Becca
So I’m babe. I’ve never been seen as the kind of woman who’d get that casual sexy nickname. Only Con sees me for the passionate woman I always wanted to be. Turns out I just never found the right guy before. The ice queen has found her king. The problem before was that my exes left me cold, not something wrong with me. It’s such a relief I feel lighter, like I’m sort of floating through my day. Or maybe that’s Con. He got under my skin with his gruff sweetness. I’m happier than I’ve been in a really long time.
I’m heading to my Thursday night office hours with a plastic container of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. I’m really hoping someone besides Mike shows up. Con and I decided it’s best if he doesn’t go to my office hours. We don’t want to tempt the fates or each other in a small enclosed space. That would be so inappropriate. What can I say, the man can’t resist me. And vice versa. We’re like twin sparks of flame merging into an inferno. Look at me being all poetic and sexy. He brings that out in me, my royal renovator.
My phone chimes with a text just as I step into the lobby of the university building. I dig it out of my purse, hoping it’s him.
Con: Come over after. You can watch me build a kitchen table with reclaimed oak planks.
A thrill goes through me. He speaks my lusty language—building, watching him use his muscles, reclaimed wood.
Con: Are you turned on?
Me: Yes.
Con: Ha. There’s no table. I was just dirty talking.
I laugh out loud. He gets me. Like no one has ever gotten me before. I think I’m falling for him. My stomach dips at the thought. I never expected it would happen this way. A guy I randomly met after being stood up. A guy who’s my student. Definitely not the way I normally operate.
I send a laughing emoji.
Con: I can’t wait to see you.
My heart sings, all of me suddenly energized. Like I could dance right here in the lobby of a serious building with serious students mulling about. I smile so big my cheeks hurt. Then I realize I left him hanging and quickly text back: Me too.
I’m still smiling when I reach the hallway upstairs, heading toward my office. Mike’s waiting for me. Damn. It’s still early too.
“Hey, can I get that for you?” he asks, gesturing to the container.
“Sure, thanks.” I hand it to him while I get out the key to the office from my purse, unlock it, and turn the light on. He follows me in and sets the cookies on my desk.
I walk around the desk and set my messenger bag on top and hook my purse over the chair back. “You’re a bit early today.” Fifteen minutes early.
“Finished up at work earlier than normal, so here I am. Think we’ll get a crowd here with the cookies and all? Kinda like a party.”
Oh my. Is this his idea of a party? “I’m not sure, but just to be safe, would you mind picking up one of those large containers of coffee from the shop down the street?” I take a seat and go for my purse. “I’ll give you some cash.”
He holds up a palm. “I got it, Rebecca. Anything you need.”
I tuck my purse back in place. “Great, thanks.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when he leaves. It’s one thing to sit through an hour of him talking my ear off, but adding on another fifteen minutes would be torture. I text Con.
Wish you were here.
Con: You miss your king, huh? You need to be royally screwed again or hammered?
Me: Yes.
Con: You kill me, babe.
I smile. See ya soon, royal renovator.
Fortunately, Mike returns along with Anita, a young brunette woman who works in pharmaceutical sales. I’m thrilled to have the company. Mike pours a coffee for himself, and I offer one to Anita. She can’t stay long but wants to ask me about the paper.
I go over it with her while Mike plays with his phone.
“Thanks so much, Rebecca,” Anita says. “I need to get home. Can I take a cookie for the road?”
“Of course. Take as many as you want.”
She takes two and Mike helps himself to three. My mind flashes to Connor. Did he write the paper? Will it be as bad as he thinks it is? Am I going to have to explain why it’s bad? Anita asked high-level questions. Connor hasn’t asked any.
After she leaves, Mike says, “Finally, she’s gone. Now we can have a real conversation. All she cares about is her grade. I want to dig deep into our cases. Why do we need corporate responsibility in the private sector? Isn’t that what regulations are for?”
I suppress a groan. This is literally how I introduced our case study. “Well, Mike, that was the question in our last c
lass, and the answer was an in-depth look at Axle Financial Management. They made corporate responsibility a priority, so then the question becomes what are the goals and how do we measure them, and how do we create value for the company through them. One of their first initiatives—”
He cuts me off. “Encouraging and supporting community service with their employees.”
I jump right back in, trying to add to the discussion rather than recap, but he goes back again and again to my own words. It’s almost like he’s memorized them. I’m not sure what he’s getting from this, but I find it extremely aggravating. I have the sudden urge to kick him out for wasting my time. I can’t do that, though. I’m supposed to be supportive of all students, even the irritating ones.
Four cookies and a cup of coffee later—yes, that’s right, I chowed down on my own cookies to stay awake—I declare our time’s up. It’s almost like I’m his therapist just sitting here listening. Except he’s telling me my story instead of the other way around.
He stands. “Thanks, Rebecca. Another extremely enlightening meeting with you. I’m really enjoying this class.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You know, I wonder if you might get more out of these meetings if you came with a question or two. It’s clear you already have a grasp of the material.”
He winks. “Next time.”
I stand and gather my things, waiting for him to go out first.
He lingers. “Rebecca, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you seeing anybody?”
I freeze. Connor is supposed to be a secret. At the same time, the only reason I can think for Mike to ask is if he’s interested in me. “Yes.”
“Is it serious?”
I don’t know. Maybe? I hope so. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
He smiles and nods. “Fair enough. But, if it’s not serious, we could grab a bite tomorrow night. Just, ya know, talk, get to know each other.”
Persistent, eh? I already told him I was seeing someone.
I have to nip this in the bud. “No, thank you. I never get involved with students. That’s not just my policy, it’s the university’s.”
“Just a friendly dinner,” he coaxes.
“No, thank you,” I say tersely.
His eyes narrow, and I get the first real inkling of fear. “Some for the road,” he says, grabbing a handful of cookies and stalking out the door.
I let out a breath. He’s harmless. Everything’s fine.
13
Becca
It’s Saturday night and I’m half an hour into the two-hour faculty reception, feeling more out of place by the minute. Most of the faculty are older and showed up with their spouses. I need to fit in, make connections, and show Dean Sears that I belong here. I dearly wish Con were with me. He relaxes me. Not because of all the orgasms, though that certainly helps, it’s just from his general relaxed demeanor. He’s the chill I aspire to. Sigh. I’m not great at schmoozing. I do better with a group when there’s a shared work goal.
I take a small sip of wine, making sure I don’t veer into tipsy territory. I’m here on a probationary basis, and tonight feels like a test. I have to make a good impression. I wander over to a small group of my fellow professors and their spouses, listening to them talk about the new opening in the economics department. Not exactly my field. And they want a PhD with at least five years teaching experience and research credentials.
A woman with long blond hair smiles at me. “Hello, is this your first faculty reception?”
I really need to work on my game face.
I smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“You look a little lost.” She offers her hand. “I’m Patricia Silver, professor of accounting.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rebecca Edwards, adjunct professor. Right now I’m teaching a class on managing organizational change in the leadership track. I come from a management consulting background.”
“Interesting,” she says flatly before turning back to the group. A few seconds later, they’re all laughing about someone named Howard, who fell over drunk at the previous cocktail reception celebrating the end of the school year.
I stand there for a few minutes, telling myself it’s better to be on the outside of a group than alone, but I can barely stand it. I’m just not good at networking. Give me a job and I’ll happily work with a team of people, but standing around making small talk with people who all seem to have known each other for years? Nails on a chalkboard. Ha! Teacher-appropriate.
I wander over to a long table with various deli and cheese platters, along with what looks like store-bought cookies. I’m picky about my cookies since I bake them myself. I take a cracker with a slice of cheese and make a new plan. Instead of inserting myself into groups and introducing myself, I’ll focus on connecting with the dean. Once that happens, I’m free to go. That will be my success metric for the evening. I spot Dean Sears slapping a guy in a tweed jacket on the back, the two of them laughing uproariously. I need to wait for my moment.
I so want to pull out my phone and text Connor, but it seems bad form. No one else is on their phone. He impressed me today with his paper. I read it on the subway ride back from our class while he napped next to me. He was embarrassed for me to read it in front of him, but I just couldn’t wait. His grammar wasn’t perfect, but that was okay because his voice came through. Some people write very formally or with big words, trying to impress, but his case study sounded like he was just sitting next to me explaining everything, complete with sentence fragments, no commas, and various misuses of they’re/there/their and you’re/your. But the content, wow. A fascinating description of his family’s business and its growth in what is now their second real estate development project. It’s a perfect case study of change within an organization, as well as the complications of social responsibility and all the stakeholders involved in that, from government regulators, local town councils, and concerned citizens. Not to mention the difficulty of managing construction, development, and fundraising within an organization that previously only had experience with construction. He and his brothers are newly in charge after their uncle retired with no advance warning. Talk about growing pains. I’m amazed at what they’ve accomplished so far.
I told him we have to discuss it in class next week. At first he thought it would draw too much attention to him, but I convinced him it would be fine. We do case studies all the time, and his case is an excellent learning example. Maybe as a class we can come up with some viable solutions for his company too. That’s ultimately what the class aims for.
I spot Dean Sears walking solo across the lounge, and I make my move. I’m halfway there when someone intercepts him. I stop uncertainly. Should I join this little group or wait? I’d better join them. He’s only going to attract more people as he moves through the reception.
I stand next to an older bald man, who’s asking the dean about golf next Saturday. I tried golf and I suck at it. I don’t know why. It seems simple, but the ball just never went where I thought it would. Usually I hit it too hard, and then when I tried to compensate, it made a pathetic piddly little roll. It’s a shame because it’s one of those networking things that really works, particularly with men in leadership positions.
Dean Sears finally acknowledges me. “Great to see you here, Rebecca. How’re you enjoying yourself?”
I nod once. “Very nice reception. And I’m really enjoying my class.”
The golf buddy mutters something and walks away.
“Glad to hear it,” Dean Sears says jovially. “Are you encouraging the students to join you at office hours? That’s our new initiative this year as a way to connect students with the university’s resources.” He leans in with a smile. “One of those being our excellent faculty.”
I smile back, hoping that means he’s including me in the excellent assessment. “I’ve definitely been encouraging them. I promised home-made chocolate chip cookies. That brought two of them out.”
He slaps his t
high. “Brilliant.”
A middle-aged brunette woman appears at his side and smiles up at him. Dean Sears introduces us. “This is my wife, Brianna.” He gestures to me. “One of our newest faculty, Rebecca Edwards. She’s Joe’s daughter.”
I stand a little straighter at the mention of my dad and take her offered hand. “So nice to meet you.”
Dean Sears smiles brightly. “Rebecca, there’s an opening for a full-time position in the leadership track next semester. I encourage you to apply. I know I said we might have full-time work for you before. I was hoping to find someplace you could fit, cobbling together a few classes, but now I really do have a position to fill. I had to let one of our longtime faculty members go. You may have heard whispers about it, and I’m afraid the rumors are true.”
I swallow hard. It sounds like something scandalous. “No, I haven’t heard.”
He presses his lips together, seeming unwilling to share the gossip.
Brianna leans in and whispers, “Professor Gage got his teaching assistant pregnant. Apparently, they were carrying on for a year in blatant violation of university policy. My husband made sure he’ll never get that opportunity again.”
I break out in a cold sweat. “No, of course. That’s terrible.”
“It would be wonderful to have someone like you take his place,” Dean Sears says. “Young and enthusiastic. Provided, of course, your performance review goes well. The students’ input counts for a lot.” He smiles. “I’m sure it will. Your parents’ reputation precedes you. Really quality educators. And your dad with New York Teacher of the Year last year.”
“Yes, well deserved,” I say, forcing some energy into my voice. My parents are star teachers dedicated to their students, and then there’s me, sleeping with a student. My gut does a slow roll.
Brianna puts her hand on her husband’s arm, speaking quietly to him before turning back to me. “We’re meeting our daughter for a late dinner tonight, so we need to go. So nice to meet you, and I hope to see you at the next reception.”
“Thank you. Enjoy your dinner,” I say.
Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10) Page 13
