Forbidden Professor

by R. S. Elliot

  One day would never be enough.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

  I smile. “No. Why?”

  “You’ve got a teardrop under your eye.” As if for emphasis, he wipes his finger beneath my eyelid.

  The thin drop sweeps away easily. I hadn’t even realized it was there. Was that normal? What about the numbness in my toes? I’m not sure what to expect. My body could be shutting down in this very moment, and I would chalk it up to pure bliss.

  “Oh. No,” I respond. “I feel wonderful.”

  He kisses me once more, a tender exchange of promises and declarations I want so desperately to believe. But there has been no assurance of tomorrow. We only settled our feelings for today. He never agreed to a lifetime. He never agreed to anything more than this one time. But parting now almost seems crueler than if we had never gone down this path.

  And yet, I still can’t bring myself to regret a minute of it.

  He pulls away from me, tossing the condom in the trash and bending down to collect his clothes. All I can do is sit there ogling him as he pulls his pants over his muscled thighs. My gaze lingers on his buttocks, a firm round pair that I’m dying to feel again.

  “You really shouldn’t objectify me like that,” he says, without looking.

  I laugh. All at once, I note that my blouse is still open and my skirt ruched up over my hips. I don’t even want to begin to contemplate what my hair and makeup look like.

  I hop down off the desk and adjust my clothing. I haven’t even started buttoning my shirt when a knock vibrates through the door.

  My eyes instantly move to Zach.

  He only stares at the door, debating whether to open it or not. Maybe if we stay here quietly, not making any sounds, they’ll think the room is empty and go away.

  “Professor Hawthorne?”

  Dammit. It’s Jackson.

  Zach sighs, something in his thoughts telling him he can’t ignore the pounding on his door. Or so I assume, when he whispers, “I have to answer him.”

  “Why? Let him think the room is empty.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’ll wait in the hallway for an hour just to check,” Zach says, closing the distance between us. His fingers grip my chin and lift my gaze to his. “And if I’m locked in a room with you for another hour, there are bound to be things he’s going to hear.”

  I blush.

  “We’re past the point of that, my darling,” he says and lays a soft kiss across my lips.

  He pauses there, his eyes locked over me as if trying to convey his thoughts without words. His thumb grazes my lower lip. “Aly. There’s something we need to talk about.”

  Oh no. He’s already trying to brush me off. He’s trying to tell me that this can never happen again.

  I shake my head, removing his touch and placing distance between us. “Don’t worry. I get it. This was a one-time thing.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  He wasn’t going to tell me we shouldn’t do this anymore? By the look on his face, he certainly wasn’t intending to propose. I can’t imagine what else he needs to say that doesn’t include placing more distance between us.

  “It’s just that-”

  “Professor Hawthorne?” The pounding on the door grows.

  Does he think Zach sleeps in here? Why the hell is still knocking on the door at this time? Why does he expect an answer at all?

  “He’s not going to let up.” Zach reaches for me. His arm encircles my waist and all the heat from before rekindles into a burgeoning bonfire. “We will talk.”

  I nod, wanting to believe the reassurance in his gaze. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

  “Good.” He kisses me one last time, a full, impassioned kiss that awakens a whole new string of stirrings. “Wait here for another five minutes, then head out to the left. I’ll lead him away so he doesn’t see you.”

  He lets me go and walks across the room to answer the door. He disappears behind it flawlessly, as if he had practiced hiding women in his office all these years. For all I know, he has. Maybe telling me we need to wait is all just an act to make me crack.

  We need to talk, huh? Great.

  This can’t be good.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zach

  So much for keeping my distance.

  One hot, sexy demand, and I crumbled like Sampson before Delilah. That wasn’t true. It wasn’t just the sex. All the confessions preceding it silenced any doubts in my mind. I wanted to be that man she imagines I am. Someone she can place her trust in. Someone she can love.

  You’re the first man I’ve ever let into my heart.

  Did Aly love me?

  Was she falling as hopelessly into this trap of ours as I was? And where would that lead us? I was supposed to be dating Chloe. I was supposed to be coming up with a plan to get out of this mess my father created. Not enmeshing myself further in a web of fantasies I can’t escape.

  “I’m glad I could catch you after office hours,” Jackson says, walking alongside me down the corridor. I had muttered some lame excuse about needing more coffee to sit through another meeting and all but dragged the kid down the hallway.

  “Yes, well.” I stumble to concoct some ingenious excuse for still being here this late. “I still have a few papers to read over and the final revisions for your proposal.”

  So much for even keeping this a secret. One stupid question and I’m floundering like a murder suspect under heat lamps. I haven’t been treating this relationship with the care it needs. We were behind closed doors. Sure. But in my office? It wasn’t even like it was that late in the evening to be doing something like this and get away with it. There are still people on campus, still night classes being taught and a few of our diehard professors who stay behind to catch up on work. There isn’t usually anyone here in this part of the college at this time of night.

  We’re still going about this all wrong. I should be ten times more careful than usual. Not just somewhat careful.

  This is all going to blow up in our faces.

  “How is Aly doing?” Jackson asks.

  An instinct triggers inside me. Like a predator acknowledging another beast trespassing onto his territory. Or perhaps a prey recognizing the potential danger of a nearby threat.

  “Do you think we will be fairly close in the running this year?” Jackson adds. He knows I can’t answer that. That isn’t what he meant by asking about Aly.

  He knows something.

  We reach the faculty lounge and the coffee pot I’m feeling in need of more and more. If only I could toss a shot of whiskey into this, it would be perfect. Jackson doesn’t say anything else. He just takes a seat at one of the tables and starts texting on his phone.

  I haven’t answered him.

  I don’t plan on answering him. It wouldn’t really be so different from our normal conversations. The kid is irritating, rattling off connections and demands as if I were his damn butler rather than his advisor. He may have the dean and other carefully selected members of administration in his pocket, but the board of trustees consists of people I’ve known for most of my life.

  I fix my cup of coffee and stare across the way at him. Jackson’s beady little eyes stare through his round-rimmed glasses at the screen in front of him. The thinnest of his facial structure meets at a point in the center of his profile, forming a weaslish cone with his nose at the tip. With the exception of these traits, he doesn’t look like a powermad sociopath. In fact, he looks quite polished with a clean shave, carefully groomed hair and an outfit that is only missing the argyle sweater for the full preppy stereotype effect.

  “I know what you’re doing,” Jackson says, without looking up from his phone.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He stops what he’s doing and sets down the phone. His eyes level over mine in a direct threat. “I know that you have some little fling going on with Aly McKenzie.”

  I contemplate hurling myself across the table at him. N
obody would notice if he went missing, would they? “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you need to worry about your proposal and stop focusing on other students.”

  “I am worried about my proposal,” he says, his tone mocking and clipped.

  Those beady eyes of his narrow into thin slits, glaring back at me through a veil that is half feigned reflection and half aggression. “I don’t think I’m being given a fair advantage here. Considering I’m not the right gender and all.”

  I grit my teeth.

  So, it isn’t just Aly. It’s all female students he’s accusing me of sleeping with. “You’re treading on some very thin ice, Jackson.”

  “Is that how it works with all your decisions? The prettiest girl to catch your eye is the one who passes the course? Gets the apprenticeship? Or is it just the easiest?”

  The same feeling of launching myself over the table tugs me forward. I disguise the rising frustration in my chest with a stealthy step or two toward him. Grabbing him by the collar and pummeling him into unconsciousness won’t help the situation. It certainly won’t make me seem guiltless in anyone’s eyes.

  “Those are some bold words coming from someone who needs my stamp of approval to get what he wants.” The cold glare I learned from my father is enough to cause the kid to shrink in his seat. The victory is short-lived, however. Jackson straightens as if emboldened by some new streak of confidence. I want nothing more than to slap the self-assured grin off his face.

  But the look I see there concerns me.

  Does he know something? Or is he just trying to confirm his suspicions?

  “You’d better have some cold hard evidence to support your accusations, if you want to go around talking to your professors like that,” I add. “And considering there’s nothing going on between Miss McKenzie and me, I doubt you’ll find it.”

  “Oh I have proof.”

  I freeze. “I’d love to see it.”

  Jackson twists his phone around for me to see the photo on his screen. The outside looks vaguely familiar. A bright blue light in the background reveals a partial name for the location. The people in the photo are unmistakable, though. I’m holding Aly and talking to Lyndsey.

  Fuck. The Blue Indigo.

  “You know, there are a lot of people in San Francisco who recognize you,” Jackson’s voice penetrates my thoughts. “I guess that’s why you moved out here. Away from the city.”

  My fingers clench around the handle of my coffee cup. I’m already devising an excuse for his sudden disappearance. I’d be doing the world a favor honestly.

  Still, if this is all the proof he has, it may not be so difficult to disprove it. I talked to Lionel that night about the incident. Even the doctor who checked on Aly could confirm she’d been drugged. These were not two-bit college students playing with fire. They were high-ranking members of the community. No one would believe someone like Jackson Riley, ambitious and opportunistic as he is.

  “This doesn’t prove anything,” I say and push the phone back. “Miss McKenzie was drugged, and I helped her get home safely. The owner of the nightclub and the physician who treated her that night can attest to that story. I never laid a hand on her.”

  Jackson shrugs and wrinkles his features in a tight grimace. “And do you offer this service to all of your students? It seems to me you went pretty far out of your way just to help someone you know on a strictly professional basis.”

  “I’m not going to leave a girl to fend for herself when she’s in that situation. I’m not a monster.” Which was true. Who would stand by and simply let something like that happen? The only difference was that Aly had texted me first. And if there hadn't been something between us already, she may have never contacted me in the first place. “This doesn’t prove anything.” I move to leave. He’s wasted too much of my time already. “I’m calling the board in the morning. You’re done.”

  “And what about your late night visit to Miss McKenzie’s house?”

  I stop, twisting slowly to see him over my shoulder. I look down at his phone, still in its place on the table. “What, no pictures?”

  “No.”

  I withhold a sigh of relief.

  “But a friend of mine lives there,” Jackson adds. “On the same floor I think, too. Couldn’t get any good pictures, but he’s an English major, so he’s really great at painting a picture.”

  Fine. He has me. “So what, this is blackmail? What do you want? The apprenticeship?”

  “Hmm.” Jackson tilts his head upward in quiet contemplation. An act. He already has everything planned out in a tidy little spreadsheet if I know him. “That would be a good start.”

  Here it comes.

  I could give Jackson the apprenticeship. I could give him whatever he wants to silence him for the time being. But one payoff isn’t going to be enough. Once you drink from that cup of power, it’s never enough.

  “Why should I even bother with this?” I ask. “You think me losing my job is going to break me?”

  Jackson laughs, a terrifyingly cruel sound that solidifies my argument he’s a madman. “No. I’m not that stupid, Professor. Billionaire’s son destined to take over the family business when he finally grows up and stops playing teacher.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You’ve got plenty to fall back on, but Aly doesn’t.”

  So that’s the leverage he’s aiming for, what he’s been toying with all this time. Aly doesn’t need the apprenticeship anymore. I could give her anything she needs to fulfill her business plan. Jackson doesn’t know that, however. He thinks she’s still thinking small. The way he always has.

  “In fact, not only might she lose the apprenticeship, she could be expelled,” Jackson continues. “And if we really want to play this right, we can make her the punchline of every late night comedy with one email to the tabloids. I’m sure that wouldn’t look good on her resume. I’m sure she wouldn’t resent your notoriety.”

  A muscle in my jaw twitches.

  I hadn’t thought about it that way. I’m used to the stupid things the online magazines say about me. I’ve grown up with our family in the papers all my life. I can handle the rumor mill in the elite forum, the circulation of stories and gossip that find my names in the mouths of resentful socialites more than I’d care to admit. I can handle all of it.

  But Aly shouldn’t.

  Even if she could handle their words, the snide remarks, I wouldn’t want her to experience it. And women always feel the full brunt of these things. Men get a stern slap on the wrists and, in some cases, a congratulatory slap on the back. The women are marked as whores and gold-diggers. I don’t want our relationship to start out like that. I don’t want this mess to be something she will eventually resent me for years down the line.

  “So, you want money?” I ask, and set down the coffee mug. “Is that why you came to me?”

  “Well, I tried to get to Aly, but she didn’t seem ruffled by the threats.”

  Did he threaten Aly? She never said anything about it. Why wouldn’t she have told me? If I knew what was going on, I might have been more prepared to handle this confrontation. There must have been a reason she kept it a secret.

  “I’m assuming that’s why she was here tonight, in your office.”

  I shake my head. “There was no one in my office.”

  Jackson pulls out his phone.

  My heart rate sprints into a gallop. There’s no way he could have seen us. The door was locked. He couldn’t have taken any photos. Still, I’m near trembling with rage by the time he plays the audio.

  It doesn’t take long to hear Aly’s voice on the clip. Her soft moans stream in through the phone speakers, faint but still discernible. At one point, she says my name and a lump forms in the pit of my throat. She couldn’t have been that loud. But she was loud enough to be captured on the soundbite. All the blood rushes from my brain into my face. My fists clench at my sides. I’m about to do something stupid if he doesn’t turn off the recording soon.


  “I got some great audio,” he says smugly.

  All the rage I’ve been holding back until now surges forward. I grab Jackson by the shirt and slam him back up against the wall. My arm pins him in place, nearly at his throat. This is the second time I’ve had to assault a man for Aly. But I can’t seem to control myself this time. I can’t even imagine what Jackson plans to do with the recording. No one could really be able to prove it was even Aly. I just can’t stand the thought of Jackson having that recording on his phone, of him hearing anything so intimate that belongs to Aly. Something expressly reserved for me.

  “Delete it,” I snarl. “Every last copy you’ve made.”

  Jackson laughs, despite still being pressed against the wall. His breaths come out shakier, the only indication he might actually be scared. “Lucky for you, I haven’t had time to send it anywhere else yet. So this is it.”

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Fifty grand and this all goes away.”

  Fifty grand.

  I couldn’t even hire a decent hitman for that price. In a way, Jackson’s offer is a steal really. This is why Jackson was destined to fail. He never thought big enough.

  I release him with a small shove. “Then delete it now. In front of me. I’m not taking any chances of you making copies later.”

  Jackson waves a conceding gesture upward. “Fair enough. But remember I still have some leverage over you.”

  I watch Jackson carefully, ensuring all visible copies are off his phone. I have no real way of knowing, I remind myself. I’m taking his word at all of this, just to protect Aly for as long as I can.

  “Are we finished here?” I ask.

  “No.”

  Of course not.

  “You’re going to present my proposal as the superior candidate for the apprenticeship,” Jackson says.

  I grind my teeth.

  The growl in the pit of my throat rumbles upward as I speak. “Is that all?”