Tangled with the Professor (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 2

Isabelle

My mind is on the last student who left my office as I tidy up my desk to go home. It’s a tiny little nook, barely an office with just my desk and two chairs. No window and the only thing on the wall is an ancient poster showing the emergency exit routes in case of a fire.

Still, I love it. It’s always been a dream to get this TA position, and more so when the exacting Dr. Tennyson chose me. I had struggled so long to get into one of his classes when I was an undergrad, but despite his reputation as being a major hardass, they always filled up too fast. The reputation is warranted, but the reason people line up to get in is because he makes sure you leave knowing the subject. He demands the best from everyone and doesn’t tolerate slackers.

Which is why I’m panicking a little. He just poked his head in my doorway and asked me to stop by his office before I leave.

“Sure thing, Professor. Give me a few minutes.” Outwardly, I’m cool as a cucumber but inside, I’m screaming.

I haven’t been slacking, have I?

There’s a hint of a smile on his tanned, rugged face, making him look more like he should be teaching survival classes instead of biochemistry. I can’t help but watch as he makes his way down the short hall to his own office, my eyes glued to his broad shoulders as I try to decipher what was going on in those deep brown eyes of his as he asked me to see him.

Yes, my eyes fall lower because not only is Dr. Tennyson brilliant and one of the top scholars in his field, he’s blazing hot. Built like someone who chops wood all day, with dark, wavy hair that seems perpetually ruffled by a breeze. The way he handles the test tubes and beakers on lab days makes my mind wander as his strong, lean fingers slide over the glass.

He kept me close for about a week when I first started, teaching me how he liked things to run. He fully admitted he wasn’t on board with being forced to have a TA and that I shouldn’t take it too personally if he got a bit controlling.

I had blurted out that I was happy to do things however he liked, and he looked at me in a way that made me both freeze up and get a warm, prickly feeling all over. For a split second I was his prey, and all too eager to get caught up.

Of course that had to be my imagination though, because he was nothing but professional as he taught me the ins and outs of his popular and very difficult classes. Once I was trained, he kept me at arm’s length. So, why do I keep getting that rush of heat whenever he’s near me? It’s getting more and more difficult to ignore this blooming attraction I have for him. I think I see him staring at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. When I give him my regular reports, it feels like he’s giving me these burning looks I can’t decipher.

In short, I have a massive crush on my thirty-nine-year-old tenured professor who probably views me as an irritation on good days. So far I’ve managed to not have any bad days.

I just hope today is not the first one as I nervously lock up my office and head to his. My feet drag along the short corridor, trying to make my face seem normal and not squeak when I talk. I already feel so flushed and strange when I speak to him. I’ve never been this way before and it makes me want to run and hide even as I secretly sneak peeks at him whenever I get the chance.

It’s been getting so hard to concentrate that I sometimes consider giving up this huge opportunity.

Stop it , I tell myself, my hand poised to knock as I give myself a much needed pep talk. You’re not quitting and you’re not going to shy away from whatever Dr. Tennyson says. If you screwed up, you’ll fix it and move on. If it’s something good you will not turn to jelly, either.

There. Much better. Doing this work is too important to me and I won’t let my students down. Or myself, for that matter.

Most important of all, I have to keep this attraction to him under wraps. It’s not unheard of for students to get wild crushes on their teachers and now that I’m not an undergrad anymore, I’ve seen with my own eyes the little secret dalliances that occur sometimes. There should be loads of gossip surrounding Dr. Tennyson since he’s easily the most handsome man on campus, and has that insane charisma that draws everyone in. He makes you want to do your best, just to please him.

Of course nothing has ever been on the campus buzz about him and if he’s ever done anything with a student, it’s been kept under wraps. As I finally gather the gumption to knock on his door, I feel a ridiculous ripple of jealousy about anyone who might have been lucky enough to catch his eye. Not my professor. He’d never. Unless…

I almost burst out laughing at where my mind is going due to my nerves over this impromptu meeting and I get it together as he calls for me to come in.

His smile nearly knocks me out and I can feel that strange flush rise up my whole body under his gaze. He studies me for a split second before laughing.

“Sit down, you’re not in trouble.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” I breathe, sliding into the leather chair across from his desk.

I’ve always thought his office was so warm and cozy with two entire walls covered in books and a battered red sofa in the corner behind his desk. I can imagine him spending late nights in here, bathed in moonlight from the big window looking out over the campus, falling asleep on that couch after spending hours poring over an equation. His passion for science just adds to how attractive he is.

I have to drag my thoughts from my daydream as I realize he’s asking me something.

“Midterm prep is going well,” I say, racing over his words and formulating the proper answer. “The systems you have set up keep everything running really smoothly.”

He raises an eyebrow, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Almost like I don’t need an assistant at all.” Those dark eyes twinkle, letting me know he’s teasing.

“You can’t say I don’t make a mean cup of coffee, though,” I say, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

I’m like a mouse, completely focused on his every little move, once again feeling like prey when I’m so close to him I could reach across his desk and run my hand through his thick, wavy hair. The way his eyes are drawing me even closer has me wondering if he knows his effect on me.

If he does, then I’m not hiding my feelings very well, am I? I clear my throat just as he assures me he loves the morning coffee.

“And I don’t hate the extra time you allow me for my research,” he says magnanimously. “Now tell me, how are the students doing? I don’t get as many requests for meetings now that I have you.”

I shiver at the last part. He has me all right. But I answer professionally, my silly crush fading to the background as I fill him in. The undergrads are the best part of this job. Helping them through the rough patches and keeping them on track makes me feel like I’m making a difference in someone’s life, just like my tutoring does. I’ve always been single minded about going into research, but the more I see how much of an impact an amazing teacher like Dr. Tennyson has on people, the more I’ve been wondering if I should think about changing career tracks.

“Some of them are struggling a bit,” I say. “The ones who come in to see me for help are doing better than the ones who aren’t, but I’ve made efforts to reach out to everyone. I think there’s a couple that just don’t get it and may have to rethink why they’re taking the class in the first place, and of course there are some that just don’t care.”

“We can’t help everyone,” he says seriously. “I think I can name the ones you’re talking about. Not everyone’s cut out for our field, and that’s okay. I only want everyone to push themselves that little bit to make sure before they give up, though.”

“I get it,” I say. “I nearly washed out in freshman year, but thankfully I had a good tutor.”

His eyes hone in on me even more than they were before and I slide my hands down to my sides to try to hide my sudden outbreak of goosebumps. “Is that why you’re so hellbent on never giving up tutoring?”

I shrug, blushing under what is obviously praise once you know Dr. Tennyson. He admires tenacity and that’s something I’ve always prided myself on, so it’s nice to be recognized.

“And how are your own studies going?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh he catches, raising that brow again. “Organic chem is a nightmare,” I admit.

“When isn’t orgo a nightmare,” he says, making me laugh.

“For you, too?”

“Once upon a time. Let me know if you ever need help. I’m here for you, Isabelle.”

My cheeks burn harder under his steady gaze and the generous offer. I thank him and decline, certain he’s only being polite. There’s no way he’d want to spend more one-on-one time with me. So why does he look a bit disappointed that I turned him down?

“Well, all right then,” he says, standing up.

The meeting’s over and I’ve been dismissed. I want to scream that I was just kidding and accept his offer. But it’s best if I leave before I do something embarrassing, and stand up, smoothing down my skirt.

When I look up, he’s standing by the door, his eyes following the motion of my hands on my thighs. He quickly looks up and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. Instead of looking away, he continues to burn me up with his gaze, and as I get to the door, he reaches for it.

But doesn’t turn the handle. I have to stop fast or bump into him. I’m only a few inches away, staring at his chest because I can’t look up and face him when I’m so close I can smell his spicy cologne and feel the heat emanating off of his big body. He still doesn’t move to open the door and I finally look up. Dark brown eyes meet mine, the intensity in them almost making me stagger back, but I’m rooted to the spot as if he’s magnetized. I can’t look away and now I’m the one swallowing hard.

His eyes drop to linger on my mouth, his own full lips parting as if he’s thinking the same thing I am. Wanting the same thing I do. My chest rises and falls rapidly as my heart tries to escape my rib cage, and suddenly, his hands are around my waist.

My body is tugged up tight against his hot, hard muscles and his lips come crashing down onto mine.

There’s not a single thought in my head except more. I don’t even have time to feel self-conscious about not having a clue about what to do. Yes, I’m that person who had her nose in a book all through high school. My parents had financial troubles back then and I needed a scholarship if I was going to college. That meant gaining a reputation as no fun, don’t even ask, and that was fine with me. It carried on through my undergrad years since no one struck my fancy.

My first kiss was worth the wait. His mouth is strong and eager, but patient at the same time, slowly running his tongue along my lips until they fall open for him. As soon as our tongues touch, his grip on me tightens. My own hands run up his rock hard biceps and curl over his broad shoulders, tugging at his crisp cotton shirt.

“Isabelle,” he murmurs against my mouth, turning me so that I’m pressed against the door.

I can’t answer, but I writhe against him at the sound of my name when his tongue is pushing into my mouth. There’s a gush of pure lust in my core and I wrap my arms tight around his neck, lost completely to the feel and taste of him. He makes a low growling noise as I rub against the stiff rod that’s grown between us. I’m not sure if pressing even harder against it to draw that sensation blooming between my thighs out is smart, but that’s what I do, moaning as he slides his hands up my sides.

His thumbs brush over my breasts, making me gasp and tangle my fingers into his hair. It’s as soft as I imagined and as he teases my nipples with his thumbs, I arch my back, trying not to tear out a chunk. But what he’s doing to me has me transported. Who am I, where am I?

After much too short a time, he eases his lips from mine and slowly kisses down the side of my neck, his hands dropping back down to my waist.

I’m breathing hard, and barely recovered when he steps back, looking down at me with a mixture of sheepishness and absolute satisfaction. I reach to touch my lower lip, swollen from his end of day stubble, and find myself smiling at him.

He taps me on my nose and then smooths my hair behind my shoulders. “Until next time?”

I nod, still breathless, both sated from my first ever experience of making out, and wanting so much more. What does he mean by that question, coupled with that mischief dancing in his dark eyes? All I know is I can’t wait to find out.