Page 1 of Professor's Forbidden Temptation

Chapter 1

Cooper

“Alright,” I say, looking around my table of college seniors, my eyes lingering on my youngest student, “I think that wraps up our discussion of 1984. Before I let you go, let’s talk about your last assignment of the semester.”

I wait as my students either flip to a fresh page in their notebooks or open a blank document on their laptops. These few seconds are perfect for sneaking another glance at Emily. I’ve had a lot of students in my eight years of teaching at a collegiate level, but I’ve never been drawn to any of them the way I’m drawn to her.

Emily has a long mane of straight, red hair with a set of emerald, green eyes hidden behind a pair of cat-eye glasses. Her face has an irresistible, almost feline quality, feminine and mysterious. It isn’t just her looks that magnetize her, though. She’s intellectual, always staying after class to ask pragmatic questions about the material. At only twenty, she’s on track to graduate next semester, two years ahead of her peers.

I’ve never met someone her age with such passion for learning. Even in my graduate classes, the dedication of my fellows paled in comparison to what I see from her. I thought at first that she was just shy, but it turned out that she’s just more focused on listening to what others have to say. She talks when it’s important, not just to fill space.

Between her brilliance, her infectious little giggles, and the way she flirts with me after class, it’s a wonder I ever look anywhere else. I’ve never had feelings for a student before, but I can’t see how any man wouldn’t fall for Emily.

She looks up and catches my eye, and I know that’s my cue to get on with my explanation.

“So, now that we’ve worked through Orwell’s most popular works, your last assignment is to write a twenty-page book review on one of his lesser known novels,” I say, watching the reactions flash across each of their faces. The assignment doesn’t come as a surprise – it’s in the syllabus – but it’s obvious that some of them haven’t thought about it until this very moment. Emily, as always, seems perfectly prepared. “That’s ten thousand words. I’m not going to bore you with all of the requirements; I know you’re all capable of reading. I just want you all thinking about which book you’d like to do this report on. In Wednesday's class, I’ll be answering any questions you have about the review. By Friday, I expect you to have your book picked out. Sound good?”

There’s a mumble of agreement in the room. A few students jot down some titles while others start putting away their things. I’m nothing if not predictable, I guess. They can tell when I’m about to dismiss them before I do officially. If I were still a brand-new professor, it might bother me, but it doesn’t anymore. Plus, the faster the rest of the class filters out, the sooner I’ll get to talk to Emily alone.

She’s predictable, too.

“Alright. I’ll see you next week,” I say, prompting the slower moving students to pack up.

As the rest of the class filters out of the room, Emily slips her backpack on and bounces up to me. I don’t bother hiding the smile. This little routine has been the highlight of my semester, and I hope it’s hers, too.

“I’m looking forward to seeing which novel you’ll pick,” I say as the last student walks out of class.

“Me too,” she laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers sticking out from the end of the chunky gray cardigan she wears over a tiny tank top. “I have no idea where to begin with choosing one. I may need some expert advice.” She sways as she speaks, her hips rocking hypnotically back and forth.

“Well,” I murmur, my eyes drifting down to follow their movement, “if you want some help, feel free to stop by my office hours tomorrow. I’d be happy to bounce ideas back and forth.”

“I might stop by,” she says, a sly little smile settling on her lips.

“You know, I’m surprised that you haven’t dropped in before,” I tell her conversationally. “You’re incredibly insightful. Last week you brought up a point about 1984 that I hadn’t considered before. I’m sure you’ve got more to talk about between classes.”

“Sometimes,” she giggles, looking at me through the tortoiseshell rims perched on her button nose. “I didn’t want to bother you, though. What if you had someone in there that actually needed your help with something?”

As if she could ever bother me. Just talking to her is enough to make my heart pound. “I’ve only had one student come all semester,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the desk behind me. “Your company would be more than welcome.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replies. She sits on the desk across from me, crossing her long, lithe legs. When she sees me looking, she grins and crosses them again. It takes everything I’ve got to tear my eyes away.

“So, how are your other classes going? Is Professor Hankins still going on tirades about semicolon use?” I ask, wanting to draw this conversation out. I know she doesn’t have another class for over an hour thanks to asking around the department about her schedule.

“How’d you know?” she laughs, showing off her perfect teeth.

“He brought it up in the classes I’ve sat in on,” I reply, tilting my head.” I figured it was a theme for him.”

“Oh, it is,” Emily says. Then, unexpectedly, she asks, “You know, I’ve noticed you sitting in on a few classes I’m in. Do a lot of professors do that? Is it a peer review thing?”

“No, actually,” I say, ready to give the answer I prepared when I started dropping in to check on her. “I might be a bit of a nerd, but I like learning, so I’m taking advantage of the fact that I work on a college campus.”

“Oh,” she says, looking me over with something close to reverence.

“What?” I ask. I feel color start to rise in my cheeks. Having her look at me like that... It makes me feel something I’m certainly not supposed to feel.

“Nothing,” she says with an impish grin. “It’s just… nice? Yeah. It’s just nice to find out that there are men out there that care about education. I feel like most of the guys enrolled here don’t really want to be here.”

“That’s probably the case,” I say, refraining from preening over impressing her. She’s my student; I shouldn’t care whether or not she’s impressed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that there aren’t many boys in your classes.”

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