Page 33 of Forbidden Heroes

God, I’m pathetic. I can’t even take the advice I gave my friend and reach out and grab what I want. A six-foot tall psych professor with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen, strong hands I imagine undress me every time I walk through the door of his classroom and the sexiest voice I’m dying to hear whisper in my ear as he takes me as his.

Yeah right. I could never belong to a man like that. As the eldest grandson of the man who established this university, he’s way out of my league.

I exhale a shaky breath. It’s not like I can walk up to Professor Blackthorne, a man with the as much muscle as brains, and tell him I fantasize about having him fuck my completely off-limits pussy almost every night as I lie awake in my bed alone.

Amber laughs softly, and I shake my highly inappropriate thoughts away. “There’s someone but I know it can never happen. It’s just not in the cards for us. But this is about you. My point is, you do this auction, you get to have a good time with a gentleman who will treat you right, help your family and yourself. Win-win. Sleeping with the man who wins you at the auction is totally on you.”

I consider the card and run the pad of my thumb over the raised letters. Maybe she’s right. I’ve been falling all over myself with the professor, and I can’t even get him to glance my way. Maybe a good time under the care of another man like Amber describes will get him out of my system once and for all, and I can finally get over the all-consuming power he unknowingly holds over me.

“Think about it, okay? It will be better than cat-sitting or wishing little fortune cookies could solve your problems. Trust me.” Amber taps the newspaper where I have a wanted ad circled. “Plus, haven’t you always been curious as to what is going on behind those huge red doors?”

“As long as you promise to give whoever has stolen your heart a chance.”

Amber scrunches her nose and shrugs. “Err…I don’t know, Rosa. It’s just…”

I hold a finger up. “Don’t make me dare you. You know I will.”

I grab her wrist and look at her wristwatch. “Crap is that the time? I’m late. Professor Blackthorne is going to have my hide.”

Two

Rosalee

Istuff my fortune cookie in my pocket and grab the newspaper, giving my friend a quick hug. “I’ll text you. Don’t forget what I said.”

“Ditto. You don’t have long to give me an answer. The headmistress in charge of the auction doesn’t like last-minute drop-ins.”

Mistress? That fuels a lot of questions I don’t have time to ask right now. “Noted,” I say over my shoulder. I’m off before I hear her reply and stealthily make my way through the mostly empty halls.

Outside Blackthorne’s door, I take a minute to check my appearance and smooth out the few creases in my skirt and form-fitting wrap-around blouse. The modest neckline dips enough to tease with a hint of cleavage I artfully hide behind a curtain of brunette hair with natural honey-colored highlights. The mint green material is held in place by a tiny bow on the side, and for an added dash of naughty, the outline of my nipples peek through thanks to the unexpected chilled air.

It had been a frivolity buy back before money troubles hit while I was on a surprise shopping trip in Savannah. I’ve done everything to grab my professor’s attention and since I know green is his favorite color, I couldn’t resist the purchase.

Paired with a sweep of lip gloss, a brush of mascara and a light dusting of shimmering bronze eye shadow to make the gold flecks of my eyes pop, I straighten my long hair one last time. Satisfied, I let myself into Professor Blackthorne’s lecture hall only to find the room completely empty.

Crap.

My shoulders droop and I groan out my frustrations. Can’t anything go right for once?

“Ms. Johnson. I think it’s safe to say you missed class today. You should check your emails more regularly—I changed the start time by an hour this morning.”

The deep, low-pitched voice reaches me instantly, and I can’t help the cool shiver that works over me or how my breasts swell with the heat of need. The need to have the man behind that voice touch me. Kiss me. Anything. I’d take anything really.

I could listen to him speak for hours and never grow tired of the masculine sound.

I sweep my glance around to find the very essence of my fantasies staring down at me from among the row of desks. With a full head of black hair, he looks to be in his mid-thirties, a fact that makes him stand out among all his older faculty members and the students of Blackthorne University. I’m well aware I’m not the only one with an eye for him.

A shirt as dark as his hair fits every valley and hill of his broad chest, and I’ve wondered on more than one occasion if I were to peel away all that material would I find the muscles of his arms as chiseled and defined as the outline of his taut pecs? Sadly, he keeps those cuffs rolled down and buttoned so I can only daydream. One thing is for sure; the way his shirt clings to the expanse of his abs, I can see all those delicious dips and contours just fine, making me want to drag my tongue over each one.

A quick glance offers me a peek at black ink where his shirt opens at the collar. And if that’s not enough to make me wet, the ends are tucked into a snug pair of dark tailored slacks outlining thick thighs—and God help me—his well-endowed package.

The man could be wearing suits worth thousands, yet he prefers his all-too-casual look. No tie or jacket to speak of. The burst of heat I feel when I’m around him flashes through me like it’s juiced up on enough electricity to power a whole damn town. My heart pounds in my chest like a driving engine, and I can feel the warmth build in my cheeks.

He faces me, his dark, penetrating gaze meeting mine, but not before roaming over me from beneath thick lashes.

I lick my lips. “Professor, you startled me. I didn’t see you up there.” I bite the inside of my cheek to help center my thoughts, but it doesn’t do a lick of good. Not when I can smell the subtle hint of his crisp masculine and utterly intoxicating scent. Not too strong but laced with a hint of wealth and class. Subtle like the man who wears it.

A smell that’s imprinted on my brain as much as the scent of chocolate and strawberries.

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