Page 9 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

I’ve already been warned to stay away from her.

I have to keep her at arm’s length.

“Get it together,”I mutter, smoothing my hair and straightening my shirt.

When I return to the office, Ivy is sitting where I left her. She looks up, concern etched into her perfect features, but I offer her nothing but a brisk nod as I take my seat.

“Let’s focus on the syllabus for the year and the schedule of assignments.”At least my outward appearance is steady. Inside, I’m rattled.

“Of course, Professor,”she replies, oblivious to the storm of arousal and conflict brewing inside me.

Chapter 5

Ivy

The key turns, the lock clicks, and I’m inside my shoebox of an apartment, heart still skipping like a scratched record. I replayed every moment of my time in Harrison’s office in my mind during the entire train ride home and then the short walk to my apartment.

There’s no denying it—the way Professor Ashe—Harrison—felt when I brushed against him today—the hardness I unintentionally encountered—lit a fire in my belly, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before.

I toss my keys and book bag onto the cluttered kitchen table, the metallic clink barely registering as I collapse onto the thrift-store couch that’s seen better days.

All those accidental grazes—the brush of his arm against mine or our hands as we reached for the same piece of paper—each one branded me with longing. Until, of course, I bent over and pressed my ass right into his groin.

Ugh. I cover my face with my hands, still embarrassed. How could I have been so stupid?

I almost jumped out of my skin when I realized the man I’d been thinking about all day stood right behind me.I had scoffed at Mrs. Brooks words, but after spending an hour and a half withthe man, I now understand her concern. Every female in that classroomswooned.

When my last class ended, I hurried to his office, anxious to see him again. But he wasn’t there, so I waited, wondering if I should leave and return later. Then I noticed the stack of filing on the cabinet and thought it would work in my favor if I showed some initiative. People normally hate the task of filing, right? I could do it for him; he’d be happy and want to keep me around.

All had been fine until I reached to take the next piece of paper, and a bunch of pages slid right off the back edge of the cabinet, dropping down behind and out of reach.

I nearly drooled, watching the muscles in his arms bulge as he shifted that thing away from the wall, distracting me from the whole reason for being in his office in the first place. He’d removed his tie and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to the elbow, showcasing muscular forearms liberally sprinkled with dark hair. Because I was so nervous being around such an attractive man, I didn’t think before jumping forward as soon as the gap became wide enough for me to stick my hand back there.

Only I made the whole situation worse.

Without moving heaven and earth, there was no way I could ignore the hard bulge that fit pretty nicely right between my ass cheeks, making my nipples hard as pebbles and my vagina desperately clench around nothing.

God, I’m still mortified.

It twitched.

For a moment, the euphoria, the rush of knowingIhad done that to him—I can’t lie, it thrilled me.

I grab one of my decorative pillows—my small indulgence to make this place homey— and hug it tight to my chest like it can soak up the crazy that’s bubbling inside me.

But who am I kidding? I’ve been invisible Ivy, the girl with no real friends who burrows behind the covers of books and hidesunder oversized sweaters since the age of six. I came to New York not only for my education but also to experience life. My plan, after settling in, included forcing myself to make friends, maybe meet a few guys, go on some dates. Do all the things other women my age do.

And now?

I don’t particularly want to meet other men my age. I want Harrison Ashe to see me.Reallysee me.

He’s my teacher, though. It’s probably not even allowed. Besides, how do you tell a guy like him—gorgeous, brilliant, ten years older—that you might want to be more than his TA or his student? I’ve never made the first move before. Hell, I’ve never madeanymoves.

I push off the couch and pace around my studio apartment, my socked feet padding over the worn wooden floor. I need a plant. Some greenery would look nice in here.

I could write him a note, but that’s high school secret admirer stuff. Texting him doesn’t seem right, and I don’t know his number. I don’t want to appear stalkerish either.

“Movies,”I say out loud as if naming it will summon some Hollywood magic into my life. “People kiss in the movies, right?”They lean in, eyes locking as their lips meet, and bam—a fairytale moment.

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