Page 9 of Tangled with the Professor

“I’m sorry you’re so upset by it all,” he clarifies, his dark eyes sweeping my face with such tenderness I feel my insides turning to mush. “We never got a chance to talk before dinner, either.”

I stiffen in his arms. Is this where he tells me he didn’t sign up for a crazy family and he’ll be requesting a new assistant after the break? I look up at him, trying to find a way to remain dignified through my first ever dumping when all I want to do is hold onto him and never let go.

He chuckles softly and presses a kiss to my forehead. “What’s that look for? Don’t tell me you’re giving in to your parents’ pressure and thinking about asking me to leave?”

I gasp because that’s the furthest thing on my mind. Before I can shake my head or say a single word, he kisses me, slow and deep and reassuring.

“I hope not,” he says. “Because I’m not leaving. Not because of them, anyway.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I say quickly. “But I’m the one who should be apologizing. I know I said they’d be upset about the age difference, but I wasn’t expecting this. This is on another level.”

He shakes his head, pushing my hair behind my ear, then trailing his finger down the side of my neck. His eyes capture mine and don’t let go. “Your family’s reaction to me doesn’t change how I feel about you at all. I still want you.”

All the tension flows out of me like water through a sieve and my shoulders slump with relief. “We can leave if you want,” I offer. “Go to a hotel. I hate that they’re all ganging up on you.”

“Your brother seems neutral,” he says with a shrug. “And you forget how charming I can be. Tomorrow I’ll start working on them to lighten them up.” There’s a cheerfulness in his voice but his face doesn’t seem as convinced as his words might have me think.

“You don’t have to put on a show for them,” I say bitterly. “They don’t deserve you.”

“It’s not going to be a show,” he says. “I want them to like me.”

I laugh outright at that. He’s actually very well liked on campus, but it’s not ever because he tries. It’s because he’s a great person, demanding, exacting and sometimes such a hardass that whoever falls victim to it might think they hate him until they see it’s only to make them excel. He’s never once danced to anyone else’s tune.

“What?” he asks with mock innocence, then turns serious.

“I just can’t even imagine it.”

“You won’t have to. You’ll see it with your own eyes tomorrow.”

“But, why?” I ask. He’s such a proud man. “Why jump through hoops?”

“To make you happy,” he tells me, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?”

The soft feel of his lips on my palm makes me lean toward him and he slides his other hand around my neck and into my hair. “Thank you,” I whisper as his lips claim mine.

The feel of Mark’s hands sliding down my body erase any last worry that’s left over from dinner and the horrible, icy cold welcome we received. He reaches my knees and pushes my dress slowly up my thighs and I twist in his arms to deepen our kiss. He’s intoxicating and lights me on fire. Suddenly the perfectly comfortable room is much too hot and my new dress that I picked out to show how grown up and together I am now is scratchy and rough on my skin.

I only want his hands and his mouth there. Curling my fingers into his flannel shirt, I pull him closer, then let my fingers wander down his chest. He’s burning up, just like I am, and I push his shirt up to feel his hot skin and hard muscles against my hand.

Footsteps stomp past in the hallway and we freeze. After they’re gone, he pulls back to look at me with a twinkle in his rich, brown eyes.

“I don’t think I should be doing this in here,” he says, nodding toward my old porcelain unicorn collection, staring down judgmentally from their shelf over the window.

Moonlight pours in through the curtains and I smirk. “I don’t think you should stop,” I say, moving my hand lower, only stopping at the waistband of his jeans.

He grins and scoots down to start kissing his way up my inner thigh, nudging my dress higher as he goes. “Can you be very quiet?” he asks.

Before I can say anything, he reaches the edge of my panties and pushes them aside. I spread my legs wide as he grips my hips and teases me with his mouth.

“I love how wet you get for me, little girl,” he growls in a low voice.

My hips raise to get more of his tongue and he presses me hard against the mattress. “Oh…” I murmur, then start to moan as he circles my swollen bud.

I clamp my lips together, remembering that Aunt Mary and Uncle Phil are staying in the guest room next door and she’s probably got her ear jammed against the wall.

“That’s really nice,” I whisper, then giggle, suddenly not caring so much what anyone thinks.

I can feel him smiling against my wet heat and when I glance down, he’s grinning up at me, the light back in his dark eyes.

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