Page 17 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

She jerks her head up. “Nothing.”

“Really?” I stand up and circle my desk. This won’t do, either, because I’m looming over her, but I need her to see me not as a professor for a second, but rather as someone who has walked in her footsteps.

I crouch down beside her chair. “Something happened. You were full of confidence all term, and now I can see that something is on your mind. You can trust me, Paisley.”

She sucks in a breath.

I soften my tone. “Remember, I was once a mature student myself. It can be isolating. Are you having trouble with a classmate?”

“No.” She twists in her chair, looking right at me. “It’s nothing to do with school.”

“You sure?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Good. That’s good.” I tap her detailed plan for the following year. “Can I add some suggestions to this?”

“Yes, please.” She watches closely as I grab a pen from theHorticulture Prof (noun): A person who is outstanding in their field mugon my desk.

I list three electives she hadn’t considered. “You’ll only be able to take one of these next year, but if you can make a summer class work, I know the instructor for this one is excellent.”

“I can probably do that.”

I look sideways at her. “It’s worth the extra investment.”

She worries her bottom lip in a way that sends heat slamming through my belly. “I hope so.”

“Are you working at all right now?”

“No. But I was going to try to find a job next summer.”

My first instinct is to promise her I’ll take care of her, but I can’t say shit like that out loud. I glance back at the sheets in front of us. “A lot of ranches will hire people on while they’re still in the program. You don’t need to graduate first.”

I sketch out another program path, where instead of summer school, she adds an extra year of study.

“And these classes…” I underline the ones she needs to remember. “Those all are recognized as credits by the University of Wyoming, if you’re thinking of continuing your studies.”

This time when I look sideways, she’s leaned in, and suddenly there’s no space at all between us.

“You’re a smart girl, Paisley,” I repeat, hearing my voice from a distance.

She nods slowly, her gaze locked on my mouth. Her eyelashes brush her cheeks in a low, sweeping flutter, and then she inhales sharply and swallows.

I can’t look away.

She’s trembling now, like a bird about to take flight, and I know in my heart that I’m never going to have another moment like this with her.

I’m never going to get to kiss her.

Never know what she looks like when she comes.

Our paths were only meant to cross like this, teacher and student, and I need to let her go. But I can’t, because I’ll also never be able to teach her again, not in good conscience, and acknowledging that feels like tearing out a vital organ.

I slowly force myself to stand. But that puts her gaze at the same level as my denim-clad dick, which has been thicker than usual since she sat down across from me, and hardened to an inconveniently un-hide-able state as I crouched beside her, breathing in her sweet innocence.

She doesn’t look away. Her cheeks turn pink and her lips press together, in much the same way they do when she knows the right answer in class but doesn’t want to be the first person to thrust her hand in the airagain.

Paisley likes looking at my erection. Fucking hell. And I, God help me, am frozen in place because under her careful scrutiny, the bulge grows even bigger.

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