Page 12 of Forbidden Professor

“I am Dr. Carter Morgan,” he says, scrawling his name on the board in illegible handwriting. “And this is Cell Biology.”

My jaw drops as he turns around. And there he is: tall, dark, drop dead hot…

“Shit,” I mumble. Vi sends me a concerned look but my eyes are fixed on the man in question.

This can’t be real.

This has to be a dream, right?

Because if it is real, the only guy I know in Seattle… The one I’ve had a crush on since the first time we met. The one that I flirted with only a few days ago.

That guy is my professor. He’s in charge of my education. I’m in his hands.

My life, my career, flashes before my eyes. I’m doomed. I’ll never learn a fucking thing if I’m supposed to learn it from him.

God, don’t let him see me, I pray. Though that is silly, because of course he will see me. It’s not as if I can avoid him.

I have to get out of here, I think. I need to unregister from this class and somehow start all over, somewhere very, very far away from here.

Far away from Carter.

Carter turns around and scans the classroom. I want to hunch down in my seat but I have so many thoughts swirling around in my head that I can’t even begin to move. He looks down at some papers on his desk, clearing his throat. I put a hand to my forehead, hoping I can shield my face enough to hide my identity.

“As I said, I’m Dr. Morgan. I am relatively new to the U of W. I have my PhD in biology from Portland State. This class will be—” He looks up, sees me, and stops mid-sentence. I flush, biting my lower lip. His brows rise a little bit. Then he continues, clearing his throat again. “Ahem. This class will be graded on three things… attendance and participation, three tests, and then the final project. So you’ll be expected to attend class twice per week…”

I slump down in my chair as he continues his lecture, thinking of all the ways this will ruin me.

Another day in Seattle, another curveball from the universe.

I should have known it was going too well.

ChapterSix

Carter

Holy fuck.

One minute I’m trying to find my hastily-scribbled notes about how the class will be graded. Then I look up into those unmistakable blue-green eyes.

Eve.

Eve is staring right back at me, her cheeks flushed, her honey blonde hair falling in her face. She looks disbelieving.

She looks how I feel.

I lose my train of thought for the barest second, just enough to let her know that I am thrown for a loop.

Then I drag my gaze away from her, clearing my throat. Everyone is staring at me, leaning forward just a hair. Expectant. It’s not like the rest of the world will stand still while I adjust.

I don’t have time for my mind to be a total wreck. I can’t afford to stumble like this, right out of the gate like a green racehorse. I need to project a calm, composed person on top of the real me. Which is, of course, thinking of how I know way too much about Eve.

Her laugh, throaty and raw and real. Her smell, orange blossom with a hint of vanilla. How her eyes light up when she’s challenged. Her lips, full and luscious and appealing.

Damn. Definitely too many details taking up too much space in my head.

I continue on with what I’m saying, avoiding making eye contact with her for the rest of the class. The most successful professors are borderline boring in class.

That’s where I want to be. Right at the place where informative and extremely dull meet.

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