Page 11 of In Control

But then she senses me, lifting her head and spinning on her toes. She grips the desk behind her, leaning back against the wood.

Although I seem to see her everywhere, we haven’t spoken again since that encounter in the lecture hall.

“You're working late.”

“I’m pretty close to finishing this PhD, and frankly I want to get it done.”

“What’s it on?” I ask, leaning against the door frame. I’d come into this room for a reason, one that’s now forgotten.

She flicks thick waves of chestnut hair over her shoulder.

“Are you actually interested? I’m sure you’d consider it pretty basic for a great mind like yours.” Her lips curl in that seductive fucking manner again. She’s teasing me, throwing back my words at me.

“Ahhh, you’re pissed with me about that question in the lecture hall.”

“I don’t forgive … or forget easily.” She considers me.

I run the pads of my fingers over the stubble on my chin, the sharp ends prickling my skin. I try to keep my eyes fixed to the blue of hers, but I’m weak. And besides, I may be unable to touch, but I can look. I can admire.

She bristles under my gaze.

“Are you sure it’s safe to be seen here alone with me, professor?” My eyes dart to her face and I step into the room.

“What does that mean?” As far as I know, she hasn’t said anything about our dalliance to anyone in the faculty. She said she wouldn’t and I believed her.

“You’re very concerned about your reputation.”

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation.” If she knew anything of my career, she’d know that. I haven’t been afraid to criticise others, to challenge current thinking, to rock the boat. I’ve done it all with one goal in mind – progressing my career. “I do give a damn about my place at this university, though. And my career.” And the people I care about. I’m not making the same mistake twice.

“It’s very honourable,” she replies, turning back to the machine she’s using and making some scribbles in her note book. “If a little dull.”

“You don’t like dull?”

“Not really.”

“Perhaps you should. Screwing strangers, screwing strange alphas, isn’t safe.”

“Maybe it was the first time I’ve ever done something like that,” she says, flicking the machine off and gathering her book and her pen to her chest. “Maybe you were special.”

“I don’t think it was.” I pause. “I don’t think I am.”

She holds my gaze. “You’re full of assumptions.”

“And I’m wondering if you are always this abrasive with professors in this department or if I’m special after all.”

The machine’s internal fan whirls, then switches off with a loud click.

There are only a few feet between us. I could clear them in a couple of strides and lift her up onto the desk and …

I gulp. She watches the Adam’s apple in my throat bob.

“It was special,” she whispers, her eyes hovering on my chest. “And I think that’s why you can’t keep your eyes off me.” She lifts her gaze back to mine and the silvery-blue of her eyes is almost grey in the dim lighting of this room. Behind her, my own reflection balances in the window. It’s blurred and yet I can discern the heat in my eyes.

What is it about this girl?

I’ve taught plenty of beautiful women. I’ve supervised and mentored them. I’ve never felt temptation like this before. I’ve had my omega and my one-night stands to quench my lust.

But she’s … different.

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