Page 64 of The Professor's Possession (Crystal River Billionaire Brothers)

And he’s also my freaking professor. I gotta remind myself of that.

He opens the door when I ring the fancy doorbell.

“Come in, Olivia.”

Oh, that silky deep voice.

“Thanks.”

“I’m making dinner,” he explains.

“Oh? For us?”

“Yes. I assumed you would be hungry,” he says.

I do a pitiful shake of my head, but I am actually starving. I was so anxious about this weird little date thing all afternoon that I didn’t eat dinner.

And I certainly didn’t expect him to make me food.

A dinner date? Yeah, he’s definitely more mature than guys my age who’ll just offer some spiked beer at a party.

Should I even be stepping into his house? This is no longer any old study session. I know that, by crossing over the threshold of his house, that I’m also crossing over into something...elseentirely.

I feel like I’m breaking all the rules.

And it feels so damn electrifying.

“This way,” the professor says softly, guiding me through his lovely house to the kitchen. I can smell something citrusy.

“So,” I ask him. “What’s for dinner, professor?”

The man turns and smiles at me. “I take it you like pasta?” he asks.

I nod. “Yep. Who can say no to carbs?”

“Well, I’m making pasta al limone.”

“Which is?”

“Lemon pasta,” the professor replies. “It’s a recipe I learned when I stayed with a friend on the Amalfi Coast a few years back. I love it, and I think you will as well.”

He speaks about his travels with a glimmer in his eye. He just dropped visiting the Amalfi Coast so casually, like it’s whateveryonedoes for a vacation. Is this man even real? He’s so well-read and well-traveled. I bet he’s got a million stories about the places he’s been and seen. I could stand here and listen to him for hours talk about his experiences.

Yeah, so different from boys my age.

“Where are my manners?” he asks himself abruptly, breaking my thoughts. “You don’t have a drink in your hand. How rude of me.”

He suddenly thrusts a glass of white into my hand. Our fingers touch. A shiver runs through me.

“This is an Italian vintage,” he comments, nodding at the wine. “It’s actually from a vineyard not too far from the place I learned this pasta recipe.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Do I detect a hint of mockery in your tone, Olivia?” he asks.

“I just love how you keep name-dropping places you’ve been to,” I reply. “It’s veryboastful.”

“Well, it’s a fact,” Spencer says. “Who wouldn’t want to know the type of wine they’re about to drink and the origins of the meal they’re about to eat?”

---