Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (104 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kya

I
was holding my phone away from my ear. My boss was off on one of his supreme
lectures, making me wonder for the thousandth time if my apparent listening was
part of the reason he hired me.

"You hear
me?" James Cort asked.

I did not have to
utter a full word, just a hum and he launched into part three of what I
suspected was going to be at least a five part series. I punched a few cards on
the video poker screen and paced away while imaginary money racked up.

"Are you
really this lucky?" Fenton asked from behind me. He sauntered up and
leaned against the end machine, watching my winnings calculate.

"I'm not sure
you'd call this lucky," I held out the phone so he could hear my boss'
chatter.

"Well, a lot
of women would think you're lucky right about now," Fenton said. He nodded
to one particularly catty looking woman with long black hair.

"Just because
you're talking to me?" I asked. "James, Fenton is here. Yes, I call
him by his first name. Right. No. Don't be gross." I hung up my phone and
punched a few more cards on the video poker screen.

"Because you
seem to be the only woman I'm interested in talking to," Fenton said.
"Was that your boss you just hung up on?"

"Yes." I
watched his smirk wobble a bit and I wondered if he had been drinking. "He
told me to make you happy and get you signed."

He pushed off the
video poker screen and leaned towards me. "I'd be happy to see that little
black dress again," he said.

I glanced down at
my silk blouse and jeans. "I've seen people gambling in worse. You're
lucky I'm not wearing sweatpants and a fleece vest."

"Or that
tight little tank top you wore on our hike. You sore from the Overlook
Trail?" he asked.

I stepped back as
he leaned closer. "Yes, I am a little sore, but nothing I can't handle. In
fact, I was thinking I should join you again tomorrow. That's the best cure for
sore muscles."

"I know a
better one." Fenton’s laser blue eyes narrowed as his smile widened.

"Well, I can
guess it’s not sitting on a stool playing video poker," I said. I punched
out of the game and a slew of coins poured into the metal slot.

Fenton shook his
head at my luck again. "Sign us up for a couple's massage. Don't you have
an expense account or something? Call your boss and ask for his credit card
number."

I raked the coins
into a plastic cup. All the other agents I knew would do what Fenton said in an
instant. And, it was not that I was not tempted. The idea of a couple's massage
with him next to me was very tempting, indeed. My boss would be annoyed that he
had not thought of it first. I could hear him rattling off his credit card
number in his perpetually yelling tone.

"You're
thinking about it, aren't you?" Fenton said. "You never know, it
might make me want vitamin supplements even more."

I shook my head.
"No. I've never landed an account that way before. Besides, you are just
trying to take advantage of me. What kind of agent would I be if I just threw
money away on my client's whims? I'm suppose to be proving to you that I have
your best interests in mind."

Fenton laughed,
and my stomach quivered. "Well, if you won't treat me to a couple's
massage, what kind of schmoozing do you have in mind? I hear there's a great
nightclub here if you feel like taking me dancing."

"What have
other endorsement agents offered you?" I asked.

"Well, let's
see. One just gave me and two friends an open tab for dinner," he said.

"Would that
explain the hint of intoxication?"

He stuck his nose
in the air. "Yes. Jealous?"

"Not
impressed," I said. "What other sort of perks have you gotten?"

"A car lease,
a timeshare vacation, a purebred dog, a leather sofa. None of which I
accepted."

"What kind of
dog?" I asked. I took my coins to the exchange and got a surprising wad of
cash.

"A pitbull.
Sweet puppy," he said.

"Hmm, I see
you as more of a Rottweiler type," I told him.

Fenton nudged me.
"Really? I thought you would have noticed that I’m more the kitten
type."

"Well,
massages and live animals aside, I'm not sure what I can offer you besides a
sound business deal," I said.

"Ah, there it
is," Fenton said. "That's how you get all those Ivy League types.
Make them think they are doing real business. We both know it’s selling
out."

"Selling out
is what other agents would push for. I'm here to help you trade your name for
solid investments."

"Oh, the Kya
Allen reputation at work," Fenton said. He sauntered away.

"Wait, fine.
Alright. I know how to have a little fun while working," I said.

He spun around and
looked skeptical. "I'm not accepting tickets to a show. I am the show,
remember?"

"I wasn't
thinking about taking you to a show. I've got reservations for the restaurant
on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Say tomorrow night at eight?"

"Dress to
impress?" Fenton asked.

"Of
course."

"Then, it's a
date."
 

#

I
bought a new dress to wine and dine Fenton Morris. I could not bring myself to
buy the fire engine red number, but the plunging neckline of my deep purple
dress more than made up for the conservative color. The v stopped just short of
my navel and somehow, the looping silver chains drew the eye to my cleavage
instead of distracted from it.

The double takes
and soft whistles should have boosted my confidence, but I was nervous. Fenton
had said it was a date. He had also been drinking. What if he forgot about it
all together?

I imagined him off
somewhere with the jealous, black-haired beauty. I had not admitted it to him,
but I had seen them enter the Tropicana the night before. She was wrapped
around him like ivy and though he talked to his manager, his hand was still
firmly on the curve of her hip.

Should
I have booked a couple's massage?
I asked myself for the
hundredth time.

Fenton had
probably gone back to the voluptuous woman right after I refused. They were
probably still in his penthouse suite, ordering room service.

I told myself the
burning in my chest was not jealousy. I had grabbed a tiny bottle of liquid
courage from my mini bar. It had to be the whiskey still burning its way down.
It was no big deal if Fenton was having wild, passionate sex with another woman
while I stood in a replica of Paris and shivered in the surprisingly chilly
evening.

"Need my coat
or can I warm you up?" Fenton’s voice came from behind me.

"Oh, thank
God you came," I said. "I mean, I'm starving. And I hear the foie gras
is to die for."

I led the way into
the Paris Casino so he could not see the relieved blush on my cheeks. Fenton
had come to meet me for dinner – he was not off with anyone else.

"I should
have told you, you could have brought a date. I'm sorry I did not say anything
sooner," I said.

The elevator doors
shut and Fenton gave me a wolfish grin. "Bring a date on a date? What sort
of man do you take me for?"

I smiled, more
relieved. "I thought you were a bad boy. I thought you were the
show."

"Yeah, yeah,
I remember saying that," he laughed. "And, I've been wondering.
Aren't you afraid that my reputation is going to ruin your reputation?"

I backed towards
the corner of the elevator as he slid closer. His gaze was locked on my lips
and I licked them nervously. "Maybe they cancel each other out and we can
just be regular people," I countered.

His eyes softened
and he stopped looming over me. I missed the heat of his body like the sun
going behind a cloud. Then, he reached for my hand.

"I'd like
that, Kya. Now that would be something no other agent has ever given me,"
Fenton said.

The doors opened
and the maitre d' ruined the effects of my statement. He bowed low and welcomed
us to the Eiffel Tower. He seated us right away at a special table with a view
of the Bellagio Fountain. Heads turned as we took our seats.

"Being
regular for the night might be a tall order," I said. I gestured out the
window to where a neon billboard almost a story high showed Fenton in action.

He turned away
from the window and concentrated on me. "It's at least worth a shot. What
do regular people talk about on dates?"

"Work?"
I asked.

He laughed, and
again my stomach quivered. I loved hearing him laugh. The head waiter explained
that we did not need menus; the chef had prepared a special meal. Then, the
sommelier approached and poured the right wine to match our first course.

After all the
flourishes were finished and we had taken a few long sips, Fenton smiled again.
"Alright, tell me about work. But not like you're an agent trying to sign
me. What would you tell a date?"

I touched my thumb
to the small, comma-shaped beauty mark near my mouth, a sure tell that I was
nervous. "It's a been awhile since I went on a date. I guess most men want
to know how I got into my profession."

Fenton leaned his
forearms on the table. "What I want to know is how you ended up working
for James Cort. I asked my manager about him and he just laughed. They seem to
be cut from the same slimy cloth."

"I ran into
him at a country club," I said.

"You're
joking."

I laughed.
"No, it’s true. I was on a road trip and needed to go to the bathroom. The
nearest place I could find was this country club, so I sneaked in and used the
facilities. When I came out, security was looking for me. James snagged my arm
and introduced me to the golf pro. I must have charmed him because James left
there with a new client, and I left with a new job."

"What kind of
car were you driving?" Fenton asked.

In my mind, I
could see the rust flaking off the door and smiled. "An 80s Thunderbird. The
two-door kind. Big long heavy doors that tended to sag on the hinges when it
was as rusted as mine."

"A sweet
sixteen present?"

"No," I
said. "I bought it myself just after high school. I needed something to
get me to college."

"Ah, yes, the
Ivy League." Fenton leaned back in his seat.

"University
of Chicago," I said. "You shouldn't believe everything you
hear."

He smiled.
"How many prospective clients get to hear that?"

"None."
I sipped my wine and felt warm. Talking with Fenton was easy – no patter, no
holding up false impressions.

He rolled up his
sleeves and fixed his eyes on the candle between us. "Then I suppose it’s
only fair I tell you something true."

"About your
reputation?" I asked.

He nodded, his
look faraway. "I hit that cop. He'd arrested my sister."

The warmth inside
me spread. I raised my glass to Fenton. "Here's to the half truths that
make us regular people."

His smile returned
and made me dizzy all throughout the meal. When we were finally walking down
the Strip later that evening, it did not feel at all strange to be arm in arm –
just like it felt natural for him to walk me back to my room at the Tropicana.
And then, it was only right that I invite him in for a nightcap.

As soon as the
door closed behind us, he kissed me. I lost track of time – my only anchor in
the universe was his lips. I rose up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his
neck. He lifted me clear off the ground, the delicious heat of our bodies
flushed together taking me even higher.

We pressed and
tangled, the iron bands of his arms holding me as close as possible. I wanted
to be closer. The thinness of my dress, that had worried me all night, was
suddenly too much of a barrier. Fenton held me aloft so easily, as I wrapped my
legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

He groaned,
stumbling back into the center of my small room. His hands were in my hair, our
mouths locked in a deep give and take. I felt as if breaking away from his lips
for even a moment would make me spin away into the desert sky. He seemed to
hear my thoughts and laid me down on the bed, his weight on top of me a welcome
pressure.

"Wait,
no," I protested. "Not like this."

"Kya,
please," Fenton said.

I wanted to give
in. I wanted it more than anything, but I could not. I thought I was wining and
dining him, but here Fenton Morris was in my room, on my bed, on me. I was
being seduced, and that would ruin everything.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fenton

I
felt the honey softness go out of her limbs as Kya pushed against my chest. I
turned on my side and trailed a hand down her dress. My God, that purple dress
with a low neckline that almost didn't stop.

"Not like
this," she protested.

I wanted her so
badly it didn't feel wrong to beg. "Kya, please."

She shook her
head, and I was surprised her springy, copper-blonde curls were as soft as
silk. They defied gravity without being wiry or sprayed stiff. It was almost
cruel how desirable she was.

She sat up, those
silken curls brushing against her bare shoulders. The sleeveless dress plunged
lower in the back than in the front and I traced a finger along its thin
border. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. I would do more than beg to
have her.

She had hypnotized
me the entire evening. Where I normally clocked every attractive woman in the
room, I could not even remember what the interior of the restaurant looked
like. Kya had me from the second I saw her worried smile. Then, she locked me
in with the hint of jealousy when she asked about Talia.

Deep down, I knew
I would probably never get Kya out of my system, but there was only one way to
find out. I propped myself up on one arm and nuzzled her neck. She shook her
head and moved to stand up. I snaked one arm around her waist and kept her in
place easily.

"Fenton,
please, let go of me," she said.

The hint of panic
in her voice sluiced over me like a bucket of ice water. It was true – I could
force her. I was strong enough that Kya was defenseless – except for that one
tiny hitch in her voice. It undid me. I let her go as if she had stung me.

"Thank
you," she said. Instead of standing up and getting out of my reach, she
stayed on the edge of the bed and turned towards me. "If I did not know
you better, I would think you were trying to seduce me."

"And, what
would be so terrible about that?" I asked.

"Seduction
always means one party is less willing than the other. I want to be on even
footing with you."

She reached for my
hand on the bedspread, but I pulled it away. "Well, let me know when you
catch up."

I stood up and
tucked my shirt back into my pants. She sprang up from the end of the bed and
marched over to the mirror to straighten her clothes. Her lips were pursed and
her cheeks were bright, so I reached for the door.

"That's it,
huh? That's all I get?" she asked.

"You stopped
me, remember?"

"I suppose
you're right, I don't deserve anything more. Just one sloppy seduction attempt,
and when it doesn't work, I get dropped for an easier target," she said.

I stopped with my
fingers flexed tight around the door handle. "What do you want, Kya?"

"Right, of
course, it's totally unreasonable of me to want to be more than a challenge to
you," she said. "If I want to mean more to someone than a locker room
story, then no one's interested."

"It's not
like that," I told her. My fingers slipped off the door handle. There was
a bright emerald glint to her eyes I had never seen before, and it hurt me.

Kya refused to
cry. "I know there are bets made behind my back. I know why men like you
are nice to me."

"Men like
me?"

"Athletes,
stars, clients. Men who find it fun to flirt with me, try to take on the
challenged in hopes of rubbing it in their buddies' faces." Kya lunged
past me and whipped open the door.

"Who does
that to you? Other clients?" I asked. My fingers curled into a fist.

"Please, as
if you weren't just doing the exact same thing." She shoved me out the
door and slammed it in my face.

She was stronger
than she looked. And, there was no way she was going to open the door again. I
leaned my forehead against it. There were a million little things I could say,
but she would not believe any of them. I had tried to seduce her and I had
failed. Everything Kya said about men like me was correct.

I shut my eyes and
my childhood daydream flashed into my mind. I was playing in my big backyard
with my children while my wife watched from the patio. It was dusk and the
lights of our house illuminated the yard. We could play until the stars came
out and there was nothing to worry about.

Now, the only
thing I worried about was how when my imaginary wife looked at me, it was Kya's
green eyes that I saw.

I smacked the
thought away, hitting the door harder than I intended. It did not matter. I
could not have Kya. I could not have anyone yet. If I could not provide for my
family one hundred times over and never have to worry, then I could not have
one at all. Kya would understand, but I would never tell her. Instead, I would
lose her and keep on going alone.

I punched the
elevator button and paced until the doors opened on the main casino. I stepped
out only to narrowly miss an amateur kick to my chin.

"Did you get
it? That's going to be an awesome picture," the young man said. His
friends all agreed then backed up.

I bristled and stepped
up behind him. "You almost kicked me in the face for a candid shot?"

"Yeah, man,
it’s no big thing. I'm a fan," he said.

"No big
thing? Here, how about I almost kick you in the face and then we'll see how you
feel," I said.

The young man
scowled. "What a buzzkill. Can't you just be cool?"

"Cool? I'm
not the one assaulting people just for a funny picture." I stepped close
enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Back off,
man."

"Or
what?"

The kid had no
choice but to try and shove me. I thought of how Kya was half his weight, but
twice as effective. It was like kerosene on the spark. I bumped my chest
against his hands and he bounced back. While the young man was off balance, I
stepped forward and swept a leg under to trip him. He fell, a limp swing at my
face missing by six inches. I answered with a punch that slammed the carpet
next to his head hard enough the repercussion made his skull bounce.

The young man
started yelling and flailing his arms more like an overgrown toddler than a man
defending himself. I twisted his arms together and pressed them to his chest.
With an openhanded knock across the top of his head, I punctuated my point.

"Don't mess
with things you can't handle."

A second later,
three large men from casino security lifted me off the so-called fan and hauled
me outside. I was not allowed back inside.

"Not even if
I win the title fight?" I asked.

"Come back
then and we'll talk," the largest security officer said. "But if that
little display back there was any indication, I'd say you have a ways to
go."

I let fly a swarm
of obscenities until I could think of something else to do. It would be too
easy to go find Talia and even the thought of the wrong woman made me more
frustrated. What the hell had Kya Allen done to me?

 
I dug in my pockets for my phone, but I had
left it in my suite before meeting Kya. I did not want Kev interrupting or
Aldous scolding me for being out past his arbitrary curfew. All I found was the
address Matt Smith had given me.

The private
investigator had assured me my sister was in Las Vegas. It could have been a
scam; I had been scammed by people helping me locate her before. Only Matt
Smith was fully vetted and the man took his job seriously. If he said he had
seen her in Vegas, then he had.

"Call a cab
for this address?" I asked the uniformed man at the cabstand.

"Sorry, Mr.
Morris, I saw you get kicked out. I'm not supposed to help people who get
kicked out," he said.

"I'm not
asking you to sneak me back in. I'm asking for a cab out past Fremont Street.
Come on, don't you think your bosses want me as far from the Tropicana as
possible right now? Well, you can make that happen," I said.

He looked
doubtful, but flagged down the next cab in line. He gave the cabbie the
directions then knocked on the car roof to send us on our way. It took longer
than I thought to traverse the tight Vegas traffic. It gave me too much time to
think about Kya. Though as the neon signs changed to strip clubs and peep
shows, my mind started to shut down completely.

I cringed away
from the thought of my sister working there.

The cab driver let
me out at the door, but I could not bring myself to go in. I paced up and down
the street. Every time I came within twenty feet of the door, some guy handed
me promotional cards for the girls inside. When I looked down and saw Dana
Maria's face, a red haze filled in the rest of my sight.

"You realize
these are people's sisters, mothers, right?" I asked the guy.

"So what?
They're getting paid. And, most of them like it," he said.

"Like getting
eye-groped from mouth-breathers like you? I don't think so," I objected. I
stepped into the guy's face.

He did not want to
back down. It was late, but there was still a crowd of people on the street and
they slowed down at the hint of a fight. I imagined Kev already on the phone
with the Tropicana and decided to step around the guy and go inside.

It took a while
for my eyes to adjust to the dim entryway after the blinding lights of Fremont
Street. I blinked as a woman came up to me. She stopped with one fist on her
hip.

"Honey, you
are in the wrong place," she said.

"Dana
Maria?" I asked.

"Fenton, you
need to go someplace else," my sister said.

It was her. Her
black hair fell in thick waves just like mother's, except for streaks of silver
glitter. Her bright blue eyes were faded, but still stunning in a face full of
dark, edgy makeup. I kept my gaze on her eyes, even though their weary dimness
made me sad.

"Then, come
with me," I said. "Any place else. You don't have to stay here. I've
got a suite at the MGM Grand. A room all to yourself."

"Since when
do I need a room all to myself?" my sister asked. She smiled vaguely at
the memory of our shared childhood room.

"Come on,
Dana. Let's go," I said.

"Fenton, I
don't want your help. I don't need you to save me. Just let it go. Mom's gone.
It's all gone. No more family for us. Don't worry about me," she said.

I hated the slope
of her shoulders. Dana Maria had been beaten down by life. Worse than that –
she accepted it. She accepted it just like Mother had finally accepted she
could not afford to get better. She faded away, her shoulders getting narrow
and small.

"Don't be
silly. Let me help you," I said.

"I've always
taken care of myself, haven't I? Wish I was better at taking care of you, too,
but you've done alright," Dana said. "Just watch out. Bet you'll see
the old man one of these days. Looking for a loan and playing the family card.
Don't believe him. I didn't."

"You saw
him?" I asked. "Did he ask you about Mother?"

"No, just
about you and your career."