Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (111 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Kya

Shocked
by Fenton's lips against mine, I pushed my hands up over the hard ridges of his
chest. The taut friction of his muscles under my fingertips parted my lips in
awe. He took opportunity of the opening to plunge deeper into the kiss. I slid
my hands up and gripped the hard ridge of his shoulders as his hands slid
around my back and locked me against him. Every chiseled contour of his body
fit my curves and I melted against him.

Fenton kissed me
with an insatiable hunger. I was starved for his lips on mine, our bodies
shifting and fitting closer together. All of the threats and the terror were
nothing compared to being apart from him. I curled my body closer and opened
myself further to his devouring kisses.

His hands pressed
my shoulders to his chest then slid down to the curve of my back. I arched
against him as he leaned to taste more from my moaning lips. When his wide
hands pulled me up against him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on.
Fenton strode across the living room, his lips so intent on mine that my head
spun. I was glad for the solid strength of him, the locked muscles of his arms
wrapping me close. Too dizzy to know anything but him, I wrapped my legs around
his hips.

Fenton moaned as I
pressed close to him. He moved his hands down farther, one iron arm supporting
me while his other hand caressed the bottom of my thigh. The trace of his fingers
left a shiver of electricity that lit up my senses. The jolt of it rocked me
against him and his kisses slowed as his breath grew heavy.

I opened my eyes
as he lowered me to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. His eyes burned
like blue flames as he gently cradled my head and settled on top of me. Then,
his eyes dropped back to my lips and he groaned, still hungering for more. I
tangled my hands in his black hair, answering every twist and taste with my own
cries of pleasure.

My dress had
already fallen up to my waist, but I tugged to bring it higher. Fenton's hands
followed and slipped underneath the hem, pushing back the light fabric as he
explored higher to the curve of my hip. His hands against my bare skin ignited
my whole body.

"Please,
Fenton, I want you. Just you," I whispered through wet kisses. I tugged
his shirt up and over his head before our lips found each other again.

He answered by
rearing back onto his knees and pulling me up against him. His hands swept up
the sides of my body under my dress and pulled it off over my head in one easy
sweep. As I fumbled with his belt and buttons, he unclasped my bra. He caught
my breasts in eager hands, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a sheer
caress that caused a lightning flash of desire.

I lie back on the
lush rug and let him trail kisses down my leg as he tugged my panties free.
Fenton then pulled himself up over me, the virile ridges of his muscles
skimming my curves. I opened myself to him, pulling him down for a kiss. When
he lowered himself into my wet, tight heat, the air flooded out of his lungs in
one long guttural groan. He panted against the slope of my neck, buried deep.

One shift from him
and I cried out at how he pressed so perfectly into the throbbing center of my
pleasure, spurring me to wrap my legs around his waist and start a rhythm he
had to answer. His breath was still ragged as his lips sought mine again. I
smiled against his sweet kisses and he caught my cries of pleasure as our
bodies crested together. He poured into me, touching me deeper than I knew as
possible.

When we could
breathe again, Fenton sighed. "Why did you go after those men? I need you
safe. I need you right here."

I ran my fingers
through his hair and down the strong stretch of his back. He rolled on his side
and tucked me against him, his eyes still questioning me.

"I didn't
think about being safe," I said. "I'm not used to having other people
worry about me."

"What about
your parents? I imagine the Allens would not approve of their daughter chasing
thugs across Las Vegas," he said. He cradled my head in the crook of his
arm and combed my hair out across the rug.

"I've been on
my own since I was eighteen. They died just before I went to college," I
told him.

Fenton stopped his
caresses and leaned down to kiss me. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"I'm just
used to taking care of myself," I said. "How about you? Does the
Morris family keep close tabs on you? Or do you call every Sunday like the
dutiful son."

He chuckled as he
reached for his pants and got up. "Speaking of Sundays, I could eat an
entire Sunday dinner right about now. Do you suppose the kitchen is stocked in
this place?"

I sat up and
shielded myself behind the sofa. He was opening and closing cabinets,
comfortable in his state of half-dress. I skipped the bra and settled for
tugging my dress back over my head. I still felt the shockwaves of my orgasm as
I tugged on my panties and joined him in the kitchen.

"You look
like you could use a drink," he said with a wink. He pulled out a bottle
of champagne and a pitcher of fresh orange juice. "Looks like that chef
left you fully stocked, even though he disapproved of the company you
keep."

"I don't mind
your company – if you can do something good with those eggs. I'm
starving," I said.

 
Fenton laughed and handed me a mimosa.
"Lucky for both of us, I make a mean omelet."

I leaned on the
counter and the neckline of my dress dropped open. His eyes tripped over me and
his breath caught. I felt my cheeks get hot, and I stood up and laughed. After
what we had just done not twenty feet away, it was ridiculous to still feel
shy.

"I like this
new look on you, Ms. Allen," he said. "It might suit you more than
the whole buttoned-up thing you've been working."

I ruffled my hair
and shot him a look, happy when he fumbled the spatula he was holding. "I
don't know, this time last year, I was in Palm Springs at a golf tournament.
Five star everything without the gambling. Not too shabby."

"Did you have
any fun?"

"No," I
slid onto a stool to watch him cook. "My job was to secure another
five-year contract with a long-time client. All he wanted was a steak dinner.
It was three days of sweltering temperatures outside and long conversations
about golf."

"I think
Vegas is agreeing with you more than you'd like to admit," Fenton said.

I rolled my eyes.
"In Vegas, I've been a half-inch away from a disaster the entire
time."

He slipped a
perfect omelet onto a plate and slid it towards me. "Only if you count
getting blackout drunk at a nightclub party, waking up in a strange man's bed,
upgrading yourself to a high-roller's suite, and then following a pair of
gangsters that turn around and kidnap you."

I took a bite of
the omelet and almost forgave Fenton for the twinkle of amusement in his blue
eyes. "Don't forget, I also picked up your duffel bag for you."

"After you
crashed a bare-knuckles underground fight."

"I think you
mean 'thank you,'" I tipped my head and gave him a pointed look.

He laughed again,
an eruption of sound that made my stomach flutter. "You're right. Thank
you."

He finished his
breakfast in big bites and went to the door to retrieve the black duffel bag. I
tried not to watch as he fished out his phone and scrolled through the
messages. One he read made him pause and then he quickly texted a response.

I swiveled on my
stool, uncrossing and crossing my legs in his eye line. "Don't tell me
those other agents contacted you. I'm fine if you and I are not doing business,
but I am very competitive woman."

Fenton crooked a
black eyebrow at me. "How competitive?"

"Very,"
I said. I slipped off the stool and walked barefoot to him. When I drew near,
he looked down and noticed my nipples pushing hard against the thin fabric of
my dress. I nodded and raised myself on my tiptoes so we were on eye level.
"What if I want you all to myself?"

"Yes,
please," he said.

His hands slipped
around my waist, but I pulled my lips back from his hot mouth. "Just you
and just me," I said.

He did not answer.
Instead, he gave me a wolfish grin and tightened his arms around my waist. I
could not resist and our lips met, the kiss melting away my resistance. I ran
my hands up the washboard ridges of his bare stomach, my fingers flexing over
his hard male body. Once I reached his shoulders, it was a sweet relief to
press my breasts against him.

This time, his
lips were soft, his tongue leisurely exploring mine. We tangled and tasted,
retreated and smiled. I kneaded the taut stretch of his shoulders and let my
fingers slowly work upwards to his thick black hair. Fenton let his hands rove
up and down the curve of my back, then along the sides of my body. Slowly, his
warm hands brushed against the sides of my breasts.

He smiled against
my lips again and dropped his hands to tug at the hem of my dress. It slipped
up slowly, tickling and tantalizing me as he drew it up my body and finally
over my head. I raised my arms, gasping as my breasts bounced against the heat
of his bare skin. Fenton stopped to admire where we pressed against each other
then dropped his lips to mine for a deep thirsty kiss.

I stepped back,
fully intending to break the spell. It was nearly morning and being with Fenton
was an insane thing to do. He followed me, our lips never parting. We kept
going until the stool bumped into my back. Then, he lifted me onto it, pressing
himself between my legs. I felt the hardness of his desire and melted. He
pulled aside the thin barrier of my lace panties and slipped inside, both of us
sighing into a kiss as he pushed deeply.

Fenton moved
slowly, the press and pull driving me wild, even as our kisses stayed long and
languid. He lifted both his hands to my face, brushing back my hair as our
bodies surged together. When the climax spilled over me, he drank up my
shuddering moans, then buried his face in my hair and held me gently as he
drove himself to finish.

A sweet moan
escaped my lips when he finally slipped himself out and we parted. Still, he
held my face with both hands and kissed me again. "If it’s alright with
you, I'd like to stay here," he said.

"I
suppose," I said. I reached my feet to the ground but hung on to the
counter, my knees still quaking.

"I'm going to
shower. You should draw yourself a nice bubble bath." He smiled and picked
up his black duffel bag. He headed to the smaller bedroom and left me the
master suite with the marbled bathtub.

I stood for a
moment longer, unable to find my balance. My mind, all my senses, felt like a
soaring flight. Was I floating or falling? I shook my head and let myself
consider the wild changes that would take over my life if I fell in love with
Fenton Morris.

A knock on the
door saved me from stretching into unknown thoughts. I adjusted my dress and
answered the door.

"Is Fenton
here? He told me I could come and stay." The woman at the door was hardly
wearing a dress. The silver straps criss-crossed her body, between glittered
lotion.

I looked at her
from her crystal platform heels to the wild, streaked extensions in her hair.
"I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked.

"Dana
Maria," the stripper said. "Fenton asked me to come over."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kya

The
stripper stepped around me in her impossibly high heels and walked straight
across the suite to Fenton's room. She left the door open and I could hear her
call out to him.

"You came!
I'm so glad. Just give me a minute," Fenton replied. The shower turned off
and their voices dropped lower.

I stood in the
doorway and could not hear what they said. Did it matter? There was only one
real reason he had invited such a woman to join him in his room. I heard him
come out of the bathroom. I turned on shaky knees and disappeared into the
master bedroom, before he could see me through his open door.

My hands shook as
I dug through my suitcase. Stuffed far in the corner was the black bikini I had
packed at the last second. Lounging by the pool had been the one luxury I was
going to allow myself on this business trip. I fumbled with the ties, but got
the bikini on. I tugged a wispy sundress over the top, found my sunglasses, and
raked my fingers through my loose hair.

In the living
room, I rushed to find the pair of sandals I had left by the patio door. Just
as I slipped them on, I heard the other bedroom door handle rattle. I darted
across the suite and made it out the door before Fenton could say anything. I
fled down the hallway and into the stairwell, unwilling to be caught by the
elevator and forced to hear whatever flimsy excuse he had.

There was nothing
he could say. I read the whole situation wrong. The swirl of emotions had been
entirely on my part. I wanted to blame the adrenaline, the slow ebb of
excitement after my dangerous encounter with the fight fixers, but that was a
lie. I had wanted Fenton from the first moment I saw him in that Vegas
nightclub. It had all meant something to me. To Fenton, though, I was just
another conquest.

I found a lounge
chair in the already blazing sun and lay down. I hoped to bake the chill out of
my heart, but there were tears welling behind my sunglasses. It was ridiculous
to cry over Fenton Morris. He was not worth tears, no matter what he had made
me feel. He was the type of man to invite another woman into the suite minutes
after we had been together.

"Would you
like me to bring you something from the bar?" a waiter asked.

"A
mimosa," I said. "Wait, no, skip the orange juice and just bring me
champagne."

I gave the waiter
my suite number. I was already in debt to my boss for the room, so I might as
well enjoy it. And, I hoped the bubbly burst of alcohol would offset the
eroding sadness I knew too well. The last time I felt so alone was after my
parents had passed away. Strangely, that thought gave me some comfort. The way
I had pulled myself out of that grief was to set my feet firmly on a practical
path. I was the only one that was going to look out for me and it was better to
focus on that than Fenton.

I dug my phone out
of my purse, glad I had grabbed it before I fled. The champagne arrived as I
checked my bank accounts, paid a few bills, and calmed myself down. I was fine.
Everything was up to date. It did not matter if my love life was now a complete
disaster because everything else was neat and orderly.

I tipped the flute
of champagne and finished it, then checked my email. I sent a few professional
responses, scheduled some phone calls, and felt my head clear even as the
champagne fizzed through my system. The last email I checked was from my real
estate agent. My offer on the house had been accepted and everything was set
pending an inspection.

I clicked the link
and scrolled through the photographs of the house for the hundredth time. It
was perfect – in a comfortable neighborhood with room for easy improvements
that would boost my equity immediately. It was small with two bedrooms and two
bathrooms, but there was more than enough room for a single woman. I imagined
walking through the empty rooms on my own and closed the browser window. Maybe
being out on the road for work was not such a bad thing.

I rewrote the
email seven times, but finally sent a response to my real estate agent. The
inspection was set for the next week. I would be home from Las Vegas by then
and would move forward with the purchase of the house. If anything, I would fix
the house up and sell it as soon as possible. It was a good investment.

Thinking about my
finances, I calculated the loss I was taking on the luxury suite. That plus the
loss of my bonus would make things tight for the next year, unless I found
another client and made it count. My first thought was Mario Peretti, but he
was too closely linked with Fenton and the thought of Fenton made my stomach
flop. I shoved the sadness away and racked my brain for a new business
strategy.

There was a large
golf tournament in town. Not only did I have an excellent business history with
golfers, but it would piss Fenton off to see me back with the country club set.
If he cared at all. If not, I wanted to be as far from him and his
rule-shirking type as possible. I pulled up the golf statistics for the
tournament and started studying the players' numbers.

"I don't care
what people say about him, I find him irresistible," I overheard the woman
three lounge chairs over say to her friend.

"Really? I
suppose he does have sexy eyes.,” the other woman said.

I kept my eyes on
the golf statistics and prayed they were not talking about Fenton. The last
thing I could handle was hearing other women drooling over him.

"Come on,
tell me you don't think he's handsome," the first woman sat up and thrust
a magazine at her friend.

"Polo shirts
are not really my thing. He looks kinda stuck up."

My shoulders eased
and I was able to turn my head. The women were looking at a tabloid magazine
with the headline "Oh My God!". Underneath the bold letters was a
clean-cut, all-American man with short, cropped brown hair. He did have sexy
brown eyes, minus the devilish glint that Fenton's often showed.

I looked again and
recognized the man on the cover. I had met him minutes before Fenton came to
speak to me at the nightclub. I studied the tabloid cover the women held up and
almost laughed out loud. The man held a golf club over his shoulder – he was a
professional golfer!

"Excuse me,
what's his name?" I asked the women.

They looked up
from their magazine and both their jaws dropped open.

"Jackson
McRay," a voice behind me said.

I turned around
and caught myself before gaping like the other women. He was even more handsome
in person than his cover shot and his smiling brown eyes were fixed on me. My
bikini instantly felt too small, but I could not reach my sundress without
wriggling all around.

"We met the other
night," he said. "Remember?"

"Yes, I do. I
mean, I remember. Sorry, my name is Kya," I said.

Jackson chuckled
and sat down on the lounge chair next to me. "I remember," he said.

The waiter
approached and I drew a complete blank when he asked if I would like another
drink. I stared up at him, trying not to feel Jackson's eyes sweep over my
body.

"Are you
having champagne? Sounds good to me," Jackson said. He trailed his glance
back up to my face and smiled. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, thanks.
That'd be nice," I replied. I was glad I had on sunglasses as my eyes were
wide and blinking was an effort. He had appeared out of nowhere the moment I
was thinking about him.

"Sorry to
sneak up on you, but I never got a chance to ask for your number the other
night. We got interrupted," he said.

"Interrupted?"
I asked. That was a nice way of dismissing the way Fenton appeared and claimed
me. "Oh, yes. That was business, though it ended up being a waste of time.
I'm an endorsement agent."

"Really?
Wait, are you Kya Allen? You've represented a few of my friends," he said.

I was kicking
myself for confessing my profession, so his response shocked a laugh out of me.
"Sorry, I just forget that golfers manage to be competitors and friends at
the same time. You don't see that in many other one-on-one sports."

"Especially
not with MMA fighters?"

I could tell he
was curious about my involvement with Fenton. There was a hard twinge in my
body every time I thought of him, so denouncing Fenton felt like the right
thing to do. "Mixed Martial Arts isn't really my thing. I started out by
representing tennis players, but golf is really more my game."

Jackson tipped his
head and smiled at me. "I would think you were just saying that if I had
not already heard rumors about your golfing skills. I hear you've got a good
swing."

"There's a
difference between rumors and facts," I sat up and smoothed my hair.

"I like the
confidence," he said. "How about a game, then?"

"I'm not
really dressed for the golf course."

He let his eyes
wander lower for a few seconds. "I don't mind. Actually, there's a
mini-golf course just over there. Want to show me the facts?"

Jackson McRay
stood up as the waiter returned with our drinks. He took both champagne flutes
and held one out to me. I stood up and shimmied into my sundress before
accepting the drink.

"I suppose I
could have time for one quick game," I said as I scooped up my phone and
checked the time.

A message from
Fenton blinked on the screen and I felt my stomach drop. He sent it a full
twenty minutes after I had left our suite. Did it really take him that long to
notice I was gone? I thought of everything he could have done in that time and
felt sick.

"I'm
sorry," Jackson said. "Do you have somewhere else to be?"

I opened the
message from Fenton. "Miss you. Join me?"

I ground my teeth,
but forced a smile. "No, not at all. In fact, my whole day just opened
up."

Jackson held out
his arm and I took it. What exactly did Fenton want me to join? My stomach
clenched as the image of the stripper in silver flashed through my head.
Whatever he had in mind was no good for me. I had been a fool for long enough.
Now, it was time to focus on my career, make up for the costly mistakes I made
pursuing Fenton, and get myself back on track.

Jackson McRay was
just the man to help me. We joined the line of children waiting to tee-off at
the mini golf course. I dropped my phone to the bottom of my purse and banished
Fenton from my thoughts.

It did not matter
that I could still feel his lips on my skin and the full push of him inside me.
Those memories would always bring a wave of heat, but they were in the past. He
had moved on, within minutes, and now was my chance to do the same thing.

I smiled at
Jackson and accepted the pink striped club he handed me. "I know you've
got a reputation for clearing all the hazards, but you're on my turf now."

"Let's
play," he said.