Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (3 page)

Her
sudden smile checked my heart and it stumbled off balance as I gathered the
rest of my things. I knew I needed to do something right away or that smile was
going to stick with me all afternoon.

I
grabbed my phone. "Jackson? It's me. Remember that blind date you
mentioned? How fast can you and Alice set it up?"

"Yes!
I knew you'd come around," Jackson crowed. "I'll text Alice right
away."

Before
I reached the end of the hallway, my phone buzzed. The message read, "Date
set for tomorrow night. Campus art opening."

I
took a deep breath and congratulated myself on avoiding another disaster. Clarity
pulled at me like a dangerous undertow, but this time I'd keep my head above
water.

"Professor
Bauer, please look where you are going."

I
raised my head and narrowly missed running into my department head, Florence
Macken. In her chunky heels, the older woman was almost at eye level and her
expression was disdainful. She did not know the details of my first year slip
up, but Florence still treated me like a rookie teacher. Her department was a
feather in the Landsman College cap, and she had decided almost immediately
that I did not fit her School of Journalism mold. No matter what I did, I felt
her pale blue eyes watching and hoping I would slip up so she could hire
someone more suitable.

"I'm
sorry, Professor Macken. I'm on my way to the first meeting of the student
newspaper. Would you like to come along and observe? I think you'll find I've
come a long way, with your guidance, of course," I said.

Florence
frowned. "I forgot you were editing the school paper."

I
forced a smile over gritted teeth. "Readership is up 80% since we added
the social media aspects.
The Signpost
is well on its way to being a full-fledged success."
 

"In
my experience bragging covers a lack of confidence, wouldn't you say, Professor
Bauer?" Florence stepped around me and continued her heavy-heeled march
down the hallway.

She
knew I was the most effective editor-in-chief
The Signpost
had had in the last decade and it bothered her
considerably. Nothing could have cheered me up faster. I strode into the
smaller classroom and greeted my newspaper staff.

Clarity
looked up, her notebook at the ready, and I sighed. It was going to be a long
year.
 

#

"
Your
assignment is two-fold," I told
The Signpost
staff as we stood outside
the art department gallery. "Number one, I expect you to find a human
interest story. Something that will get our readers interested in visiting the
art gallery. And, number two, you will need to write a full and vivid
description of one piece of art. You cannot depend on photographs to show the
reader, and, more importantly, you want to inspire the readers to come see for
themselves. Got it?"

The
small group of students nodded and Clarity was the first one through the doors.
I followed more slowly, hoping it would be a while before I found my blind
date. I ambled into the maze of well-lit white walls and watched my students fan
out.

Clarity
was already embroiled in a conversation with a very pleased first-year art
student. The young man's glasses practically steamed up every time she smiled
at him. I couldn't blame the poor kid; she was vision. A long, bright scarf
wrapped tight around her tiny waist saved the black dress from being boring. Not
that the plunging V-neck or exposed curves could be called boring.

I
checked myself by biting my tongue. Clarity was a student and strictly
off-limits.
 

Instead
of watching her circulate on bright-red heels, I forced myself to look for my
blind date. Jackson had informed me his wife's work colleague, Tara, would meet
me there and I was supposed to recognize her by a black flower pin.

Anticipation
is exciting, I reminded myself. It would be fun circulating through the busy
gallery looking for a mystery woman. And the black flower pin was intriguing. I
imagined it pinned to the sharp V-neck of a curve-hugging, red dress. I was
always a sucker for black patent leather shoes, and I was hopeful as I scanned
the crowd.

A
voice in the back of my head noted I had reversed the colors of Clarity's
outfit, but I dismissed it. Yes, she was twenty-one-years-old and it wasn't a
sin to notice how attractive she was, but I wasn't about to let myself slip. Flying
under the radar at Landsman College meant both my professional and personal
images had to be mature, settled, and appropriate. No more drinking at bars
until close to get local gossip, no more skipping haircuts or showers in order
to fact check, and no more flirting with attractive, insider women who might
want to share their insights with me.

"Nice
to see you again, Professor Bauer. I hope you enjoyed the little party we threw
the other night," Dean Dunkirk slapped me on the shoulder. "I believe
you had my daughter in class today."

The
dean's choice of words kicked my mind right into the gutter. I turned and felt
my insides churn with volcanic heat. Clarity stood next to her father. My eyes
dropped to her red high heels then climbed up the clinging black dress to the
bright scarf cinched around her tight waist before I got myself under control.

"Thanks
so much for the hospitality, Dean Dunkirk. I love your Craftsman house. It must
be really nice to be that close to campus," I said, tearing my eyes off
his daughter.

"We
like it, don't we, darling?" the dean asked Clarity. "Helps me keep
an eye on her."

"What
about all that rhetoric about me breaking out and finding my passion? Now you
want to keep a close eye on me?" Clarity gave her father a challenging
glance.

"Right,
you're right. I'll leave you to the close, watchful eyes of your
professors," Dean Dunkirk grinned at me.

I
straightened my shoulders and kept my focus on him. Clarity's father seemed to
have missed my glances and he turned me towards his other companion. "Professor
Bauer, I'd like you to meet one of Landsman College's biggest supporters,
Michael Tailor."

Michael
Tailor gave my hand a hard shake. "Dunkirk tells me you worked for Wired
Communications. Wesley Barton is an old friend of mine."

The
name was a shot of poison and I was glad to tug my hand free of Michael
Tailor's handshake. The tall business man had the dark-blond hair and denim-blue
eyes of an All-American legacy. I knew just by looking at him that he had old
money—too much of it—and he wielded it over others like a whip. The fact that
he knew Barton was no surprise as they were cut from the same, ultra-rich
cloth.

Wesley
Barton was the reason I was trapped like a lab rat in maze of academia. He'd
fired me personally, with a guarantee that I would never again work for a
credible news source again.

"You
worked for Wired Communications?" Clarity asked.

Michael
Tailor offered her an arm, pleased by the dark glance I gave him. "My
dear, if you're interested in pursuing journalism, you should let me introduce
you."

She
glanced over the shoulder of his expensive suit and caught my stormy look. The
question was bright in her and she mouthed, "Talk later?"

I
shook my head and gave my excuses to the dean. "I'm sorry, but I'm
supposed to be meeting a friend. Actually, a friend of a friend."

Dean
Dunkirk laughed. "A blind date, you poor soul. And here I thought a
handsome man like yourself would be inundated with offers."

"Never
from the right women," I confided in the older man and he chuckled.

"Sorry
to interrupt," Clarity reappeared and I felt her presence like an
electrical storm. "Professor Bauer, there's a woman looking for you. She
said to mention that she's wearing a black flower pin?"

"His
blind date," her father explained.

"Oh,"
Clarity's eyes jolted to mine. "I thought maybe you were married or
something."

"No,
I tend to tell people defining details like that right away. It saves a lot of
awkwardness," I said.
 
 

She
shrugged and shot me a provocative smile. "Some people can handle
awkwardness better than others. Good luck with your blind date."

I
watched Clarity walk away with her father and felt my attraction to her like
burning magma in my bones. For twenty-two, Clarity was self-assured, sharply
intelligent, and far more mature than I wanted to give her credit for.

Nine
years was an impossible stretch, even if Clarity acted much older than her age.
I reminded myself it was right to be meeting a woman only one year younger than
me.

Jackson
had told me Tara was career-driven and rising fast through the ranks of his
wife's law firm. He didn't say anything about her being nearly six feet tall
with shocking red-dyed hair cut close to her head in tight curls.

My
blind date was indeed in a red dress that matched her hair and the black flower
pin stood out in sharp relief. After those details, she departed drastically
from the fantasy I had tried to focus on. Tara was rail thin with sharp angles
instead of curves. Instead of a sultry walk on black high heels, she smacked
her way across the gallery floor in black, leather, flip-flop sandals.

"You
must be Ford; so nice to meet you. My name is Tara, but I think that Alice's
husband already told you that. She told me that you are a professor but that I shouldn't
expect a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches," she chattered with a
wide smile.

"No,
I prefer just plain leather," I said, indicating my worn, black-leather
jacket.

"It's
a good look; it matches your shiny, black hair. Oh! We're twins! We both match
our clothes to our hair." Tara let loose a loud, jittery giggle that had
people gawking.

I
spent the rest of the art opening fending off Tara's future date plans that
included karaoke-themed house parties and feral cat rescues.

"Thinking
about that train?" Clarity asked in passing.

I
grabbed her wrist and dragged her back into a conversation about Tara's
bathroom grout. "I'm so sorry, Tara, but the Dean of Students has offered
to do a one-on-one interview for the student paper. Now is the only time he
has."

"Oh,
that's sounds exciting," Tara said.

"Actually,
no, it's a pretty straight-forward piece. Right, Clarity? I have to help the
students prepare their questions." I caught Clarity's eyes with a
desperate glance.

She
puckered her lips but finally smiled. "Yes, I'm sorry, but we need
Professor Bauer right away."

"Sure,
okay, call me!" Tara called as I pretended Clarity was leading me away.

The
other students had already gathered their notes and headed home. We slipped out
the exit and around to the back parking lot as the campus art gallery closed
up.

"Thanks,
I owe you."

Clarity
raised an eyebrow at me. "Not very mature, Professor Bauer."

"How
about I give you money for ice cream and you keep quiet, kid?" I teased
her right back.

She
crossed her arms and smiled. "How about you give me a ride home instead?"

I
bristled, worried that she planned to get me in trouble. Then I looked at her
and relaxed. Everything about Clarity was open and honest. She was tired and
wanted to ditch the campus gathering before her father was done shaking
everyone's hand twice.

"Sure."
I opened the car door for her. "Climb in."

CHAPTER
THREE

Clarity

"
This
isn't happening, it's not possible." I stood up and
circled the pink trunk used as a coffee table.

Jasmine
lounged on the compact, white sofa in her dorm room and tried not to smile. "Just
because it's never happened before doesn't mean it's not possible," she
said.

I
scratched at my throat and couldn't catch a deep breath. "Is this how
people feel? Really? It's terrible. Like an avalanche and volcanic eruption all
at the same time."

"You
know, your father thinks you're so straight and narrow because he's never seen
you like this," Jasmine said.

"I've
never seen her like this," Lexi called from the minute bathroom. "All
hot and bothered. I think that Professor Bauer has got her number."

"Don't
change the subject," I groaned and flopped down on the sofa next to
Jasmine.

Lexi
marched into the middle of the dorm room and planted her hands on her hips. "Relax,
Clarity, it's just a D+."

I
tossed the offending article on the pink trunk and covered my face with both
hands. "I can't believe he gave me a D+."

Jasmine
hooked the article with one, long arm and flipped through the pages. "His
comments are really insightful. Man, I wish my English professor wrote half as
many encouraging things. Have you even read his edits?" Jasmine asked.

"Why?
All they'll tell me is that I suck at the only career I've ever wanted," I
said.

"That's
not true." Lexi pried my hands off my face and smiled brightly, “You used
to want to be a writer. Like the woman who wrote that series we all obsessed
over in high school."

"Don't
be silly." I sat up and looked over Jasmine's shoulder. "That was
high school. This is the real world and journalism is a more-respected
profession."

"Come
on," Lexi sighed. "You used to be such a great storyteller. I still
have nightmares about that three eyes story you told us around the
campfire."

"Ooh,"
Jasmine gave a delighted shiver. "He could watch you even when his back
was turned. Creepy awesome."

"What
does that say?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

Jasmine
held up Professor Bauer's comment and read, "Very poetic, but distracts
from the point."

"See,
I'm a total failure," I flopped back again.

Lexi
snatched up the article. "He's complimenting you. Word choice, creative
details, poetic images, and excellent storytelling. You just went over the word
limit and buried the lead."

My
groan turned into a growl. "So he thinks I'm flowery and frivolous. He
doesn't even know me!"

"Is
that what's bothering you?" Lexi asked. She sat down on the pink trunk
directly across from me. "You're bothered because he got the wrong
impression from your assignment?"

Jasmine
sat up, her blue eyes sparkling. "What are you going to do, confront him
during office hours? Step right up to that handsome face and tell him exactly
how wrong he is about you?"

I
stood up and paced around my friend's cluttered dorm room. "I'm not some
dreamy poet or some fairytale writer. I want him to take me seriously." I
snatched up my coat and book bag.

Jasmine
clapped her hands. "Yeah, go to his office and make him take a good, long
look at you. Here, I'll do your hair."

I
swatted her away. "This doesn't have anything to do with how attractive
Ford, I mean, Professor Bauer is. He needs to know that I take my work
seriously and I intend to be an excellent journalist. He can't scare me off or
steer me towards some other career."

"Maybe
he's just trying to provoke you," Lexi said.

Jasmine
clapped again. "And now he's waiting for you to come into his office
breathing fire so he can tame you."

"That's
it," I cried. "I'm confiscating your paperbacks. You have got romance
on the brain." I scooped up an armful of novels with ripped-bodice
heroines and bare-chested heroes.

"Might
want to leave those here if you're going for a serious vibe," Lexi said.

I
dumped the books on the pink trunk and left in a huff, despite my friend's
good-natured laughter. They didn't understand the pressure I felt. I had
carefully and practically selected my chosen career because journalism kept me
firmly rooted in real life. To have anyone, including Professor Bauer, point
out that I was more like my creative, free-spirited mother turned my core to
ice. I didn't want to resemble her in any way.

Thinking
of her wild, long curls, I carefully tamed my hair into a low ponytail. The
journalism professor all had offices on the top floor of Thompson Hall and I ran
up the steps two at a time. I took a moment to smooth down my pink sweater and
catch my breath. Then, I knocked on Professor Bauer's office door and tapped my
foot fast on the hallway floor.

"Clarity,
I'm not surprised." Ford checked his watch. "Actually, I am. Office
hours are almost over. I thought you'd be here right away, ready to tear into
me for your D+. As it is now, I was just getting ready to leave."

I
shoved him aside and marched into his office. "Office hours are set,
school policy, and I still have time. This is your office?"

The
narrow, attic room was dominated on one side by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Straight
ahead, a lancet window let in sunlight dappled by the ivy still clinging to the
outside of the limestone building.

"What's
wrong with my office?" Ford asked. "It's got everything I need: a
desk, a couple of chairs, and I even have a little couch."

I
looked at the sagging couch and opted for an old, wooden chair. "You have
like five things on your shelves," I said.

He
scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm still moving in. I work at
home a lot." His gray eyes turned from smoke to metal. "And it
doesn't matter how much time we have to debate, I'm not changing your
grade."

I
scooted to the edge of my chair as he sat down next to me. "You docked me
for using flowery language. The assignment was to describe artwork."

"Precisely,"
he sighed. "The focus needed to stay on the artwork, not on your clever
turns of phrase. The reader is not supposed to notice you as an author, but as
the organizer of clear facts."

I
sprang up. "Your rubric is unduly harsh. It's your responsibility to nurture
my abilities and teach me new skills, not crush my spirit."

 
Ford's pupils dilated and twinkled as he
smiled. "You don't look very crushed to me."

I
forced my hands off my hips and stopped leaning over him. "I don't
understand why journalism has to be so impersonal."

He
sat up and stopped himself from taking my hand. Ford crossed his arms over his
chest and nodded for me to sit down again. "Journalism isn't impersonal;
in fact, the best writers of any genre keep the focus on the topic."

I
sank back into the hard chair. "How?"

"A
good way to learn is to write about something outside of your comfort zone. That
way it's a new experience for both you and the reader and you can learn how to
present it that way." Ford grinned. "What can you try that you've
never done before?"

I
was distracted by his lips, by wondering how soft his black stubble would feel
under the palm of my hand. I had never secluded myself in an attic office with
an undeniably attractive man before. Leaning closer to catch the lingering
smell of his soap would definitely be out of my comfort zone.

I
shook the temptation off and reminded myself we were separated by the Landsman
College Honor Code. "I don't know, but if I find something and write an
article about it, will that raise my grade?"

"Sure,
extra credit for breaking out of your shell." He held out a hand to shake.

His
fingers were strong, his grip sure, and I had to say something to break the
electric spell of his touch. "Have you been talking to my father? Because
someone should tell him he might not actually like it if I start bending the
rules."

"He
might not, but I bet I will," Ford said. Then he broke our handshake and
stood up to hold the door open. He cleared his throat. "Good luck, Ms.
Dunkirk."

"Thanks,
professor."

#

"
All
I'm saying is that it seems counterintuitive to
bring me along while you go out of your comfort zone. An old friend is like a
security blanket; everyone knows that." Lexi craned her neck to look up at
the elaborate ropes course that stretched far off into the tree tops.

"I'll
owe you, Lex. Home-cooked meals at the dean's house for a week," I said. "And
maybe we don't actually have to get hoisted up there. Maybe I can just
interview people and create the story that way."

"The
new article that's going to erase that D+?" Lexi shook her head. "I
really don't think a few points on your GPA is worth getting killed over."

"Alright,
students, remember this trip to the ropes course is sponsored by Landsman
College. As long as you participate, you represent our school, so let's show
them how brave they make 'em up on the hill." Ford appeared from behind
the Landsman College bus.

"Oh,
now I get it," Lexi nudged me in the ribs. "Professor Hotness is
chaperoning. Why didn't you say this was about more than extra credit?"

I
rubbed my side and glowered at her mischievous smile. "I had no idea he
was chaperoning this trip. Of all the crappy luck—"

"Partner
up," Ford called.

"Excuse
me, Lexi? Do you remember me from Biology class? I'm Ethan." A handsome
student with sandy-blond hair smiled down at my petite friend.

"Yes,
you are," Lexi smiled, "and you know what else you are, Ethan? My
partner."

"What?"
I cried.

"Just
trying to help with that whole comfort zone thing," Lexi said as she laced
her arm through Ethan's and left me standing alone.

"Fine,
I'll just go alone," I called.

"Sorry,
the instructor says everyone needs a partner. I'm the only one left," Ford
said. He handed me one of the two harnesses he was holding. "If it makes
you feel better, we get to go first."

The
nimble strength of his fingers as he helped me into the harness added a whole
different tone to my jangling nerves. Ford stood just inches away, close enough
that his shadowed chin caught a few tendrils of my hair. He brushed them
carefully back into place. His touch was so soft that it was impossible for me
to feel it all the way to the soles of my feet, but I did.

"Last
chance to back out," he said.

"No
way in hell," I grumbled and grabbed hold of the rope with both hands. Ford
and the instructor hoisted me high up to the first platform.

"You're
just nervous because now you're the dork partnered with the teacher," I
whispered to myself on the treetop platform and waved to Lexi far below. "If
this doesn't count as out of my comfort zone, then Professor Bauer is
insane."

He
was insane. The whole student group cheered as he opted to climb the tree
instead of catch a ride to the top. I couldn't see much from my angle, but Lexi
was fanning herself and shooting me thumbs ups.

"Sorry,"
Ford said, only slightly out of breath. "Can't let the students think I'm
an old man."

I
clung to the tree trunk but offered him one arm. He shook his head and hauled
himself onto the platform before springing to his feet. The crowd below
cheered.

"Good
job, professor." I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Ford
was jaw-dropping in just an undershirt and jeans. He'd shed his college logo
button down below and the white, short-sleeved shirt did nothing to hide the
taut strain and flex of his chiseled muscles. Standing so casually on the edge
of a dizzying drop, Ford looked more like a superhero than a college professor.

"Army
training," he explained when he saw my eyes were riveted to his biceps. "Haven't
broken the habit yet."

I
refused to let him see me drooling over his rock-hard physique. This ropes
course and a perfectly worded article were all that stood between me and a
better grade. I inched around the tree trunk and swallowed hard as I looked out
across the ropes course. Two parallel ropes, one over the other, stretched from
our platform far across to another one. In between seemed to be nothing but
open air.

"I'll
go first, if you want. Or we can go together," Ford said. "Hold my
hand?"

I
snorted. "You don't think I can do this? I'm going first."

I
grabbed the higher rope and inched onto the lower one. Moving hand over hand
and sliding my feet first apart and then together, I moved out past the tree
branches. Everything was fine until I felt Ford's weight bounce the ropes.