Dirty Professor (16 page)

He loves me.

I can see it right there, plain as day. It’s there. I’ve seen hints of it before, I’ve suspected it, I’ve wanted to believe—but now I really can see it written all over his face.

But I’m not sure it’s enough. “So much has happened,” I tell him, my throat constricting. Part of me wants to run to him, but another part of me is terrified that I’d be making a mistake, opening myself up to more pain than I can bear. “I’ve only just started putting the pieces back together.”

“Without you, I’m a broken man, Addison,” he says. “I’ll never be whole without you in my life.” His voice is husky and I can see that his eyes aren’t completely dry. “I understand that you can’t just trust me again, but I had to find you. I had to make sure that I tell you the truth. Tell you…everything.”

“And what is the truth?” I ask, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

“I love you, Addison. That’s the truth.” His eyes don’t waver. His lips curl into a smile, and he shakes his head. “And I’m a fool because I was too scared to admit it until now. I hope you’ll forgive me?”

The way his voice tilts up, questioning, truly vulnerable, breaks me.

His face.

His eyes.

Those bright blue eyes.

He's looking at me so earnestly, like he's almost begging with those eyes. I've never, ever, seen Chase look like this.

He holds out his hand, not taking his eyes off mine.

I look down at my sweet tea, brushing back tears. Everything I've been through. I remember every single horrific second of it. And I also remember every single amazing second of being with Chase.

I push my chair back. I reach out and clasp Chase's hand.

And I don't let go.

***

W
e hop
into a cab and Chase has his arm around me, holding me close to him as the vehicle speeds and swerves through the Manhattan traffic.

“I can’t believe I just walked out of my first publishing lunch,” I say, shaking my head.

“There will be plenty more lunches,” Chase says, brushing his fingers softly through my hair, giving me chills up and down my spine. I snuggle closer to him, inhaling the familiar scent of him, his cologne, his strong body like a balm to my wounded and raw soul.

In truth, both Greg and Amaya seemed happy to cut the lunch short and agreed that we should meet again in the next day or two. And why wouldn’t they be happy? The story of Chase and I getting back together was only going to help my book sales.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him, after a long moment of quiet. “How did you know where I’d be?”

Chase turns and looks down at me. “I bribed Gregory’s assistant to tell me where he was having lunch.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” He grins, and then turns serious. “I want you to know, Addison, I’m not…I know this is a lot. I’ll give you all the time you need.”

“I don’t need that much time,” I say, butterflies colliding in my belly as our eyes lock.

“Good,” he says, and then his lips are on mine, and I feel all the fear and tension draining from my body.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, it feels right.

His tongue slides into my mouth and I sigh.

Chase pulls back and looks at me. “You have no fucking idea how badly I missed you,” he says, his voice husky. “It was excruciating.” He kisses me again, this time the intent behind the kiss clear.

My nipples stiffen under the dress I’m wearing.

Thankfully, we don’t have to wait too long, because the cab pulls up outside a gorgeous building and then we’re getting out, Chase is greeting the doorman, and then we’re headed up to an insane penthouse apartment.

Chase’s apartment has a view that must cost in the millions, and of course the décor is modern, the space open and gorgeous.

But I don’t give a shit about any of that right now, because as soon as we are alone in his apartment, I just want to be close to him.

He looks at me, his blue eyes searching, making sure I’m okay.

“I want to,” I whisper.

Chase stares at me and nods his head. “Come on, then.” He takes me by the hand and leads me into his bedroom.

We’re kissing again, more fully and passionately now, and his hands are roaming up and down my body, like he can’t get enough of me.

I press into him, feeling his hardness pushing back at me. My hands slides down and grips his cock through the fabric of his slacks, and he groans.

“Shit,” he says. He suddenly picks me up and then carries me to the bed, where he lays me down. He looks at me, his eyes hungry. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, and I’m not going to stop until we come together.”

I close my eyes, letting the dirty words wash over me, letting everything go, losing myself in him.

And then he’s slowly undressing me, taking his time, kissing my bare skin all over. My lips, my neck, collarbone, the curve of my breasts, and then my nipples as my bra falls away. He sucks my nipples delicately, and I cry out, as my hands find his chest and grip his toned, muscular pecs.

I start unbuttoning his shirt frantically. I need to feel his skin, his body against mine.

It’s like I’m dying of thirst and he’s my water, my salvation as I crawl through the desert.

And that’s when I realize just how badly I’ve missed Chase Brooks, and I smile through tears.

He stops, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks, pushing my hair back from my face.

I shake my head, smiling still. “I’m just happy,” I tell him. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

He caresses my cheek, his eyes kind and soft.

“I love you, Addison.”

The words send shockwaves through me, the emotion behind them true and real. “I love you, Chase,” I say, and I’m wrapping my legs around him, ready to beg. He’s taught me well.

“Have patience,” he says, smirking a little, but I know neither of us can stand the waiting anymore.

His muscular, hard body is soon poised over mine, and he positions his long, thick cock against my entrance. I’m slick with need, with lust.

And then he pushes inside of me.

“Ahh,” I sigh breathily as he forces himself deep into my pussy, my walls closing in around him.

“Shit, you’re wet for me, baby.”

I close my eyes, gripping him to me and wrapping myself around him, feeling his heart pound against mine.

He slides out, and then pushes through my folds again, his pelvis pushing and grinding into mine, hip to hip now.

His eyes close.

It’s pure ecstasy, and we’re both feeling it. Like our bodies are meant to be this way, to be together, intertwined always.

Soon, Chase is fucking me, slowly and rhythmically, and I’m moving in time with him. His hips are swiveling, his long cock sliding in and out of my swollen pussy, and we’re both slick with sweat.

He kisses me, his tongue slides into my mouth and his hands slide up and grip mine, pressing my hands up over my head.

Now he’s fucking me faster and harder, and my breath comes quicker.

“Chase—”

“I’m going to come soon,” he says into my mouth.

“I’m going to come, too,” I breathe.

And soon he’s roaring, his hips are slamming against me and he’s fucking me exquisitely deep, penetrating to my core.

When my orgasm hits, I feel my eyes roll back in my head and a wave of love and pulsing pleasure shoots through my center and all the way up my spine.

Chase is shooting everything into me, the cords of his muscles standing out in his shoulders and neck as he arches into me, forcing himself deeper than he’s ever been before.

Afterwards, we collapse into each other, sweaty, laughing, our limbs loose and our voices soft.

We talk about now.

We talk about the future.

We even talk about the past.

“You know, I intentionally leaked my book to the media,” Chase says, at one point in the conversation. Like it’s no big deal.

I stare at him, my eyes wide. “You leaked your own book? Why?”

Chase chuckles. “Because I knew it would get the press off of your back, and honestly, protecting you meant more to me than some stupid fucking book.”

“Chase,” I whisper, my eyes tearing up again, knowing he was always thinking of me, even when we were apart. I feel his love radiating through me.

“It’s always going to be you, Addison,” he says, and then he wraps me closer in his arms and kisses me.

And I know it’s true.

E
PILOGUE

ADDISON

"Oh my God!"

Kensie comes barreling towards me, clad in a hot pink dress that shows her strong swimmer's shoulders.

"You look unreal!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around her.

"You
look unreal," she says. She fingers the edge of my new dress-- peacock blue, my absolute favorite. And Chase's favorite on me.

"Thank you so much for coming," I say.

"I wouldn't miss this." Kensie lets her eyes roam around the lavish apartment, with the table of my books on display just outside the foyer. "I know I keep saying it, but congrats. I'm so proud of you."

It means everything to me that Kensie flew all the way here for my book release party. I link arms with her and introduce her to Amaya and Greg. "Are you the one who told her to say 'Who dis?' when unrecognized numbers called?" Greg asks, and Kensie admits she might have had something to do with it.

I survey my party. Chase's spacious apartment--
our
apartment, I'm still getting used to saying-- is one of my favorite places in all of New York. I catch his eye across the room, where he's chatting with some publishing people, and he winks at me. My parents are on the other side of the room. Once I stuck up for myself and they realized I wasn’t going to get off this writing thing, they came around. I think my dad would still prefer me to get my MBA, but my book deal and impending movie deal did a lot to help with that.

"When does the movie start filming?" Kensie asks me as we make the rounds.

"December." I am still in shock that's happening. "Some of it will be shot here, and a lot will be shot in Vancouver, if you feel like a little Canadian vacation."

"You know I do," she says.

Chase breaks away from his group and comes over to us. "So glad you could come," he tells Kensie, giving her a hug.

Rex glances at us, does a double take when he sees Kensie, and practically catapults himself over here. "Remember me?" he asks her. "We met for five minutes at a taco bar."

Kensie and Rex begin chattering away and I’m beaming, watching them.

"Nice party," Chase says to me while our two best friends talk.

"Nice party," I say back. "Getting a lot of questions?"

"I don't mind," he says. "I'm excited about things. A new series isn't something I contemplated before, but I think this is going to be good. You have no idea how relieved I am to be able to write without worrying about living up to the craziness of my old career."

"Oh? Not going to be fighting me for the spotlight?" I ask, giggling.

"No way." He slides his arm around my waist. "I'm more than content to let you have that for awhile."

Rex takes champagne flutes from a waiter and gives one to Kensie, who beams at me. "Are we doing a toast before the actual toast?"

Chase takes two flutes himself and hands one to me. "I think the toast will be just fine without a pre-toast. I think we should just slam these motherfuckers like we did in college."

He downs his champagne. Rex and Kensie do the same.

"You lose," Rex says, pointing to my still-full flute.

"I've never seen you not immediately drink champagne," Chase says.

Kensie's watching me with a funny look on her face.

"You don't want it?" Chase asks. "It's good, I promise."

"It's not that." I smile at Kensie, and put my hand in my new husband's. "It’s just that I'm not supposed to drink while I'm pregnant."

Chase’s eyes comically widen, and then he’s got me in his arms and he’s hugging me tightly and spinning me. He kisses me, and then he’s looking down at my belly in awe.

I laugh. “You can’t see anything yet,” I tell him, feeling my face flush.

“Are we sure?” he asks, his voice husky with emotion.

“Yeah,” I nod. “I’ve taken three tests just to make sure.”

Chase’s expression lights up as he grins, the most relaxed, positive smile I’ve maybe ever seen on his face. But then again, we’ve both been smiling a lot these past months.

There’s been a lot to smile about.

“A baby,” he whispers, and I can hear the emotion in his voice. “A baby.”

“Our baby,” I say. He grips my hand in his and doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

And I know now that neither of us ever will.

C
hapter
One

I was looking into the eyes of The Panty Dropper.

I squirmed a bit in my seat in the conference room and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. My first day on the job and we were talking about this specimen of a man, who I only knew by one name:
The Panty Dropper
.

All five women who were at the meeting, notepads and pens out and ready to work, oohed and gushed over the photos being passed around. They all looked so smart and chic, dressed in stylish tops and perfectly-fitted dresses, accessorized and styled to the max—all to go to work. I’d put in half the effort, even though it was my first day on the job.

I guess when I thought of a writer I saw someone in yoga pants and a topknot. I’d done a little better than that—black, loose pants and a button down with flats. I thought I couldn’t go wrong, but looking around the table, I knew I was out of my league.

Even the view of the Hollywood sign off in the smoggy distance couldn’t hide the fact that I was in over my head. After applying to every magazine, newspaper, journal and news site I could find, it had been
Crush
, and only
Crush
, who agreed to hire me.

Turns out employers want editors with experience and writers with bylines, but how could I get the experience if no one would hire me? Luckily
Crush
took a chance on me and I was grateful for the work—even if I didn’t read the magazine—and anxious to get my first assignment. I wanted to make a good impression. I just didn’t think that at my first meeting on my first day, we’d be talking about someone named The Panty Dropper, whose chiseled face was scattered across the conference table in more than a dozen photographs, from paparazzi shots to red carpet events.

“Look at her, she’s blushing,” said one of the girls, watching me with a smirk.

“I bet they don’t have men like that back in Maine, do they?” asked the girl sitting next to her, and the two laughed.

“No, I bet Maine men are outstanding,” said the first. “I bet they’re all chopping wood in red flannel shirts, muscles bulging…”

“I think I see some bulge in this picture,” said the girl next to me, leaning over to take a closer look at the photo. Everyone laughed.

“Alexa, Bethany, let’s pretend we’re professionals,” said Kait, the magazine’s editor in chief. “And be nice to the new girl. Actually, before we get into the good stuff, why don’t you introduce yourself to everyone?”

Kait stared down at me from the head of the conference table. Everyone quieted, and all eyes turned on me. Now they could all get a good look at this stupid outfit I’d chosen for my first day at work, this cheap, ill-fitting ridiculousness that made me look, I now realized, more fitted for sitting in a retirement home than sitting in the offices of one the top women’s magazines in the country. I’d overthought my wardrobe last night, something I did far too often, and never to good results.

“Um, hi,” I said, giving a funny little wave to the other women in the City Living department of the magazine, the same department I’d been hired to work in. I dropped my hand back in my lap. “Yeah, I'm Sophie Scott. From Maine. Um, I just graduated and I’m, well, really happy to be here.”

They kept looking at me, waiting, for what I had no idea. I could hear the a/c click on, and a chill went down my arm.

“Okay, then,” Kait said, looking bored and unimpressed. God, I was blowing it already. “That’s Sophie who graduated from Maine.”

“I didn’t graduate from—” I began.

“Now let’s get back to work,” Kait finished, not knowing or caring that she cut me off. Which was fine. I was there at
Crush
to do a great job. I’d listen, and learn, and work really hard. That was my goal. Do well, and move on to a better, more intellectual magazine or journal and work on something more substantive than the fluff they wrote here…

I think their big think piece for the newest issue was “how to have an orgasm in less than ten seconds.”

Oh, no
, I suddenly thought. What if I had to write an orgasm story someday soon? I slunk down in my seat a little lower, not wanting anyone to look at me for any reason. It was my first editorial meeting, and I was there to listen. Nothing more.

“Back to The Panty Dropper,” Kait said, pointing to the photo before me. “We all know who he is—or do we? Sophie, do you know who that man is?”

I looked back at the photo before me. It showed a man in a slim blue suit and dark sunglasses walking purposefully across a street. Frankly, it looked like a fashion shot for the magazine, but it was a paparazzi shot. From the full-body picture it was clear this guy was fit—I could practically see the muscles in his thighs and biceps beneath the tailored suit. His dark brown hair was thick and wavy. His jaw was hard and defined—like the rest of him, if pictures don’t lie. He was incredibly handsome.

But as to who, exactly, he was? I didn’t know. But I didn’t want the others to know that I was clueless.

“Right, the panty dropper,” I began. “He’s that guy, everyone knows him.” I nod my head enthusiastically, as if what I’m saying actually means something. “He’s that really famous guy, he’s rich, successful…” Looking at the picture, I could just see panties falling out of his pocket because he was so successful. At his job. Selling panties?

I could already hear Alexa and Bethany across the conference table snickering at me as I spun my wheels.

Kait let out a deep, disappointed sigh. She leaned across the table and took the picture from before me. “This, as most of you know, is Leo Armstrong, twenty-seven, the most sought-after bachelor in all of L.A. and the head of relative newcomer Epix Studios.”

“Also their youngest head in history,” said Bethany. Unlike me, she was dressed simply and fashionably in a slim, cap-sleeved green dress. I tugged on the collar of my shirt, a new level of discomfort filling me.

“I’d like to give him head,” muttered Alexa, and none too quietly either. They barely tried to stifle their laughs.

Kait ignored them. “Leo Armstrong is the president of Epix Studios. Every girl L.A., from the fledging starlet to the seasoned Oscar winner wants to sleep with him or at least get an audition with him—”

“On his couch,” said Alexa, and Bethany swatted her arm.

“And of all the women he’s dated,” Kait continued, “and there have been a lot, no one knows anything about him personally. There’s never been even the tiniest whisper of what it’s like to date him. He’s the most famous person in this town and no one knows what he’s really like. We’re going to change that.” Her sharp eyes took in all the women at the table. Then she said, “One of you is going to date Leo Armstrong.”

A hush fell over the room. No one was laughing anymore.

Even though I didn’t know these women—I didn’t even know all their names, save for Bethany, Alexa and Renee, the girl who sat next me, studiously taking notes—I realized I was excited for them. If this guy were some famous Hollywood big shot, plus totally hot, it would be a fun story to work on. Who wouldn’t want to date a rich famous guy and write about it? My dating experience was limited, relegated to Paul, who I dated for a couple of years in college, and who cheated on me. The worst part was, he wasn’t even that good looking. I’d spent my college years so focused on my studies so that I could get a great job as soon as I graduated. Now I saw the irony of limited dating experience as I sat in the offices of a magazine dedicated to the art of the blow job.

“This guy is the classic womanizer,” Kait said. “He dates, and discards, one after another. But what goes on behind closed doors? That’s what
Crush
is going to find out. I want to know everything about him, and not just boring things like how he takes his coffee and if he snores. I want to know how he treats these women. Does he bother acting like a gentleman? Is he boring? Selfish? Does he have something to say? Is he more than just good looks and loads of money? How big is his dick?”

Everybody burst into laughter, and I tried to chuckle appreciatively, as I felt my face flush yet again.

“Everyone in L.A. wants to date this guy,” said Renee. “You said so yourself. But how does anyone get that date? How are we going to infiltrate this guy’s world and get him to take one of us out on a date?”

“Multiple dates,” Bethany said, and when Alexa gave her a look, she said, “No, seriously. You can’t write an exposé off of one date.”

“Yeah, not to mention the fact that there’s no way Leo Armstrong is going to date a
journalist
,” Alexa said. “A celebrity dating a journalist would be like a compulsive eater dating a chef. Leo would never trust a writer, and so we’re shot in the foot before we even get started.”

“Plus,” Renee said, “how do we get that first meeting?” she asked to Kait. “Honestly, if I knew where to bump into Leo Armstrong I’d be there right now.”

“I’m not saying this is going to be easy,” Kait said. “But I’ve put a lot of thought into it and I have a plan. One of the first things we’ll do, as Alexa brought up, is have you use a false name and occupation. Leo Armstrong can’t know he’s dating a writer at
Crush
magazine. What I still don’t have, though, is the undercover agent who’s going to do this gig.” She looked around the room at the six of us who made up the City Living section of the magazine. I’d been hired as the voice of The New Girl, the magazine’s “fun, flirty” column about getting adjusted to L.A. life. And believe me, I had a thousand ideas because L.A. is worlds apart from Maine, and I don’t just mean the three-thousand miles, either.

Kait looked around the room at all the women and I noticed, with some relief, that she didn’t look at me. Obviously I’d never get this assignment—it was a big gig, and she’d want one of her seasoned writers on the job.

“Kait, I’ll just go ahead and say I’d love the job,” Bethany said, sitting up straight. “I’ve got lots of experience under my belt, and I really think my piece on dating older men set me up for this type of story.”

“Leo Armstrong is only twenty-seven,” Alexa said. “Besides, with my background in theater, I could really play the part because isn’t that what undercover is—playing a role? Kait, I could do this, no problem. And you once said my stories were the easiest to edit because they were so clean—grammatically speaking, of course.”

Bethany shot Alexa a look, and just like that, it looked like the two besties had pitted themselves against each other.

“But I have more journalism experience,” Bethany said.

“Writing restaurant reviews for a local Orange County free magazine?” Alexa said. “Please. Kait, honestly, I know I’d be great for this if you’d just…”

“And so will I, I’ll be better—”

“Girls,” Kait said, holding up a hand. “Easy on the sales pitch. I’m not making any rash decisions here.”

“Look at these pictures,” said Renee, “and all the women he’s been with.” She took two, and held them up. “There are eight here, and more on the Internet that I didn’t pull. He clearly has a type. Out of all of us, there is one person who seems like his exact type. It’s
her
.”

The room was quiet, and when I looked up I realized Bethany had been speaking to me. I even pointed to myself and said, “Who—me?”

I felt my pulse beginning to pound increasingly faster.

“She’s right,” Kait said, really examining the photos. She picked up a photo of Leo riding bicycles with a brunette in Manhattan. “Looks just like her.” Her eyes widened. “The bone structure, the lips, the eyes…”

“I don’t believe this,” said Alexa.

I saw only a passing resemblance to the beauty in the photo, and that was mostly due to the long dark hair. And she probably wore extensions anyway.

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. And I laughed. A stupid, sputtering laugh.

“Well, I,” I began. “I mean, of course I’m up for whatever you want,” I said to Kait. “But I’m sure you want someone with more experience. Either of you guys would be better than me,” I said to Alexa and Bethany, who looked at me with narrowed eyes.

Kait fixed her sharp eyes on me and said, “When I hired you, you told me you were a hard worker who was willing to do whatever was best for the magazine.”

“I know but...”

“And we’ll be there for you,” Kait said. “
I’ll
be there for you. I’ll be your direct editor on this story and will help you through it.”

“Kait, you can’t be serious,” said Bethany. “She just got here. From Maine. And you’re going to trust her with this? No disrespect but that’s crazy.”

Bethany was right—it was crazy. Yeah, the writing and investigative part of it frightened me, but in a good sense. It’d be a challenge but I wasn’t afraid of a challenge. After all, I’d packed up my life and moved all the way out here knowing exactly zero people. What worried me the most was Leo Armstrong. The intimidation of this guy came right off the glossy photos scattered across the table. I could handle the writing—but could I handle the subject?

They wanted me to date this big celebrity, and dating was far from my strong suit…

“No, Renee is right,” Kait said. “Sophie looks the part. She’s a good writer or I wouldn’t have hired her. And I think her innocence will lend itself well to the subject. He’d never guess a sweet little New England girl is out to get him.” The look in Kait’s eyes made it clear that she was living for the day she busted Leo Armstrong. It made me squirm in my seat. That and the fact that—was this really happening? Was she going to make me do this job?

“She’ll need a makeover, in the very least,” Alexa said.

“Not to mention wardrobe,” Bethany said, looking me down.

“Good thing we have entire sections of this floor dedicated to fashion and beauty,” Kait said. “With the right makeup and hair and clothes, we can make Sophie look like Leo’s dream girl.” And then, after thinking some more, she looked at me and said, “Congratulations, Sophie. You just received your first assignment.”

“Lucky girl,” said Renee.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Bethany.

In my head I knew they were both right. I
was
lucky, and it was completely unbelievable. It was also totally out of my league.