Dirty Professor (3 page)

Chase's house is quintessential Pacific Northwest-- tan shingles, lots of glass, lots of trees-- so many that you can't even see much of the house from the street, which is probably why he chose it. I pull up to the gate and tap in the code he gave me, and a few seconds later, I slow to a stop in front of the enormous double doors.

A tall figure is silhouetted behind the translucent glass doors. When I alight from my SUV, one of the front doors opens and Chase Brooks steps onto the porch, clad in jeans, a white T-shirt, and socks. He looks like he could be any regular guy just hanging around his house. Well, any regular seriously hot guy hanging around his own house.

"Thanks for coming," he greets me. He flashes a smile that I definitely didn't see back in his office at school, his teeth perfectly straight and gleaming white. "Sorry this is short notice. I just thought about our conversation a lot after you left, and I decided to see if you were up for a do-over."

"I'll consider it," I tell him, and his bright blue eyes alight with something I can’t put my finger on, almost like he sees me as a challenge. Is this the same guy who unceremoniously dismissed me outright before even reading my writing samples? If I wasn't standing here on his front steps beholding his friendly grin, with the same perfect nose, same strong jaw and deep dimples beneath those same ice blue eyes, I wouldn't believe it myself.

The house is even more stunning on the inside. Everything is exposed wood and beams, and the massive windows frame perfect swaths of evergreen forest and mountains. The living room is open so I can see out the windows on both sides of the house, and I notice the backyard blends into the forest. It feels like a contemporary ski lodge, and the fire in the grand stone fireplace twists and burns and pops, casting a glow on the room. And on Chase, who looks unfathomably hot striding to the fully stocked bar across the gargantuan living room and plucking an opened wine bottle from where it sits on the bar.

I take a seat on the L-shaped couch, and Chase joins me, seating himself on the adjacent section. Not quite facing me, but not next to me, either. I briefly wonder what it would be like if he did sit beside me, then shove that thought away. I need in this class. That's why I'm here. My heart is thrumming a staccato beat against my rib cage, and I will it to calm down.

"I like a nice Spanish red," he says, pouring two goblets and handing one to me. "Don't you?"

"Definitely," I fib, even though most wines taste the same to me. Oh, hell. I'm not about to start pretending now. "I mean, I don't know."

"Oh?"

"I'm not that experienced. With wine," I add hastily, hoping he doesn't notice the blush coating my cheeks.

"You're a good girl," he says, with the tiniest smirk indicating he does notice.

I half-shrug, not really wanting that label but knowing it's accurate. "The good girl bit got me into Noland, so there's that."

"And Noland is grateful." Chase's eyes smile at me above the rim of his wine glass.

I wonder if
he's
grateful. I shouldn't care, after being rejected from his class, but I can't help hoping so.

"Should..." I wonder how to get him to read my stuff without interrupting this chillaxing thing he's doing. "Should we go over my work?"

"We'll get to that." He sips his wine and observes me, but his gaze isn't condescending or intimidating like it was in his office. It's more searching, like he's genuinely trying to learn more about me.

"I like this music," I announce, not sure what else to say if we're not going to talk about my writing yet.

"Spanish guitar. Goes with the wine."

"It reminds me of Gaudi's Curse," I say. Chase's eyebrows arch up in interest at my mention of his tenth book. "The movie, I mean. It had more music and scenery in it than the book." God, what a stupid thing to say. Of course it had more music and scenery in it than the book! It's a movie. "I mean, you could actually hear the music."

Luckily, Chase is nodding. "I know what you mean. And yeah, that was one of the more well-done Bowker films."

"Did you get to go hang out on the set?"

"Of course. I do at all my movies. But Spain, I mean, come on. I didn't want to leave."

I wonder if that was because of the actress who played Bryce Bowker's love interest in that movie, that one with the Grecian goddess name. I open my mouth to ask Chase if the rumors were true that he dated her during the filming, but think better of it. Do I really want to know? And besides, who hasn't he dated?
Normal people. Average people. Just red carpet walkers and catwalk strutters.

Chase might just be reading my mind. "I liked shooting in Spain because we weren't bothered as much. By the paparazzi, that is."

"So you gave them even more reason to hound you by dating what's-her-face?"

Oops.

"Touché," he admits, giving me a
you got me
smile. "But, it's funny. I never really liked that whole scene much."

"So someone held a gun to your head and made you date famous women?"

Chase laughs. "I guess I got swept up in the glamour of it. I kept thinking it could all go away in an instant. And those women? Like Athena?" Oh, that was her name. "There wasn't a thing on her that was real."

Yet he was still with her, and for how long? I just grimace a smile at him and sip my wine. It really shouldn't bother me who he's been with or how long they were a thing.

"That's why you intrigue me," he says slowly.

I intrigue him? My bell warms again, and this time the heat settles a little lower between my legs. "How?"

"You're different." He sets his goblet down on the coffee table and stares at it like he's asking it to help him form a sentence. "You're authentic," he finally says.

"Well, yeah. I can't afford plastic surgery."

"You don't need it. You're beautiful without even trying."

There's no way I can stop the blush that sweeps over me this time.

"And I'm not even just referring to physical authenticity. You have a genuine air to you that follows you around. Like, this 'No BS' vibe, while still being nice. You're like the girl next door, but you don't take shit. I could take you home to my mom right now and she'd love you."

"She didn't love Athena?"

"Hated her." He rubs his hands on the knees of his jeans and tilts his head at me. "But then, I've never let my parents dictate how I live my life."

The silence hangs thick in the air. I don't think he meant it as a jab, but it feels like one. Or maybe it's because I inwardly jab myself whenever I think about my parents and what I'm doing.

"I need more wine." Chase gets up and brings the bottle to the coffee table, refilling his glass. His strong biceps flex under the material of his t-shirt, and the ache between my legs intensifies. I shift on the couch and avert my eyes from his muscles.

"Tell me," he says, sitting back down. "What would your parents say if they knew you were interviewing for my class?"

"They'd ask if it was an elective." I decide to leave out what they'd say after I told them it's not an elective.

"Is it business school or nothing with them? What's their story? Let me guess, at least one of them is big in some Fortune 500 company."

I nod. "Kind of. My dad co-founded True Threads." I glance down at my fleece jacket with the TT emblem and roll my eyes at myself. Why couldn't I have put on my North Face?

"And your mom?"

"She had zero professional ambition, so she focused on her goal of marrying my dad."

"Ah. So she's a businesswoman, too."

I laugh. "A different kind, but yeah."

"That must be where you get your tenacity." His eyes are on me, his gaze unwavering, and I shift again in my seat and take another sip of wine. I’m so thrown by him. Just his presence is unnerving.

"I'm sorry to say it," I begin, feeling that need to burst out with the truth again, "but you'd think you'd want people from other departments besides English. Don't you feel like you have too many of those? It's like those pageant girls."

Chase blinks. "Pageant girls?"

"Girls who do beauty pageants. How they’re all elementary education majors."

His face is suddenly stoic. "My sister was a pageant girl."

Uh oh. "Oh, mine too," I say quickly, breaking my promise not to lie. My sister Aubrey's peppy name fits that image, but that's where it ends. She wears way too much black eyeliner and one of those necklaces that could double as a deadly weapon. "Well, no," I admit. "She wasn't. Sorry."

Chase's look of offense morphs into amusement. "You’re not a very good liar."

"Apparently not."

"I can't lie, either. My sister got her degree in Elementary Education."

"See?" I relax a little as Chase lets out a laugh-- and something in me catches. In all of his interviews, I've never heard his laugh. It's melodic. Delightful, even. Makes his whole face light up.

God.

“I lost my virginity to an Elementary Education major,” he says. “I forgot about that until just now.”

“Was she one of your sister’s friends?”

“Sure was. Back of a minivan when she came home with my sister from college.” Chase gives me a long look. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your virginity. How did you lose it?”

“Uhh.” I’m not sure how to answer this without sounding ridiculous. “It’s dumb.” I set my wine down on the table, hoping it will signal to him that a change of topic is in order. But Chase Brooks is just getting started.

“It can’t be worse than the back of a minivan.” He’s leaning forward now, closer, and his thigh brushes against mine.

“It’s… it kind of hasn’t happened yet.”

Chase leans further forward, eyes now two huge blue pools. “You’re a virgin?”

“Is it that shocking?”

“Kind of.” He’s still wide-eyed. “You’re so beautiful, I’d think you’d have been unable to resist at least one of the many offers I’m sure you got.”

I feel my face heat up. “It’s like that Amy Schumer quote.
‘I can catch a dick anytime I want.’
And I have. I just haven’t taken full advantage yet.” I can feel my face is beet red, and I wipe my hands on my jeans, the humiliation intense. Chase Brooks has been with countless movie stars and gorgeous women, and here I am, talking about how I haven’t even been with someone as pedestrian as a frat boy.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Chase insists, noticing my embarrassment. “Just surprising. Is there something in particular you’re waiting for?”

“In my good girl form, my answer would have been ‘love,’” I say. “But now, I think maybe just… a sexy situation. The right situation.”

“Oh? Like?”

“I dunno. Like… like Bryce Bowker in Spain, when he had sex with that redhead on the grand piano.”

“I watched Pretty Woman before I wrote that.”

“I figured.” I swallow. “Why are you so interested in my first, anyway?”

“Because it would be a tragedy if you didn’t get an epic first time on a piano.”

“I’d settle for a fabulous first time somewhere else.” The words are out of my mouth so fast I can barely register that I said them.

He pushes closer to me, until he’s right next to me on the couch, his body pressing against mine. I hope he can’t hear my heart thudding. “And what kind of guy would you want, Addison? For your fabulous first time?” His voice is low, sexy, and I feel myself getting wet.

This isn’t fair.

“Ridiculously good-looking,” I say.

“And?” He reaches down and touches my chin gently, tilts my head until I’m looking him in the eye.

“Smart. Definitely smart.”

Chase gives me a look so deep that I think he can read my thoughts. “Interesting.”

I can’t help it. He’s so sexy, and that way he’s looking at me right now… I can’t handle it. “Someone like you,” I burst out.

Chase leans over and I realize he’s going to kiss me. I shut my eyes as his lips brush mine, soft and gentle. He pulls away. “Someone like me?” he repeats gruffly.

“Yes.” I gulp. “I think so.”

He kisses me again and this time his tongue pushes past my lips, parting them. My body responds to his, and I’m suddenly pliant in his arms, his tongue tangling with mine as his hands move to my hair. He pulls back and looks at me, not asking permission but giving a half smile, like he knows he’s going to get what he wants, and then he’s kissing me again, our kiss becoming more deep and passionate, my head spinning with the intensity of it.

His hand travels across my back, and around my ribcage. When I feel his fingertips brush the swell of my breast through my sweater, I have to fight to hold in the way I want to react. “I can’t do this,” I say. “It’s not… I mean, I don’t…”

“You can do anything,” he whispers. “Anything you want.” He kisses my neck. His lips are warm and I shiver. “Sometimes it feels good to be bad, Addison.”

What I want is his hands all over me. I take a breath as his hand moves back to my breast, my nipples hardening through my sweater as my body betrays me. “Aha,” he murmurs in satisfaction as his fingertips brush the tight peak. “I thought so.”

His touch feels so good. This is not even close to how the guys I’ve dated used to touch me. Their awkward fumbling and grabbing me way too hard immediately—it was nowhere near this level of pleasure.

It’s not long before his hands wander underneath my shirt, moving over my bra, teasing my nipples through the lacy fabric. His touch is setting me on fire, and I shut my eyes as he pulls my arms over my head and slides my shirt off.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, kissing my lower neck and moving down my chest.

When he reaches around to unclasp my bra, I feel a small surge of self-consciousness—will he like them? But that melts away when I see the look on his face as my bra falls away, my breasts exposed to him. “My God,” he mumbles, palming my tits in his hands.

He closes his mouth around my nipple and I lean backwards, easing into a full reclining position. Chase gently sucks and massages my breasts, which sends my nerve endings into a frenzy and I can feel my panties getting wetter. When Chase’s fingers travel down my abdomen towards my jeans, I suck in a breath. Chase plays with the button for a minute, teasing, and then unfastens my jeans. Before I can get them off, he plunges his hand down the front of them and begins stroking me through my panties.