Professor Love (4 page)

“Jung,” Max replied absently, seemingly lost in his trip down amnesia lane and his previous life as Doctor Doolittle.

Hmmm. Could her noble hero be a hot nerd?
Sophy stepped around him and aimed the camera at his backside. Hey, it couldn’t hurt, she told herself.

“Uh, Sophy?

“Hmmm?” Her brow furrowed in concentration as she kneeled to capture his calf muscle.

“I think these clothes are cutting off my circulation.”

“Oh.” She put her phone down and stood up to see a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face. “Okay, I’m done.”

His shoulders slumped in the tight jacket, his relief evident.

She stooped to retrieve her phone, her long flowered skirt billowing around her. When Max bent over beside her to tug on his pant leg, she put a hand on his arm and stopped him. “You’d better not do that,” she suggested.

He frowned. “Why?”

Sophy avoided his gaze and tried desperately not to blush. “You might split those breeches. They
are
pretty tight.”

“Oh.” Max shot up, holding himself ramrod straight while she tried to hold in a giggle. “I’ll just go get changed,” he said stiffly.

“Let me know if you need any help,” she called out after him. “I’m great at undoing buttons,” she murmured to the empty stage.

She scrolled through the pictures. There were some great shots, and two that she knew would soon be wallpaper for inspiration. And maybe on Tumblr.

Staring at her phone, she made her way backstage towards the wardrobe room.

She didn’t see Max until she walked straight into him.

His arms automatically flew up to steady her and his warm breath caressed her forehead. She felt the swift rise and fall of his chest and breathed in the spicy scent of his skin.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

His voice was low and dangerous in the shadows. “The wardrobe room is locked,” he ground out.

She inhaled sharply. “Oh.” Her arms fell from their light hold on his waist. “I guess they locked everything up when we were out on the stage.”

“My clothes are in there, Sophy.” His voice nearly cracked in the darkness and she peered up at him, her heart sinking.
Uh oh.

“Ah, right.”

“Right.”

Max’s grasp on her shoulders tightened and she looked up at him, trying not to laugh. “Uh, what about that wine and cheese?”

H
e was going
to kill her. That was all there was to it. It wouldn’t take much, just a swift twist of his hands around her neck. It was Friday—they probably wouldn’t even discover her body until Monday morning. And by that time he could be over at least three state lines. It was a tempting thought.

Sophy bent over, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Her body shook with silent laughter and her head bobbed near his groin.

“This isn’t funny,” he told her.

She nodded wordlessly and sniffed in the darkness. Then burst into a giggle fit.

Max wasn’t amused. He was already late for the compulsory department reception, and he looked like a stranded extra from
Pride and Prejudice
.

“Are you done?” he asked.

She nodded. “Do you have time to go home and change?” she asked, swiping at the corner of her eyes.

“No. I’m late as it is.” Then he realized something. “I think I have an extra jacket in my office. We’ll go there first.” Her pulse thudded beneath his fingers as he wrapped them around her wrist, and tugged on her arm. “Let’s go.”

She tugged back. “Uh, maybe it would be better if I didn’t…”

“No way, Miss Honeypot.” He took her hand and pressed it against his ridiculous brass-buttoned chest. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”

I
t only took
them seven minutes to mince across campus to his office. It would have taken less, but Max’s skintight outfit slowed him down, and Sophy’s wedge sandals weren’t built for footraces.

Thankfully the building wasn’t closed yet and they took the elevator up. He didn’t trust these stupid pants not to split if he tried to vault up the stairs. When they reached the Psychology department, he paused and pulled her back.

“Wait a minute,” he ordered in a low voice. If any of his colleagues were around, he wasn’t taking any chances of them seeing him like this. Flattening himself against the wall, he dragged his hand through his hair nervously and tilted his head back.

He poked his head around the corner and surveyed the empty corridor. “Okay.” Interlocking his fingers with hers, he pulled her down the hallway to his cubbyhole of an office. Only when he shut the door behind them did he exhale in relief.

“Where’s the jacket?” she asked.

“You don’t need to whisper now.” He glanced towards the corner. “And it’s right over there.” He let go of her hand and walked over to the coat rack. He tugged impatiently at the buttons on the costume and swore softly.

“Here, let me help.” Sophy stepped towards him. Her small fingers moved nimbly over the buttons and Max hoped that she couldn’t feel his heart careening wildly in his chest. It was probably just protesting the restraints on his circulation. “There, all done.” She pulled back the lapels of the jacket and helped him out of it.

The knock at the door startled them both.

“You in there, Wright?”

Max put a finger over Sophy’s lips and shot her a warning look. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re coming to the wine and cheese, right?” Dr. Chapaty asked.

“Yes, sir.” Max glanced down at Sophy, who glared at him in silent protest at his hand clamped over her mouth. He suddenly realized he had another good opportunity to kiss her, but then he wouldn’t be able to answer Chapaty. “I’m even bringing a date,” he called out.

“Excellent.”

“We’ll be along in a minute, sir.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Chapaty’s footsteps faded as he walked away, and Max dropped his hand from Sophy’s mouth. She grinned at him and he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it rapidly.

Max turned his back on her as he shrugged off the coat and reached for the old tweed jacket hanging on the rack. It was a total cliché but for some reason he was attached to it. The elbow patches were softened with age, and the wool was slightly musty. He got it as a lame, last-minute Halloween costume and now it was his “emergency” jacket, stashed in his office. If this didn’t count as an emergency, he didn’t know what would.

He wished that he could just skip the wine and cheese, but Dr. Chapaty was expecting them, and although the requisite schmoozing turned Max’s stomach, he had to do it if he wanted to get along with anybody in the department.

He buttoned up the blazer and reached inside to smooth the linen blouse down over his chest and shoulders. Turning back to Sophy, he raised an eyebrow. “How do I look?”

Her gaze swept over his body and if he had the time, he would have been embarrassed by the intensity in her eyes.

“Fine,” she finally said, her eyes fixed to the breeches hugging his lower body. “You just look like an English country gentleman, out riding or something.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it now,” Max remarked wryly. “You owe me big time.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He stepped towards her and her gaze flew up to meet his. “Don’t think I won’t forget,” he warned, his imagination momentarily drifting of ways she could repay him.
Not now.

When they walked into the function room, half a dozen heads swivelled to stare at him. The department secretary, positioned near the door, grinned and curtsied gracefully.

“My lord.”

Max shot her a threatening look, then glanced at Sophy. Her lips twitched but she focused straight ahead at the crowd in front of them.

“Ah, Dr. Wright.” Chapaty sauntered toward them, a slender dark-haired woman in tow. “I’d like you to meet my wife. Anita, this is the new professor I was telling you about.”

She stuck out her hand and smiled brilliantly. “You’re doing the romance study.”

“Yes, I am.”

Anita Chapaty shifted her smile to take in Sophy, standing silently beside Max. “And this must be the reason,” she said.

“Not exactly.” Damn, how was he going to do this? “Dr. Chapaty, Mrs. Chapaty, I’d like you to meet Sophy Hadden.”

Sophy shook their respective hands and smiled politely. “Pleased to meet you.”

Anita’s kohl-rimmed eyes widened. “My god, you’re Violet Honeypot. I just saw your Facebook ad!”

Her husband frowned. Max’s heart sank into his stomach.
So much for a low profile.

Sophy’s smile softened. “Yes, I am.”

Anita pumped her hand up and down again, and Max saw Sophy wince out of the corner of his eyes. “I had no idea you lived here! I’ve read all your books.”

“I’ve only written a couple.” Sophy tried to extricate her hand, beginning to look embarrassed. Max grinned at her discomfort. “It’s been lovely meeting you, but we should really mingle some more.” She turned to Max.

“Huh?” He was enjoying this.

Sophy shifted her weight to her other hip and suddenly Max felt a stabbing pain in his foot. She beamed at him solicitously. “
Shouldn’t we
?” She ground her heel into his toes again and he winced.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You’ll excuse us?” He laced his fingers through Sophy’s and pulled her away, limping towards the cheese table.

“I’ll get you for that.”

She nodded and smiled at a nearby colleague of his. Her lips barely moved as she replied under her breath, “I’m terrified. What about wine?” she asked.

“I don’t even want to imagine what damage you could do to my reputation if you’ve been drinking.” He snorted.

“Hey!”

Max dropped her hand so that he could load a cracker with cheese. As he replaced the knife on the table, his coat sleeve brushed against the tray of assorted crackers and a few skidded off the table and onto the floor. He bent over quickly to retrieve them...

“Max, wait!” hissed Sophy.

It was too late. The stark and unmistakable sound of fabric ripping echoed in his ears. He felt a sudden draft on his backside.

What he had neglected to tell Sophy before was that the pile of clothes currently locked in the wardrobe room included his underwear. There was no way he could put on breeches this tight with his boxer shorts on, so he had removed them.

He had never regretted anything more in his life at that moment.

Except possibly asking Sophy for her help. Somehow he was getting the feeling that she was benefiting more from their little arrangement than he was. Especially right now. At the very least, she was probably getting a good view of his heroic attributes.

His thighs were starting to throb from the awkward position, and he pivoted on one heel so that his back was against a wall, and slowly slid up it to a standing position. Sophy stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“Don’t even think about laughing. Or making me laugh,” he warned her.

She bit her lip and blinked. “Is it that bad?”

Max flinched as cool air rushed through the split in the breeches. Clenching his jaw, he replied, “Yes.”

“Have you ever seen
Bringing Up Baby
?”

“What?”

“Old movie. Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn. 1938.” He looked blankly at her and she nodded solemnly. “Great movie,” she assured him.

“What?” She was nuts. Certifiable.

Sophy stepped towards him and grabbed his arms. Turning him slightly, she moved close to him and suctioned herself to his back. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she spoke into his tweed-covered back. “When I say go, head for the door.”

He tensed in anticipation, and at the feel of her body pressed against his. Her fingers squeezed his hips and he swallowed tightly. It wasn’t just his backside that might attract attention now, but also his front.

“Okay,
go
!”

They marched together in perfect sync, and made it to the door fifteen feet away. As they passed the Chapatys, Max heard his boss mutter, “I always thought writers were weird.”

“
S
ir
, I beg your pardon, but—”

“But what, Miss Templeton?”

“But, my lord, I believe you are stepping on my foot.” She smiled tightly. Her partner was a divine dancer, but had not yet completely mastered the sweeping movements of the waltz. Gazing into his dark blue eyes, Clarissa was convinced that the Earl of Maxmara could be forgiven of almost any atrocity. But her foot was smarting, and there was only so much abuse that her kid slippers could tolerate.

He pulled back slightly and gazed down at her. Suddenly the flesh revealed by her fashionably low-cut gown felt hot, as though she had been sitting in the sun for too long. Without missing a step, he nodded deferentially and his full lips curved in a smile.

“My apologies, Miss Templeton.”

His head remained tilted down, as though he were studying the movement of their feet on the polished parquet floor. His lower lip twitched slightly, and the tips of his ears reddened. When he looked her in the eye again, there was something unfamiliar in his gaze—something disturbing, something compelling.

When his left foot brushed against her ankle, Clarissa faltered and drew back slightly, afraid of being stepped on again. She could feel the warmth of his hand through her glove as his grasp tightened on her, and pulled her back towards him.

Raising an eyebrow at him, she remarked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down, my lord?”

“No,” the earl replied in a low voice. A muscle in his jaw clenched and he cast his gaze down between their bodies, which were a little too close for propriety. When they began moving again amongst the stifling throngs of society, Clarissa didn’t know whether to frown or smile.

She also had the sneaking suspicion that her partner was trying to look down her gown.

She decided to smile.

“
A
h
, crap!”

Max jumped back from the table and glared at the overturned coffee cup now dripping onto the kitchen floor.

And there went the newspaper into the garbage. The only section that had escaped the overdose of caffeine was the special gardening supplement.

It wasn’t exactly the Saturday morning he had envisioned.

Then again, last night hadn’t exactly turned out the way he had planned either. Sighing again, he ripped off about two feet of paper towel to mop up the spilled coffee on the table.

He couldn’t blame Sophy for the ill-timed, and ill-placed, rip in that ridiculous costume. He couldn’t even blame her for the wardrobe room door being locked in the first place, although she had known that the security guard was making his rounds soon. But he could lie awake most of the night recalling the feel of her body plastered to his and her chuckles resonating in his ear... and he had.

He also prayed late into the night that Dr. Chapaty would see the humor in the situation, and not tell the dean about his odd behavior and hasty exit.

Ironically, he’d been speaking to Supreme Beings a lot more since meeting Sophy Hadden, and being particularly smote at the same time.

It wasn’t until Max tossed the stained cloth into the sink with a wet slap that he heard the knock at the door again, and remembered what had startled him enough to send his elbow flailing towards his coffee cup.

Glancing down at his boxers and plain white t-shirt, he dragged a hand through his hair again. He shrugged, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and headed for the door. The visitor had given up knocking, and was now leaning on the doorbell with a persistence that would make any door-to-door salesman proud.

When he opened the door, he realized it was worse than a salesman. Much worse. And costlier.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Sophy beamed at him from under a floppy straw hat. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Max frowned. This definitely wasn’t turning out to be the Saturday morning he had imagined. “Only for reading.” He smirked. “What, not heroic enough for you?”

She tipped her head to one side. Her flowered dress rippled as she shifted her weight to her other hip, and she wore a hat. A
hat
, like it was 1900. He was sorely tempted to grip that hip, and remove the hat.

“No, they suit you. Very... professorial.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so,” he muttered. But it was hard to be sore at someone complimenting you.

She raised an eyebrow, the only one he could see under the tilted brim of her hat. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated until he saw the folded newspaper under her arm. “Okay, but on one condition.”

Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “What?”

He snatched the paper from under her arm and stepped back so that she could enter. “You make the coffee.”

“Deal.”

Ten minutes later they were sitting at the pine table sipping fresh coffee and companionably flipping through the paper. Max was amazed at how comfortable he was. It was not a sensation he was accustomed to in her presence—upon further reflection, it actually made him nervous and set his teeth on edge.

Coffee sloshed dangerously towards the brim of Sophy’s mug when she set it down rapidly. “I almost forgot,” she said, digging through the straw bag under her chair. She withdrew a few books and placed them on the table in front of him. “I brought these for you. They should help you with your study.”

He was almost afraid to look. “What, the sequel to
Love’s Lusty Leer, The Dashing Duke of Desire
?”

“No, I thought you should read something more contemporary, like
The Billionaire Bullrider’s Baby Mama
.” Sophy giggled into the mug raised to her lips and waved absently at the books on the table.

What?
Max pushed his glasses back up his nose and picked one of the books up. She was kidding. It was a collection of essays on the appeal of romance.

“The others are copies of some doctoral theses on the same subject. I thought you might find them interesting. I also printed out some citations for you, for help with your research.”

He flipped quickly through the book in his hand. “Thanks.”

Sophy set her cup down and frowned. “Shouldn’t you get dressed or something?”

Her gaze skidded over the white cotton stretched tautly across his chest and down to his bare feet. And back up his body, but a little slower this time. Max stretched lazily, taking a little longer than necessary, and looked down at his boxer shorts.

“Yeah. I’ll just be a few minutes.” He pushed his chair back from the table and walked to the bedroom.

“Wear something nice!”

He poked his head out of the door. “What?”

Sophy’s voice rang clearly through the hall. “A suit and tie. Wear a suit and tie.”

Max yanked the t-shirt over his head and frowned in the general direction of the kitchen. What was she up to, and was it something he should call his lawyer ahead of time for? “Where are we going?”

“Research.”

He didn’t understand what she was talking about, but showered quickly, shaved, and pulled on a grey suit. When he strolled back into the kitchen, Sophy’s elbows were fixed on the table and her chin propped up by both fists. Her eyes were glued to the paper in front of her; a smile crept over her face.

“What’s so engrossing?”

“The comics.”

“Ah.” Max thrust two ties at her. “Which one is the most appropriate for where we’re going? Which, by the way, you still haven’t told me.”

Sophy bit her lower lip, her gaze shifting from one tie to the other. Then she tapped his right hand. “That one.”

He drew the tie under his collar and knotted it carefully.

“No wait, it’s crooked,” she told him.

She stood up and moved towards him, the silk of her dress whispering around her legs. As she frowned and tugged on the tie, Max realized that she stuck the tip of her tongue out slightly whenever she concentrated on something, as she did now. As she had last night when she was taking pictures. Or when she had read to him in the library.

Her scent drifted up his nose and the seersucker suit suddenly felt too heavy. She was almost in his arms. In fact, if he just lifted his hands right now...

“Done,” she announced, and stepped back. A bright spot of color burned high on her cheeks and she pivoted on one heel to retrieve her tote bag. “We ready?”

Max shook his head. “Just a minute. You’ve got newsprint all over your arms.”

Sophy twisted her left arm and craned her neck to look. “Oh rats.”

He grinned. “Actually, it’s
Peanuts
.” Irony always made him happy. He stalked to the sink and ran some water over a clean cloth. “Come here,” he ordered.

Holding her arm just above her elbow, he turned it gently so that he could get at the smudges. Rubbing the ink off her skin, his thumb lazily brushed against the delicate skin at the crease of her elbow. He could feel her pulse throbbing beneath his fingers. Inhaling sharply, he scrubbed her arm efficiently and thrust the cloth at her.

“You can do the other one.”

She wiped the cloth over her other arm, all the while glancing down at the arm he had just held, as though his fingers were still pressed into her skin. Her cheeks flamed and she didn’t look at him.

“Okay,” she said, and draped the cloth over the long faucet. Still averting her eyes, she picked up her purse and strode towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Max followed her out the door and locked it behind him. “Where are we going?”

The answer floated over her shoulder as she headed for the car. “To the ultimate in romance.”

Yes, he decided, he
should
be worried.

“
I
can’t believe
we crashed three weddings,” Max hissed in Sophy’s ear. Her skin burned from the warmth of his breath as she leaned into him.

“Three ceremonies, actually. This is the only reception.” It had been a full day, to say the least.

He groaned, looking distinctly as though he wanted to crawl under the table. She noticed it was beginning to be a familiar reaction to her suggestions.

“Well, at least it’s an open bar,” she said optimistically. Sophy shot friendly smiles around the crowded table. “It was a lovely ceremony, wasn’t it?” she said a little louder.

Her tablemates stared blankly at her.

Sophy cocked her head towards Max and murmured through the smile plastered on her face, “I don’t think they speak English.”

The right side of Max’s mouth twisted up. “Wow, you
are
good at research. What was your first clue? The fact that the ‘lovely ceremony’ was performed in Cantonese?”

Sophy turned her attention to her plate. They were on the seventh course of the traditional Chinese wedding dinner, and so far she hadn’t been able to identify anything. And she refused to eat anything she couldn’t identify. It was a basic principle.

Her little box of gift chocolates had been scarfed down somewhere around the third dish, and her stomach was now rumbling in protest. She eyed the pink ribbons curling around the box beside Max’s plate and sighed.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, placing a protective hand over the small box.

Just then, another steaming dish was placed on the table and everyone dove into it, except for Sophy and Max.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Max peered at the platter making its way around the table. “Eel, I think.”

Sophy swallowed carefully. She turned to the gentleman at her right and smiled politely. “Are you going to eat those?” she asked, pointing at the gift chocolates.

“Sophy!”

She ignored Max and pointed again to the little white box. The man nodded and started jabbering in an unfamiliar language. Sophy’s heart leapt in anticipation, until the man paused long enough to rip open the box and pop two of the chocolates into his mouth.

Sophy slumped in her chair and reached for her wine glass. Wasn’t there a fast food place just down the road? She was tempted to tell Max she was going to the ladies’ room and then making a dash for the drive-thru, but she was worried he’d ditch her if she left his sight. She turned her head slightly to take in the dour expression on his face. Yes, it was a definite possibility. She rested a protective hand over her gurgling stomach and willed herself not to think about food.
Identifiable
food.

An hour later, the last two dishes made their way around the table—a noodle and a rice dish, respectively. Sophy sighed in relief and filled her plate. She shoveled the food into her mouth faster than she could breathe, and cleaned her plate within minutes. Even Max was muttering appreciative thanks to a higher power and the kitchen staff.

“They’re starting to dance,” Max mumbled around a mouthful of sesame noodles.

Sophy nodded, rubbing her full stomach absently. She knew she had eaten too quickly, but she had just been so darn hungry. “I see that.”

Max swallowed and laid his chopsticks on his plate. Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, he stood and held out his hand. “How about it?”

Sophy’s eyes widened in surprise. Maybe there was an ounce of heroism in him after all. “Mr. Wright, are you asking me to dance?”

He tossed the napkin on the table, barely missing the leftover fish heads. “
Dr
.
Wright.”

“Sorry.” She rose and laced her fingers through his. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you lead,” she promised, only half teasing.

When he tugged her into his strong arms, Sophy suddenly realized that she had lost all control over the situation. His fingers lightly stroked her lower back through the silk of her dress and she stiffened.

“Problem?”

She shivered as his warm breath caressed the tip of her ear, and struggled to answer. “No.”

Unless he considered an alarmingly fast heart rate a problem. She dove into the recesses of her memory, searching for any history of heart problems in her family, praying that she wasn’t about to go into cardiac arrest.

“Good,” he murmured, and slid his hand up the curve of her spine. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and she concentrated on making sure her feet were in the right place, and that his hands didn’t wander into the wrong place. She was pretty sure he had already tried to sneak a peek down her cleavage already. What there was of it, anyhow.