Beauty and the Professor (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 1)

And more than that, she needed to apologize to him.

Blake Morris had always been decent to her. Always kind.

He didn’t deserve her ogling him.

Pacing in the kitchen, she battled her embarrassment at being caught in a compromising position. Or rather, she’d caught him in a compromising position. She’d have to face him, but she couldn’t look for him. Not right then and maybe not ever. She would just have to live here in the kitchen, for ten minutes or ten hours.

For ten years, if that’s how long it took for him to come downstairs.

Her hands caught on the stone edge of the countertops then smoothed across the surface. Already clean, as usual. She would run her rags over the shiny granite until it gleamed. That’s what she should have done instead of looking for him. Why did she even think he’d be interested in hearing about her class? Or her thoughts about the book?

She’d never done anything quite this embarrassing. Watching the man’s private moment? That was low. And even worse, she respected him, so much.

She liked him, and she might have ruined everything.

Nervous energy pumped through her veins. She pulled out the cleaning supplies, thinking that at least she could turn her wild energy into something useful.

Blake bounded down the stairs, wearing sweatpants.

There was no towel. She couldn’t help but admire him before, the way the thin fabric of his T-shirt hung on his well-built shoulders, loose around his abs, but now all she could see was his naked body in her mind.

As if she hadn’t already proven herself a coward, she turned away to flee.

“Erin,” he said in those low tones she felt to the bone. “Wait, please.”

She paused and turne

d halfway back to him, willing the inappropriate, private, sexy images to subside. A reddened cock. Thick ropes of come. God.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “It won’t happen again. I swear it,” he said, as if he was the one who did something wrong. “Don’t quit.”

She’d never expected to see him like this, practically begging—not for anything, and certainly not for his maid to continue cleaning for him. Did she really vacuum so well?

No. If nothing else, today had shown that he at least thought about her in another way. Is that why he kept her around, why he increased her cleaning schedule and chatted with her about his work? Should she be offended? But she wasn’t offended.

Instead she was flattered and confused and aroused as hell.

She stammered, “I don’t understand. Were you…was I…?”

He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “There’s no excuse,” he said, swallowing. “But I won’t—” He broke off and looked away. The part of his face turned toward her was the more scarred half. That gesture more than anything showed his distress since he usually took pains to hide it. Who could think less of him, knowing he’d earned those scars in service to his country?

“What can I do so that you won’t leave?” he asked.

“I—honestly, I hadn’t even thought of quitting. Mr. Morris, I’m the one who needs to apologize. For intruding on your privacy. For watching you.”

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, either in acknowledgment of her apology or her agreement she didn’t know. He paused then repeated, “I’m sorry.”

After a curt nod, he left the room.

Everything was fixed, wasn’t it? Except she felt bereft, as if something had been lost. Maybe she should have clarified that he hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. But it would be too strange to correct him in his assumption. What could she say? Please, go ahead and use me in your fantasies. I don’t mind. That would hardly make this situation less awkward.

Besides, she needed time to think, to process what she had seen and her feelings about it. Well, she’d just committed not to quit, whatever came of her thoughts.

Over the next few hours, she cleaned his house as usual. Blake seemed to stay out of her way, not lingering to chat with her about politics or history or to ask how school was going, as he often did. She left his bedroom for last and resolutely ignored the way her panties grew damp as she made his bed, imagining she could still feel the warmth of his body in the white sheets.

Blake

Thank God she hadn’t left.