To Professor, With Love (Forbidden Men 2)

“You mean, like you’ve been doing for the past five minutes?”

“Right.” This time, his smile was a full-fledged beam.

It did things to me I would be too mortified to admit to anyone aloud. But my body kept responding despite how much I commanded it to cool down.

“Okay, then.” He nodded and turned away to leave.

Startled he was going to vanish just as abruptly as he’d appeared, I panicked. I didn’t want to see him go yet. My brain scrambled for something. There were so many things I knew I should say, but instead I blurted out, “And for future reference, you might want to look up the meaning to TMI.”

When he whirled back, I lurched a little in reverse. I wasn’t expecting that to stop him in his tracks, but I was perversely pleased it had.

“If you’ll remember,” he murmured, sauntering back to my desk and setting his hands on top so he could lean over and stare me right in the eyes. “I did try to get it back from you.”

With a small nod, I managed to meet his gaze with what I hoped was a cool expression. “And I should’ve given it back. But I’m glad I didn’t.”

I sank back into my seat, trying to turn my attention to the screen saver on my computer. But all I could focus on was the man on the other side of my desk.

He alarmed me when he sat down on the chair in the seat across from me, his eyes alert and seeking. I sat up straighter, my gaze darting from the chair to his face as he demanded, “What does that mean?”

Shit, I’d exposed too much by saying that, hadn’t I? “I...I...Nothing. I’m sorry I said anything. I shouldn’t have.”

“But you did. Now spill it.” His hand curled into a fist and slid off the desk so he could press it to his mouth. Over his whitened knuckles, he stared at me with...what was that, worry?

No. He couldn’t be worried about my opinion. Surely not. I’d already told him I wasn’t going to rat him out.

“I assure you, there’s nothing to spill.” My voice was soft as if it wanted to reassure him. But I didn’t want to reassure him. Did I?

His throat worked as he swallowed. Then he dropped his hand, and his tongue gave a quick nervous lick over his lips.

“You—” Cutting himself off, he glanced down at his fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. With a soft, self-conscious laugh, he lifted his face only to glance to the side at one of my bookshelves. “You’re really not going to expose me? That’s just—” He turned back to me, his expression confused and yet hopeful. “You could’ve gotten rid of me for good.”

“Yes,” I said. “But I didn’t.”

He leaned toward me, his eyes seeking. “Why not?”

“I...I just told you why.”

His brows furrowed. “Because you were impressed by how well I’d fixed my essay? That’s all?”

Clearing my throat discreetly, I glanced away, wishing I didn’t feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. “Well...mostly,” I hedged my answer.

“Then why else?” His voice was compelling. I had to turn the tables on him before I blurted out something embarrassing.

“Why did you tell me something like that?” I charged right back, but I could see on his face exactly why. I’d read enough books about serial killers to know sometimes people just needed to confess what they’d done, to get all their secrets off their chest.

But why had Noel Gamble cleared his conscience to me?

Shaking his head, he sent me a look that told me clearly he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen me. “I don’t…” He closed his eyes. “You challenged me. You told me to find a correlation with someone in that book. And I did.”

I nodded, my head heavy from what was happening here, between us. “Yes, you most certainly did. And you handed me written proof that you cheated your way into this university.”

“And you gave that written proof back to me,” he countered, his voice low and blue eyes alert.

I had. I’d given it back without telling another soul what he’d written. “How much did you have your GPA doctored?”

He blew out a quick breath. “Four tenths of a percent. Just enough to get the scholarship.”

I believed him. I’d looked up his records to see he’d made it the minimum possible GPA to get a scholarship. He could’ve given himself a straight 4.0, but he’d kept it humbly low. For a cheater, he’d remained surprisingly honest.