The air whooshes straight out of my lungs at the implication. I can almost hear him.
You disobeyed me.
“Megan?” I look up to see Aileen standing next to me. “Where are you, woman? I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes straight and you were staring off into space.”
She follows my gaze, but it’s too late. He’s gone, sitting beside Lachlan and Tully. Leaving me to wonder if our exchange was merely a figment of my imagination or not.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say, with a wave of my hand, when my phone buzzes. I take a seat beside Aileen, and when she leans over to speak to Cormac, I sneak my phone out of my pocket.
Sir: You’re late.
I quickly type a reply.
Sorry about that, sir.
I look over my shoulder so no one notices my looking at him. I stifle a gasp when he gets to his feet. Is he coming over this way? But he doesn’t look at me as he walks toward Keenan.
Keenan hands him the stack of papers Caitlin brought down, and Carson stares down at them. I’m a little deflated. Did he forget about me that quickly?
Am I crazy?
Keenan says something to Carson, and Carson nods. His phone is in the palm of his hand. A second later, my phone buzzes again, and I glance at the screen.
You’ll be punished for that.
I feel my cheeks heat, and I shove my phone back in my pocket. I don’t reply. I wonder if he notices I’m blushing from where he stands.
“Scone?” Aileen says.
“Aye,” I say gratefully.
I need something to shove into my mouth before I say something stupid like spank me, sir, right out loud for the entire room to hear. I take two scones, slather butter on them, then shove one into my mouth before anyone can ask me to speak again. They’re rich and sweet, and the butter is creamy and delicious. I chase the scones with a hot cup of cream-laced tea and the glass of juice. I sigh, feeling better already.
“How was your night?” Aileen asks.
“Oh, fine,” I say, waving my hand nonchalantly.
“Did you go back with Carson, then?” she asks.
I look at her sharply, but she’s just buttering her own scone. She doesn’t look like she’s prying for information but just making small talk.
“How did you know that?” I ask. Her eyes widen when she looks at me.
“You sat with him at dinner and said you’d help with Breena.” She tips her head to the side, places the scone down on her plate, and a slow smile spreads across her face. “Why, Megan? You hiding something?”
I scoff. “Absolutely not,” I say. But I kind of wish I could tell her. Yes, yes I am. That man over there, he’s kind of like Superman. The studious professor’s only his cover. He’s hot, he’s dominant, he’s kinky as fuck.
“I need you to run these numbers immediately after breakfast,” Keenan’s saying to Carson. “Got it?”
Carson’s frowning at the pages in his hand. He nods. “Yes, of course,” he says. “Seems they’re mostly in order.”
God, what that man does to me with a scowl.
I eat another scone. I think I butter my fingers instead of the scone, but I’m not really aware of what I’m doing. Scones and butter don’t matter when my gaze is fixed on the dark, tattooed column of his neck. His dark eyes behind the shade of glasses. The way his lips turn down in a scowl, framed with a five o’clock, scruffy shadow. The way one unruly lock of dark brown hair falls onto his forehead. His powerful, masculine fingers. I remember what those felt like all over my body.
Maybe I’m a sapiosexual, I think to myself. Yes, that’s got to be it.
I remember having this conversation at uni with my friends.
I pull out my phone and google it.
Sapiosexual: sexually attracted to highly intelligent people
Yup. Who knew? There’s a whole line of girls who find intelligence sexually attractive, and until Carson, I had no idea I was one of those girls. No. Idea.
“You working today?” Aileen.
“Yeah. A double.”
She grimaces. “Sounds fun.”
“Aye,” I say with a sigh. I was eager to take those shifts. Double shifts pay time and a half, and I like earning my own money. But now that I’ve got something better to occupy my time, and weekend work fest doesn’t sound so fun.
“Morning, Megan.”
I look up to see Carson standing right next to me. He’s got the papers for Keenan tucked under his arm.
“Oh, hello there, Carson,” I say so loudly, I wonder if they’ve heard me over at Holy Family. My cheeks flush pink again, goddammit.
“You have a minute to talk?” he asks.
Aileen pauses, a forkful of smushed peaches on a little baby spoon hanging in mid-air.
“Aye,” I tell him. “Sure enough. When?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Right now.”