The Professor (Forbidden Encounters 1)

I can’t make out his expression in the dark, but I hear him sigh long and hard. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

We sit in silence for a while before he says, “So, I sort of kidnapped you. You can give me hell about it tomorrow. Please, just come inside. We don’t have to talk tonight if you don’t want to. You need to rest, you look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s what every woman wants to hear.”

I can’t see him all that well, but I can imagine that he’s smiling. With a resigned sigh, I mutter, “Fine.”

Bryce’s place isn’t the typical bachelor pad. The contemporary design of the place looks, expertly done. The two-story house boasts an immaculate front lawn from what I glimpse in the dark during the short walk to the porch. The neighbors’ houses are all a decent distance away. Bryce seems to love his privacy.

“I’ll show you to a guest room.”

My heart jolts at the thought of entering any bedroom with him. “No need. I can crash on the couch.”

He frowns. “I won’t allow it. Come on.”

Reluctantly, I follow. The thought of a bed is appealing after the day I’ve had. The guest room turns out to be almost as big as my entire house. “Thank you.”

“Take a warm shower and join me in the kitchen.”

“I really wish you’d stop ordering me around.”

“Fine. Join me in the kitchen after your shower, pretty please.” He’s obviously fighting back a smile, and I scowl at him. “Everything you need is the bathroom.”

Glaring daggers at his back as he saunters out, I let out a sigh. The second he’s gone, I let out a growl and drop to the nearest armchair. I don’t want to join him anywhere right now but there’s no avoiding the talk we have to have. Maybe it’s best to get it out of the way.

My steps into the kitchen are tentative as my eyes move over everything. The state of the art appliances are a dream. They call to my inner chef. “Your kitchen is nice,” I note.

Bryce is standing beside the stove with his back turned. It looks like he took the time to change into more comfortable clothing while I was in the shower. Hearing me, he turns around. He goes still, his eyes moving over me from head to toe. Self-consciously, I hold the lapels of the white robe I found together. He gestures to a chair at the granite-top island.

“Thanks. Have a seat. I’m boiling water for hot chocolate. That, I can do without disaster.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Is that the extent of your cooking abilities?”

He folds his arms, and frowns. “I’m afraid so. Well, I can empty the sachet of hot chocolate into the mug without incident too, but that’s about it.”

I giggle. He always makes me laugh...even when I don’t want to.

“You do like hot chocolate right?”

“I love it.”

Bryce shoves his fingers through his hair and exhales. He seems nervous, and I can’t imagine why. “Good. Feel better?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

I nod. The warm shower revived me a little. “Sure.”

The whistle of the kettle pierces the silence that falls over the room. Bryce busies himself making hot chocolate, and I gaze through the sliding glass doors. There are a few outside lights on, allowing me to see the backyard. The little I can see shows that the backyard is just as nice as the front. “You must love it here. Your neighbors are nowhere in sight.”

“That’s one of the reasons why I chose this place.” He places a steaming cup of chocolate in front of me. “Here you are. This is about all I can make you without risk of poison

ing you.”

I smile. “Thanks. Surely, you’re exaggerating about how much you suck at cooking.”

He shakes his head, expression solemn. “I’m afraid not. I really do suck. I barely know how to turn on the stove.”

“How do you survive?”

He rubs the back of his neck and gives me a sheepish grin. “I pay someone to cook for me.”