The Professor (Forbidden Encounters 1)

No. It can’t be because the world cannot be that small and hate me so much.

No fucking way!

Have I thought about Bryce and our kiss so much that I’m hallucinating? There’s no way he’s standing at the front of the room, facing the class right now. I blink several times.

“Good morning, fresh young minds.” He grins.

There’s no mistaking that smooth baritone or the charming, panty-dropping smile.

“Good morning, Professor Marshall,” comes the chorused reply. The first three rows are lined with females, and I swear I hear a rush of sighs.

I nearly keel over from pure shock. How is this possible? Of all the men I could have met in Cancun, lied to, and kissed, it had to be my college professor. I glance upward and glare.

Hilarious, I throw at the big guy upstairs.

Sinking lower in my chair, I eye the door with longing. If I try to leave, he’ll see me for sure. While my heart gallops, Professor Marshall...Bryce, introduces himself to his new students. He starts his lecture, and his eyes move around the room. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. Maybe he forgot about me. Why would he remember some random girl he kissed on the beach? Look at him, he must have women throwing themselves at him daily. I’m expecting at least one of the female students in the front row to do just that. They’re practically salivating. Savages.

I peep at him, praying that I look different enough for him not to recognize me. I’m still wearing the horrendous beanie. That should throw him off. I can’t focus on a thing he’s saying. All I can think about is that night in the water, in his arms. Our bodies pressed together, his mouth exploring mine.

Oh God.

The first thing I’m doing after this is dropping his class.

Chapter Two

Bryce

A new semester and fresh faces. I love my job. It’s my second year at St. Jacobs teaching economics. Almost everyone I know thinks I’m crazy for working. Funny, right? I mean, working is a part of life. It’s just that it doesn’t have to be a part of mine. As the mayor’s son and a trust fund kid, I have the option of being at home, lounging by the heated inside pool on this cold winter’s day. I can even be on some island paradise sipping cocktails. Whatever rich folks do with their lives. But I’m here in a classroom and I’m happy.

It’s the end of my class and students are slowly filing out. I try to take in every face as they leave. There’s a mixture of returning and new faces. There was this one student sitting in the middle row that kept ducking every time I looked her way. It was hard not to notice, and I was a little amused. I did get a quick glimpse of her at one point though and almost lost my trail of thought.

For a moment, I thought it was the woman that has been haunting my dreams? in a good way? for the last week. As much as I’ve tried, I can’t shake thoughts of Jessica. I’ve never felt such a connection with anyone before. Such an instant attraction. I’d walked away that night, leaving things at only a kiss because I’d been too shaken by my reaction to her.

Shoving my laptop and everything else into my bag, I still scan the faces heading for the door, still searching for the girl with the brown beanie. I spot her scurrying like mad for the exit. I frown. Wait a minute…

“Hey! Jessica?”

It can’t be. She said she lives in Las Vegas. Then again, we get plenty of students from out of state. A bubble of hope rises in my chest but quickly deflates. No, if it is her, she can’t be my student. Educators and students are a big no-no.

She freezes and glances over her shoulder.

I’m practically hit in the chest with the force of shock.

Fuck me.

It is her. The same petite frame only now she’s not wearing a skimpy two piece. It’s the same sweet, heart-shaped, innocent face, tilted blue eyes and pouty lips that have been wakening me up in the middle of the night, harder than steel. Lips that I know to be incredibly soft and delicious. Her eyes widen and she takes off again, up the stairs and towards the back exit.

“Wait.” A few other students look my way and I growl. “Damn it.” Grabbing my bag, I take off after her. My shock is replaced with confusion. Why is she running? She looked terrified just now. I try to make chasing down a student look as little conspicuous as possible. It’s a pretty hard task.

When I catch up to her, I grab her elbow without thought. She wheels around, still wearing the terrified expression. Remembering where I am, I let go of her and take a quick look around. Luckily, no one seems to notice us. We stare at each for a while. I search her face, drinking her in. All I can see is us in the water, her arms around my neck, her breasts crushed against my chest, us devouring each other in a heated kiss. My jaw clenches, recalling the intense craving I’d had to take more. I didn’t know the extent of my self-control until that night on the beach.

“Jesus, you’re my student,” is the first thing I utter.

Her face flushes a pretty pink and her gaze drops. This is just too much of a coincidence.

Studying her with suspicion, I ask, “You’re not from Las Vegas, are you?”

I’m hit with that familiar jolt of attraction when her eyes meet mine. It’s even more disturbing this time because I’m her freaking professor.