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2

Jonathan

My chair tilts as I gaze from my office window to gaze out over the university campus where students walk between classes, chat in groups, or sun themselves on the grass. It’s a fine day, but it doesn’t match the storm inside me. A storm I don’t want. Or need.

Yet it still exists.

My gaze is trained on the view, but my every awareness is of the closed door behind me. More accurately, on the woman who will soon open it and step into my office. The space is far too constricted to allow for her presence.

And that is the problem.

I shouldn’t care that four walls are too close together. It shouldn’t enter my mind that a student has the power to change the air. Or that she’ll turn my sanctuary into a space I’ll want to lock us both within. A sanctuary no longer. A prison perhaps?

She’s a student. That is all. I see hundreds of young people in my office.

None affect me like her.

She’s different than all the other young women who have passed through my classes. Bright. Intelligent and so bloody beautiful it almost hurts. I shouldn’t notice how her brown eyes are flecked with gold, her long hair is the color of coffee or the way her lips look like they’d be soft against my own.

But I do.

I notice. Every little thing about her.

The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. A mixture of longing, sadness and something I can’t quite put my finger on before she catches herself and a blank expression takes over.

I’ve been around long enough to know when a smile is forced and a laugh is fake, and there’s something about her that isn’t quite right. I want to know what it is, but I can’t ask. I can’t get involved. I won’t.

One mistake per lifetime is enough. Cathy—Miss Evans—is a student.

Period.

I’ll keep my distance. Keep my thoughts to myself. As well as my hands. Even when my soul pulls toward her whenever she’s close.

I pull up her file on my computer. Her grades are exceptional, better than any of the students in her class. She displays a natural affinity for understanding complex business theories beyond that of other students. The type of understanding usually only gained through a lifetime of experience. The type that doesn’t make sense given she doesn’t mix with other students, nor is she old enough to have practical exposure to those theories.

She’s not part of a sorority and, as far as I can tell, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s not like other students. She’s not like any other student at all. And that’s the problem.

She’s an enigma and I want to figure her out.

I close her file and set my computer to sleep. I’m not proud of the way I’m feeling. I should be able to control my feelings, but the more I’m around her, the more I understand my control is a thin veneer. I can’t let her affect me.

A tentative knock sounds and my heart stutters. Knock it off. You have enough problems to contend with. No need to suck an innocent into your world.

I clear my throat. “Enter.”

The door to my office opens and she walks in. Her perfume teases my nose, and I close my eyes, willing my body not to respond. I stand behind my desk, making sure that the wood is a barrier between us.

She clasps her laptop to her chest and offers a tentative smile. “Professor Black.”

I hold out my hand and she shakes it. God, her touch is like a bolt straight to my balls. I sit before she notices the tightness in my crotch and indicate the visitor’s chair. “Miss Evans. Please, take a seat.”

She slides into the chair. My gaze doesn’t move off her. Not even when I try to pull it away. Her eyes drift over the items I have on display. They stop at a picture of me hanging out with friends at a sailing convention when I was younger, and a flash of what looks like longing crosses her face before it’s hidden behind her enigmatic eyes. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

“No need to thank me for doing my job,” I say.

Her expression falters at my tone. I’m being an ass, but I need to let my words build a wall between us. I need to distance myself if I have any hope of making her look at me.

She places the laptop on my desk and tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear, giving me a clear view of her smooth cheek. She always covers her face with her hair, as though she has a disfigurement she’s trying to hide, but all I see is perfection.

“How can I help you?” I prompt. My dick is swelling simply because of her presence, and I need to do anything to conclude this meeting as soon as possible.

Her gaze flicks to mine and the color in her cheeks darkens. Stunning. “The business analytics assignment. I wanted to ask you about it.”

The subject of business analytics should kill the arousal flooding my system, but it doesn’t because she’s a perfect combination of beauty and brains. Fucking hot.

And off limits.

Not only because she’s a student and I’m her goddamned professor, as though that wasn’t enough, but she’s also exactly sixteen years my junior. Of all the reasons to stop obsessing over her, that is the biggest.

“Of course.” I lean back in my chair, trying to put some distance between us. Mentally, emotionally, physically. It doesn’t work, because she fills every inch of space, every corner of my mind. “What do you need help with?”

She shifts in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. “I wanted to ask you more about section two. Applied econometrics. How far would you like me to delve into key economic issues?”

My gaze roams her face. There’s a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “You and your work partners could study the impacts of monetary policy and labor markets. Or you could debate the merits and drawbacks of various forms of economic intervention.”

She sucks her delectable, plump bottom lip between her teeth, seeming unsure. I need to adjust the way I sit and hope to hell she doesn’t notice my dick swelling against my zipper.

What is it about this woman that makes me react so easily? So viscerally?

I force my brain back into gear and answer her question. “I would like you to critique one area to show me that you understand that topic. Show me a case study, an historical event of a current economic view. The idea is to demonstrate your understanding to me. Not run a billion dollar business.”

Her gaze catches on my desk before she nods in a decisive way. “I can do all of that.”

Something doesn’t sit right. It sounds as though she’s taken my words literally but I don’t understand why. “If your work partners on this assignment aren’t dividing the work up equally, you can tell me, Miss Evans.”

“Oh. I don’t have work partners. I decided to do this assignment on my own,” she says.

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