Spice (6 page)

Siobhan obliged, and Nadia sent the image to Kane along with a text.
Thank you. The flowers are beautiful.

She received a quick reply.
Not as beautiful as you.

It was a cheesy line, but it still made her grin like an idiot.
Very smooth, Professor.

I have my moments. How are you today?

There was only one word she could use.
Amazing
.

Are you ready for more?

Was she?
Absolutely.

It seemed like an eternity before she received his reply.
I'll be at your place by five with dinner. Be ready for me.

They were just words on her phone screen, but they caused her stomach to clench in anticipation. She could easily imagine the sensual command in his tone and the sinful light in his eyes as he'd typed out his response, could imagine it so clearly that her nipples tightened.
Yes, sir.

Naughty. Now I have to lecture my class sporting a boner. Think about how you'll pay for that while I figure out a way to speed up time. See you soon.

“You should see your face right now,” Siobhan teased. “You're blushing. Whatever he's doing for you, he'd better keep doing it or he'll have to answer to me.”

“I'll tell him that.” Nadia sighed as she slipped her phone into her back pocket then met Siobhan's knowing grin with one of her own. “When I see him tonight. We're meeting at five.”

Siobhan swatted her. “No wonder you're grinning like the Cheshire Cat. If you're that excited to see him again, I'd say the fireworks have nothing to do with a sex drought and everything to do with the sparks you two throw off.”

Nadia raised a brow. “How do you know we throw off sparks?”

“Girl, please.” Siobhan rolled her eyes. “I may be an old mother hen, but my eyes work just fine. A person would have to be in a coma to miss the sexual tension you two gave off yesterday. Or how you're reacting to his texts today.”

The blonde woman placed a hand on Nadia's shoulder. “I'm happy for you, Nadia. I'm proud of you too. You've come a long way from the day I met you, working hard and staying clean, making sure I do the same. You're doing great and you deserve some fun. You deserve this. Let yourself enjoy it.”

Moved, Nadia mirrored Siobhan's gesture, resting her forehead against the other woman's bright bangs. They'd been through so much together since they'd met in rehab in Los Angeles. To Nadia, the older woman was more than her partner. Siobhan was her best friend, the sister she'd never had. Siobhan had her back like family did, or in Siobhan's opinion, better than family, and Nadia trusted her implicitly.

“Thanks, Sugar,” Nadia said, giving the other woman a hug. “I promise to enjoy myself.”

“Good.” Siobhan stepped back, giving her a watery smile. “Speaking of Sugar, you should tell Kane about the show and invite him to come with you this Friday.”

Nadia stared. “Invite Kane. To your burlesque show. On a date?”

“Yes, a date. You know, like the one you went on last night.”

“That was different!”

Siobhan frowned. “How is that different?”

“That was me with him at dinner. This is your show. All of our friends will be there!”

“Are you saying that Kane's not your friend? With some very spectacular benefits?”

“No, I'm not saying that, but—”

“Are you ashamed of our friends?”

“Of course not!”

“Then I don't get it. What's the problem?”

Nadia blew out a breath. She couldn't explain it without sounding silly. Siobhan performed as Sugar Malloy with a burlesque troupe known as the Crimson Bay Bombshells. Show nights were an excuse to dress up and hang out with their expanded circle of friends. It was their prime opportunity to let loose and have fun before diving back into the workweek.

To invite Kane into the raucous madness that was Friday night mayhem invited a level of intimacy that Nadia wasn't sure she was ready for. That was the silly part. She'd left her thong on the man's gearshift, rode his hand while in an elevator, and had him bend her over a sofa. They were intimate up to their eyeballs. But Nadia's life worked because she kept it compartmentalized, and she didn't see a reason not to compartmentalize the sex. She'd already crossed a mental line by accepting a date from a customer. To take that customer-turned-lover and drop him into the den of iniquity that was her friends? She didn't think she could do that to the guy.

“Turn our friends loose on Kane?” she asked with a laugh. “You want to end this thing before it has a chance to get started?”

“It won't be that bad. Besides, I have a feeling your professor can hold his own with our group.”

Her professor. Nadia wasn't sure if she was ready to claim him as hers or not. One date and multiple orgasms didn't mean she had any rights to him, did it? Maybe it did, but her stint in LA and in rehab had skewed her perspective on what normal people did when it came to sex and relationships. One night and this was already more complicated than she'd expected or wanted it to be.

Siobhan flicked her ear. “Ow! What was that for?”

Her partner was unapologetic. “You promised to have fun and enjoy yourself with the professor, remember?”

“All right! We'll see how things go. If it works out, I'll ask him about Friday. I make no promises, though.”

Nadia decided to place the flowers in a prominent but safe spot near the register until she left for the day, liking the way the arrangement brightened the area. This didn't have to be complicated. All she had to do was make her mind follow her body and remain focused on the sexual fireworks. Complicated always led to trouble, and trouble led to a crash and burn. She definitely didn't need another episode like that in her life.

“S
ullivan. May I have a word?”

Kane smothered a groan. No, he didn't have time, but no one refused a request from Dr. Theodore Marshall, the department head. So he pasted on a professional smile and followed the older man into his spacious and cluttered office instead of heading toward the exit as he wanted.

Once inside, he cut to the chase. “What can I do for you, Dr. Marshall?”

Marshall glanced at him over his silver-framed glasses as only a department head could do. Through Herscher University was on the forefront as a progressive liberal arts college, it was also a top-notch research institution that thrived on grants from the government and private think tanks alike. More than likely, Dr. Marshall wanted to talk to him about money, which meant entertaining alumni with deep pockets.

“Have a seat, Professor Sullivan,” Marshall said, gesturing to one of the overstuffed oxblood chairs that fronted his ornate desk. “Let's have a little chat.”

Great. Kane hid a grimace as he took a seat. Marshall saw himself as the benevolent despot and the chats as a way to come off as being engaged with faculty instead of bossy or nosy. He also liked to hear himself talk.

This was going to take time, time Kane didn't have. Nadia was waiting for him, waiting for more of the explosive pleasure they'd had the night before, and he was determined to give it to her. That meant cutting through Marshall's bullshit as quickly as possible and getting the hell out of Prentiss Hall.

The department head was pushing seventy and two hundred and eighty pounds. Evidence remained that his girth had been mostly muscle at one time, but those days were long gone. His shock of silver hair had been brown at one time, if you took the twin caterpillars over his pale gray eyes as indication. Dr. Marshall had the appearance and temperament of a constipated shih tzu.

“I'll get down to brass tacks, Professor,” the department head said. “I'm sure you're aware that you have a certain moniker as well as a less than savory reputation among the student body.”

This again. Kane hid his anger by taking his time adjusting his glasses. “I'm sure you're aware that I neither condone nor encourage either.”

“Yet rumors persist.”

“I wonder why,” Kane murmured. “I also wonder who manages the care and feeding of those rumors, when I certainly do not.” Marshall didn't talk to students if he could help it. He dealt with the faculty. Kane believed someone on staff kept circulating baseless tales about him. He even had two good candidates in mind, neither of whom would weep tears over his departure.

Watery eyes regarded him. “While your expertise and fame garners a great deal of positive attention for our school as a whole and this department in particular, your on-campus reputation is becoming a deterrent.”

Kane exhaled slowly, keeping his expression impassive with an effort. He was the maligned party, but Marshall would take any display of anger as a sign of weakness. “I'll remind you that I've never once encouraged the attention of any of my students outside of the classroom. I keep my door open when I counsel students and have one of the graduate assistants sit in on some of the more fraught sessions. I even inform students that they're being recorded. All of these are measures that you yourself signed off on.”

He wasn't stupid, and all it would take was one questionable photo posted to a social media site to torpedo his campus career. So he went to extremes and did everything possible to protect himself and still be available for his students and leave his detractors without ammunition.

If there was any sort of black mark against him, it was the six-month relationship he'd had with an adjunct professor in Continuing Studies. That had ended a year ago, not well, but it hadn't been a scandal either. Now he had a new relationship he wanted to focus on, if only Dr. Marshall would
get to the fucking point
.

“You asked to speak to me, yet you've only rehashed old issues that I thought long handled.” Kane sat back in the chair, his posture displaying a relaxation he didn't feel. “Am I to assume you have some sage advice you wish to impart? Our normal chat isn't scheduled until next week.” And I really hope I'm called for a consulting case then.

“Indeed I do.” Marshall sat forward, some of the harshness leaving his expression. “Listen, son, I know this isn't easy for you, just as I know it isn't fair. I do think, however, that your looks combined with your charm and your continued bachelorhood means that you will always be a prize that the student body will want to claim.”

Kane blinked, thrown by the change in demeanor as much as by Marshall's words. Maybe the department head really was concerned with more than listening to himself speak. Kane knew that his persistent single state didn't help to staunch the rumors or advance his quest for tenure, but he didn't think Marshall was concerned one way or the other.

“Are you saying that you want me to get married?” He should have been surprised, but he wasn't. At thirty-seven, he'd never been married, a fact that sent his mother into wails of despair. His focus on his career had dominated his life since college, leaving little time for more than casual relationships.

Truth be told, he hadn't found anyone who had made him think long term, and he was okay with that even if most people weren't. Marriage was still the preferred default state for adults in the United States. Who cared that wedded bliss had a fifty percent success rate? If you weren't married, engaged, or in the process of ending a marriage, people thought something was wrong with you.

“I'm saying that you need to take more concrete steps to protect your career,” Marshall said, his tone and expression kind. “Right now you're like forbidden fruit, and sometimes our students display a decided lack of self-control. You need to do something to make that fruit less attractive.”

Kane barked out a laugh. The situation, the conversation, all of it, was just too ludicrous to be believed. “So in order to keep my job as a professor here at Herscher, I need to get married. Is that what you're advising me to do, Dr. Marshall? I want to make sure I understand where the department head stands on this.”

“Professor Sullivan!” Marshall boomed out, his jowls actually trembling with righteous indignation and the volume of his words. When Kane just stared silently at him, the older man blew out a breath and settled back into his chair. “Professor Sullivan,” he said again, “I'm not issuing a directive for you to get married. That violates all manner of rules, and as I never saw fit to enter the state of matrimony myself, I can't say that I recommend it. However, whether you believe me or not, I do have your best interests at heart.”

“And the best interests of the department,” Kane pointed out.

Marshall didn't bother to deny it. “Yes, the success and reputation of our department are important to me. So is its future. I want to make sure it's in good hands when I'm gone.”

Ah, the dangling of the tenure carrot. “Of course,” Kane said, because it was the only appropriate thing he could say.

“The dean appreciates the exposure your skills and expertise have given to Herscher,” Marshall continued. “Your journal papers and books have made the national spotlight. We know how much of an asset you are to the college.”

But
 . . . Kane mentally prodded.

“You wouldn't want any hint of impropriety, no matter how unfounded, to come to the dean's attention. There is a code of conduct we must all adhere to, and I would hate for the president of the board of regents to believe your potential liabilities outweigh the benefits of having you on staff here.”

“I understand.” He did. Despite all he'd done for the school, all the positive attention and donations, the seminars and conferences and influx of students, it was not good enough. His position was still tenuous and dependent on things beyond his control, and he fucking hated it.

He rose. “If that will be all, I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Just one more thing, Sullivan.” The corpulent department head rose from his chair like a ship breaking a wave. “The department meet and greet for our benefactors is coming up soon. The president and members of the board will be attending. If you could bring a date with you, not only would that be a refreshing change, but it would be sure to alleviate some of the negative speculation that's aimed your way.”

The department meet and greet. Part of the political posturing that was a necessary evil of teaching at the university level. Most of the time he didn't attend, using his consulting work as the perfect excuse not to participate in the song and dance. He doubted if Marshall or Dean Lansing would accept an excuse this time around.

Kane nodded at Marshall. “I'll see what I can do. Have a good evening, sir.”

He left Marshall's office, then quickly made his way out of Prentiss Hall and into the crisp pre-spring air. Breathing deeply several times, he pushed away the anger that had bubbled up while he'd been pressured by the department head like a middle-school student called to the principal's office.

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he made his way across the quad to the faculty parking lot. As much as he disliked the cronyism and pandering necessary for being part of college-level faculty, he loved teaching and his chosen field of study. It gave him a great deal of pleasure to engage and challenge his students, to expand their worldviews and their attitudes while exposing them to other social constructs and points of view. He thought he was making a difference in his own small way, but if the dean and president didn't think so, he had to consider other options.

He made his way to his car and put Herscher in his rearview, his mind whirling with possibilities. He could quit teaching altogether and go full-time as a consultant, hiring his skills and expertise out to law enforcement on a local and federal level. It was important work but some of the cases he'd worked on took their toll, leaving him mentally and emotionally drained and unfit for company. Being exposed to the ugly side of sexual deviancy wasn't something he enjoyed no matter how necessary it was, and he admired the men and women in law enforcement who saw it as their daily duty. If things went south at Herscher, he'd have to consider it.

He could also write full-time. With three nonfiction works to his name and the seeds to a fictional crime series sketched out, it was a definite possibility. He also had a decent nest egg that would enable him to take the time to do it right. The thought of leaving the college didn't sit well with him, though. He enjoyed the school, the students, and the eclectic little town that surrounded them. He didn't want to leave it.

Yet if he gave any credence to Marshall, and he had no reason not to, his only option for staying and gaining tenure was to make the traditionalists happy and his students miserable by becoming very obviously and publicly off-limits.

Nadia's beautiful face surfaced in his thoughts. He rejected the idea before it could form. There was no way in hell he'd marry Nadia, or anyone else for that matter, just to stay on at the college. She'd laugh him out of the café for even broaching the subject,
after
she kicked him in the gonads.

A few miles north of the college, he turned his car onto Bay View Terrace. The sun had begun its downward slant into the bay in a spectacular show of color that had given the town its name. His spacious condo had a commanding view of the bay, and he wondered what it would be like to have Nadia standing on the balcony wrapped in nothing but the light of the setting sun like a fire goddess.

Nadia. Just thinking about her lightened his mood and made him hard. She consumed his thoughts, fractured his concentration, occupied his mind, and filled his memory, taking up permanent residence in his psyche. Their night had more than lived up to his expectations. The pic she'd sent of her with the flowers was now the unlocked background on his phone. He knew he was acting like a horny teen with his first crush, but after one explosive night, he was hooked and ready for more.

He'd already thought of her as sexy and sweet. He'd had a couple of weeks of watching her interact with customers, employees, and friends. Her sarcastic wit, ready laugh, and obvious compassion had won him over just as surely as her sticky buns had.

After parking, he quickly made his way up to his condo. Marshall's lecture had put him behind schedule. He didn't know the ins and outs of running a bakery, but he figured Nadia had to get up early, way before sunrise. The last thing he wanted to do was inconvenience her or make her think she couldn't fit him into her life.

He rushed through a shower, then pulled on loose-fitting gray trousers and a black sweater. Before heading out, he stopped in his office, the three-dimensional representation of his brain, the room he retired to in order to write, to think, to dive deep into the criminal mind to create psychological profiles. He grinned as he spotted his copies of
The Perfumed Garden
, the early French, the Kama Shastra Society's translation, and a later, more accurate English translation. He was looking forward to trying out all the positions with Nadia, discovering her favorites. Discovering her.