The Alpha Men's Secret Club 3: Fallout: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance (2 page)

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Dean Whitehouse
sat across from her at his large mahogany desk, cluttered with photos and awards and a laptop and files and everything else. Kate noted that the work space afforded to him was no larger than the size of a US letter. How did the man get any work done?

The Dean said
in a very concerned tone, as though he were speaking to a child, “Did he force you in any way?”

“No. No, he didn’t. Please . . . he didn’t do anything of that sort.” Kate had to try very hard to keep from stammering.
“In fact . . . I was the one who chased him. I . . . seduced him. He didn’t want to have anything to do with me until I made him.”

“Are you sure of this? You are very young, Ms. Penney.”

“I’m not. I’m at the age of legal consent . . . so it’s not as if he’s doing anything wrong. Please . . . can you reinstate him?”

“He was violating one of our campus rules. No fraternizing with any of the students.”

“Other campuses don’t have this rule.”

“Ours does, and Professor
O’Brien knew this when he applied to join us.”

“Yes, but
– ” Kate was desperate, and she didn’t know what to say. Rust O’Brien had broken a rule, and the penalty was dismissal. There is no way a court of law could overturn that. It was in his contract.

“Ms. Penney, I hope you will understand that you have violated a campus rule yourself. This wou
ld be a black mark against you, and if you accumulate three of these, disciplinary measures will be taken against you, which may include expulsion.” The Dean’s demeanor was very grave. “Do you understand, Ms. Penney?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.

“Good. You may return to class.”

She knew she should be relieved, but
she wasn’t, really. She knew she was being dismissed, and so she got up, slinging her bag across her shoulder.

“Ms. Penney?”

She turned.

“
Technically, you are free to continue your affair with Rust O’Brien now that he has been dismissed from this university. But I sincerely hope that you would think twice before you do so.”

Was ther
e no end to the obstacles strewn in their path?

“Why do you say that?”
she said.

The Dean’s blue eyes lighted upon hers.

“You are very young, Ms. Penney. You have your whole life ahead of you. You deserve someone who will cherish you, not use you as a plaything to be discarded when you have outlived your usefulness. Rust O’Brien is that someone, Ms. Penney. He won’t be the man that you will marry and have children with. He won’t even be someone you’ll wake up next to in half a year.”

She
winced, especially when he said ‘children’. She licked her lower lip. “What makes you so sure he’s what you say he is?”

“Because I know men like him.
He can only break your heart, Kate Penney. I’ve seen your grades. You’re a bright girl. You have a good future. Don’t mess it up over a man.” He eyed her meaningfully. “Do you understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Dean Whitehouse.”

“I hope I won’t be seeing you again in my office, Ms. Penney.”

“I hope not too, sir.”

She left, her cheeks flaming.

So she was free to continue her liaison with Rust now.

But at what price? And who would continue to pay for it?

*

She took a train to Rust’s penthouse and walked three blocks to Hartford Avenue, that swanky district which usually didn’t host the likes of her. Rust’s phone still went to Voicemail, but she had to see him – to find out if he was mad at her for whatever reason and how he was coping in general. This had to be tough for him. He was always so much in control, and a blow like this to his professional career had to hurt, no matter how stoic he seemed.

Her heart was bleeding for him
.
Rust, oh Rust
.
I love you so much that it literally hurts
. Whatever Dean Whitehouse had said about him rankled, and she shoved it out of her mind. They didn’t understand what Rust and she had. None of them understood.

She wasn’t even sure if Rust was home, but she had to try.

When she got to the apartment building, a small crowd of photographers and reporters were standing outside. The doorman was steadfastly refusing them entry. Kate’s heart sank. She had not expected this.

“We just want a statement,” said someone.

“Do you know who the young girl is?” Someone else hurled this at the doorman. “Is she under-aged?”

“Did Professor O’Brien act in any sinister fashion in all the years he has been staying here?”

Kate’s feet froze. She wondered if it was a good idea to be coming here at all. The doorman, Tim, saw her standing at the edges of the crowd, and waved her in.

“Excuse
me, please . . . you are blocking the way. We have residents waiting to come in.”

Kate was hesitant, but Tim nodded at her, as if to say, ‘It’ll be OK
. I’ll take care of you’. Her urgency to find out if Rust was OK overrode her instinct to flee from the ravenous reporters. So she weaved her way through the crowd. She could smell the blood lust, like the tang of iron in the air, as she made her way into the apartment building.

She wondered if Rust was upstairs, looking down at the mayhem.
She wondered too if he had seen her.

Tim said in a low voice, “Right this way, please.”

He ushered her to the penthouse elevator.

“I
s he in?”

“Yes. He returned a few
hours ago and barricaded himself inside. Just let me call him to tell him you’re here.”

“OK.” Her voice wavered. What if he didn’t want to see her? He had moods, she knew, and he had to be like a wounded tiger now, prowling around
and hurting.

Tim went to the reception, picked up the phone and punched in a number.
She stood there, aware that the reporters were still milled outside this private residence, afraid to step across the threshold for fear of prosecution. She could hear the phone on the other end ringing.

Tim clicked off.

“No answer.” He paused. “But he’s in there all right.”

“I see.” She licked her lips nervously. “C-could I go up anyway? I mean . . . I hope he’s OK.”

Tim eyed her, and then nodded. “I’ll show you up and you can ring the doorbell. But Ms. Penney? If he doesn’t want to answer . . . you have to leave him be. Some people just need to be alone when . . . you know.”

“Yes, I know. If he doesn’t want to answer, then
– ” She shrugged helplessly.

He led her to the private elevator for the penthouse. He swiped the card and pressed the top button.

“You go right in, Miss.”

“You won’t be coming up?”

“No.” He smiled ruefully. “He might be mad if I did. But . . . he won’t take it out on you. I hope.”

“OK.”

Now she was more nervous than she had a right to be. The trouble with having a lover as volatile as Rust was that she didn’t know what to expect. Everything could be calm on the surface at one instant, and then it would be a thunderstorm the next. It made their relationship wondrously exciting – like ‘living on tenterhooks’ exciting. But it was also scary.

For all she knew, he could be getting ready to dump her already. She cringed, picturing what he could be thinking:
Too much trouble. She’s already cost me my job. What else is she going to cost me?

“Good luck,” Tim said.

“Thanks.”

The elevator doors closed, and she was up. As the floors shot up on the indicator, her stomach grew tighter and her throat constricted.
She had never been so scared in a long, long time.
Oh God, I’m in this bad
.

The doors finally slid open, and she made herself walk out to the penthous
e she had become fairly acquainted with in a short period of time. She stopped in front of the imposing double doors. Should she ring the doorbell? Should she knock?

She stared at the door.

Come on, Kate, you have to get it over with.

She pressed the doorbell, feeling awkward as hell. She fully expected Rust to come to the door and tell her to ‘go away’.

But no one answered.

After a beat, she rang the doorbell again. She pressed her ear to the door to listen for sounds of footsteps.
When no one answered after a while, she became alarmed. After all, how much did she really know about Rust? Was he depressive? He was damaged, for sure, and very dominant. But how much of his actual psychological makeup did she really know? He wouldn’t want to hurt himself, would he?

“Rust?” she called in a frightened voice.

She knocked on the door.

“Rust?
It’s Kate. Are you OK?”

When still no one answered, she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, it opened.

She stepped in, feeling ill at ease.

“Rust?”

The hallway was not lighted. She closed the door lightly behind her and went in.

“Rust?
It’s me, Kate. I’ve come to see if you’re all right.”

Still no answer.
She was starting to get really worried now.

She opened the first door.
“Rust?”

There was no one. Where would he be?
Upstairs in his bedroom?

In panic, she bolted upstairs to Rust’s bedroom. She fully expected to see him
injured – maybe even dead in suicidal apathy.

But Rust wasn’t in his bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar and she heard the sound of
water taps running. She rushed in, only to find Rust in a bathtub with the water over-running and spilling to the floor. Rust was naked and his head was slumped against the bathtub’s marble wall.

“Rust!”

She sped to him. He was still breathing, though unaware. She shook his body and his head lolled.

“Rust?”

She caught sight of the
empty vodka bottle on the floor by the bathtub. So he had drunk himself into a stupor. Very smart. She was so glad he hadn’t completely passed out and sunk into the water, dousing his head. He could have drowned that way.

She grabbed his head.
“Rust. Wake up. Please.”

His breathing was steady, and for a while, she debated whether or not to call 911. Then his eyelids flickered and he
slowly opened his eyes.

“What’re you doing here?” His voice was slurred.

“Rust, you could have drowned. I’m going to get you out of here, but you’re heavy and you’ve got to help me.”

Not caring if she got wet, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tried to haul him up. She was right. He was deadweight.

“Please, Rust, can you try to stand?”

He groaned, but he did try to comply.
Together, with much effort, they made it out of the bathtub without either of them slipping and cracking their skull on the marble. He dripped water all over the tiles and onto the carpet as they went to his bed. She let him go and he fell onto the mattress with a thud.

I’m not going to be a nag
, she decided, though she was worried as hell. She swung his legs onto the bed and covered him up with his blanket. His still impressive cock was flaccid.

“Have you taken anything else?” she asked.
“Drugs? Medicine?”

He groaned again. “I had a headache, so maybe I took Tylenol. I’m not sure.”

“Well, don’t take anything else. I’m going to get you some water so you don’t get dehydrated.”

To her surprise, he didn’t say anything to stop her. So she went downstairs and took a flask of water. When she returned, he was
looking at her out of narrowed eyes.

“Drink this,” she said crisply.

She helped him sit up and dribbled water into his half-open mouth. He did not protest. Men. So the super-alpha Rust O’Brien liked being babied as well. When he had finished half the flask, he shook his head and leaned back into his pillow.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re OK. You had me worried for a sec.” Maybe more than a sec.

He reached for her hand and gripped it.
“I’ll be OK.”

“I’m sorry for what they did to you.” Her outrage
bubbled again to her throat. “I’ll bet it’s Carlo. I – ”

“It’s not Carlo. But I’ll reckon he put her up to it.”

“Who?”

He told her.
She listened, the dismay and rage sinking in.

“Fiona Montgomery?”
It was a knife in her chest. “But why?”

“Because I didn’t want to have sex with her.”
His green eyes held hers. “I won’t be blackmailed by anyone.”