Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (159 page)

“Ah,” he says, stretching his hands above him to hang off the doorframe. “There’s quite a lot of you here.” He scratches his head, momentarily puzzled. Or maybe it’s all just an act. The eccentric professor and all that. “I take it you’ve come to see me?”

There’s a playful quality in his voice. As the girls start gushing that,
”Oh, yes! We’re here for you
!”

He smiles in a very satisfied way, twists sideways, and beckons us all inside. “Come in, then,”

There’s a stir of excitement as everyone files through the doorway. Professor Landon watches as they pass. Summer and I are among the last in line.

I start panicking, worrying about what he’ll do when he sees me… But my fears are allayed when he gives a bored yawn and walks inside midway through the procession.

His office is
huge.
But, it seems tight and claustrophobic with so many students here.

Everyone is talking and chattering amongst themselves. I hear more than a few remarks about the girl who just left.

Professor Landon’s desk, which stands right in front of a gorgeous panel of Gothic windows, is as gaudy as anything I’ve ever seen. It takes up the space of three or four regular sized desks, for one. But, there are also intricate designs and precious stones embedded in the wood. I don’t think it’s from this century--or from one previous. It looks like something pulled out of a king’s hall in the Middle Ages and meticulously restored.

My conviction is reinforced when I glance around the remainder of the office. There are paintings and murals on the walls depicting medieval battles and such. There’s even a suit of armor clutching a long-sword that still looks sharp!

“What else does this guy teach?” I ask Summer. “Aside from literature?”

She shushes me with a hand instead of answering as Professor Landon climbs onto his desk and raises his arms.

A hush falls over the crowd. I look around at the adoring faces and then bend my knees a little so that, hopefully, I’m less likely to stand out.

“Thank you all,” he begins, with a little wink and a sway, “for allowing me to shelter you in these prestigious quarters.” He turns to the side and paces his desk. “Unfortunately,” he continues, “I am not the man you came here to see.
He
—” he turns around and walks the other way, “has been left behind in the faculty club this morning. So if you came here to discuss his books,
my
books, I’m afraid you will leave disappointed.”

He raises a solitary finger in the air. “But! If you came to get to know the man behind the pages, to see, for yourself, who I really am…” he hops down and swings his legs over the front, “…you’ve got yourselves half an hour of my undivided, and very purposeful,
attention.
”

He looks around the room. “Aaaand go.”

Dozens of voices explode at once. It’s mayhem. Complete pandemonium. I’ve never seen anything like it—not in a college setting. This is like the reception warranted by a rock star or something.

He fields the queries with a smile on his face and a nonchalant ease. He’s used to this. In fact, he seems to thrive on all the female attention. Most of these hare-brained dimwits seem to have completely forgotten he was in here, fucking one of their colleagues, just minutes ago…

Summer grabs my hand and tries to drag me to the front of the throng, but I fight her every inch of the way. What would he think of me if he sees me
here
, pining after him, just one in a legion of his fans… especially after our brief moment in class this morning? And, no thank you, no matter how hot he is, I refuse to be associated with any of these randoms.

Just then, he seems to notice his shirt’s crooked. He frowns, looking down, and right there, on the spot—mid-sentence!—starts unbuttoning the shirt, casually, nonchalantly, almost all the way down to his navel before righting the initial mistake and buttoning back up.

Of course the process reveals more than just a
glimpse
of his perfect chest and chiseled abs. It’s all such a parody: a professor, so young, with a body like that, clearly having no qualms about taking advantage of his legion of students doubling as doting fans.

And whilst the other girls around me swoon, that tiny peek is enough for my mind to rocket back to that amazing night on his yacht. I
touched
those pecs. I
licked
those abs. I bit those nipples, scratched down his shoulders, felt his arms, felt his
cock
…

“Ms. Adams?”

I start and look up. He’s called my name.

How the hell does he know my name?

I look at him, dazed, kind of awe-struck, and totally thrown off by his singling me out. I feel the crowd around me give way, leaving me and Summer right in the middle of a clearing.

“He
knows
you?” Summer hisses.

All I can do is shake my head and mutter a muted, “We’ve met.”

The other girls are staring. None of
them
has been distinguished like this. None of
them
has been called by name. And while I rack my brain, which for all it’s worth feels about as capable of granting me real words to use as a half-dozen egg omelet, I can feel
his
eyes on me.

Not the eyes of the professor. Not even the eyes of the primal male basking in all the attention.

No, I feel his eyes on me like those of a real lover, and one who’s explored every inch, every curve, every square centimeter of my body.

In fact, that’s not all that far from the truth.

“I make a point of matching my students’ faces with their names the day I get my enrolment list,” he continues breezily, rolling his head side-to-side with a casual, almost bored sort of air. “Ms. Robertson, Ms. Voracek, Ms. Greene,” he rambles off, pointing at three girls at random in the crowd. A succession of awed murmurs fills the air. To demonstrate his prowess, he leaps off the table and lists the names of those nearest. “Ms. Gagner, Ms. Brodie, Ms. Williams. Unless I miss my mark…?”

There’s a coy glimmer in his eye as he waits for the scale of his feat to set in. Not one of the girls pointed out corrects him. He’s six-for-six.

Well, seven, including me.

“So!” he says, clapping his hands over his head twice. “That’s all the time for office hours, unfortunately. You can come back next week, and I’ll be right here.” He pauses. Nobody moves. He waits, leans back against his desk. Still nobody moves. Then, exasperated, he says, “Go on, then. Scatter!”

And like a general commanding an army, on his final word, everyone starts to file out.

I start to turn, too, but he stops me with his voice. “Except you, Ms. Adams,” he says softly. I freeze. Summer looks at me and her eyes nearly bulge out. “I’d like to have a word with you.” He looks at Summer. “
Alone
,” he adds.

She gives me the most incredulous look I’ve ever seen, as well as a whispered promise of, “You’re explaining this the minute you get home, you hear?”

And then she leaves me, her book left unsigned. The final student exits the door, and I find myself alone with…

Him.

7.

The door closes with a rattling tremor. The vibration seems to disrupt the very nature of the room.

I can
feel
his eyes on me, burning a hole through the back of my head. At least he’s no mind reader. If he had any idea of the thoughts running through my brain… boy, would I be in trouble with him.

“Celeste.”

He says my name softly. Tenderly. So smoothly it’s almost a whisper.

It’s the exact tone of voice he used with me that night.

But our places have changed. It’s not appropriate here! He’s my professor. I’m his student. That’s all it is now, all it can ever be.

I turn my head first. My body follows. The professor—whose first name I still don’t know—stands leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are still that clear, perfect green from my dreams.

He offers a wry smile. “You know,” he says, pushing off his desk and walking toward me, “I was hoping I would see you again. And when I got my class list, well…” he steps around me, brushing my hair aside as he does, trailing a finger over my exposed neck while I stand stiff as a statue. “…I was assured.”

His hands move down my body and come to rest on my waist. I can’t deny the little thrill that shoots through me as he does it. For a split second, I close my eyes and nearly lean into him—before my conscious mind snaps to attention.

I step back, harshly. I remember the girl he just fucked in here. I’m not about to be his sloppy seconds.

I turn on him and cross my arms, in part mimicking his original posture, but in larger part trying to cover up my hard nipples. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I say, as those are the first words that come to mind.

He chuckles softly and spreads his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Can I help who I am?” he asks me.

“And who are you, then?” I challenge. “I remember you said something along the same lines on your boat.”

“A
boat
.” He smirks. “You say it like that and make it sound no different than a floating barge.”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He tsks and steps toward me. “So standoffish,” he murmurs. “Almost as if I did something wrong.”

“Yeah, well maybe next time you’ll think twice about fucking one of your students during office hours.”

His eyebrows go up. He seems genuinely surprised. “That’s what has you so upset, Celeste? I didn’t know we were exclusive.”

“WE?” I shake my head. “No, no. There is no ‘we’ professor.”

“And why not?” He stops just a foot or two before me. His eyes pierce into me, and shine with a vibrant intensity. He lowers his voice. “I want you. You want me. It is a perfect match.”

“Again, you’re assuming,” I say, trying to fight the flush of arousal that arose when he said he wanted me.

“Am I?” he asks. He steps closer. Just like on the yacht. He triangulates between my left eye, my right eye, and my mouth. His tongue comes out and wets his lips. “I can see it in your expression. In the way you hold yourself. So tense, and yet… so fragile.” He reaches up and touches my lips. This is way too intimate. But with no one else in his office, do I really care? Do I really want him to stop?

“This act of yours,” he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper, “makes me very, very sad. You shouldn’t try to fight what you feel. This bit of resistance, token or not, is a crude cover for your true emotions.” His fingers move down my chin, down my neck, and stop right at my clavicle. He turns his hand and runs it down the side of my arm. “Don’t fight, Celeste. I’ve already seen you. I’ve already made you come. And I—” suddenly his hand rips to the back of my head, and bunches my hair in a fist, “—fantasize—” he steps into me so our hips are touching and his mouth is right on my ear, “—about doing it again.”

Oh God!
This is way too intense. Way too fast! My legs can barely hold me. I’m already turned on out of my mind. But I’m not just going to give in to my desires. Not when he was busy screwing another one of his students, probably on this very desk, half an hour ago!

In my fantasy… yes, in my fantasy, he would tear down my dress and fuck me raw against this table. His tongue would lash out, and he would make me come with his mouth alone. His cock would fill me to the brim, and he would rage against me, the sounds of our bodies colliding music to my ears…

But alas, there is a difference between fantasy and reality. In the safety of my mind, all those things can occur.

Yet, I would never,
ever
let him do that in real life.

Some secrets are meant to be kept.

So I brush away, twist my body, and turn back. Never mind the overwhelming need pooling between my legs. There are clear lines to be drawn and boundaries to respect!

Give him credit, though. He doesn’t rush after me. He simply turns his head, directs those penetrating, green eyes at me, and looks—of all things—
amused
.

His lips quirk. He doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

My mind is racing; my body’s on fire. From his proximity, from his words. The silence stretches, until I can’t take it anymore.

“This is crazy!” I blurt out. I’m very obviously flustered. My words come in a rush. My cheeks are hot, and I am breathing fast. “You’re my professor! And you want… you want…”

“
You
,” he finishes on a snarl. “But now you’re getting uncomfortable. Why is that, Celeste? What can I do to put your mind at ease?” He walks around his desk and opens a drawer. He takes out a bottle of scotch. “A drink? Some reassuring words? Or maybe, just maybe…” his eyes bore into me, “…a quick and dirty fuck?”

“There are sexual assault laws, you know,” I tell him, my mind grasping for straws. “Rights against sexual harassment here at the university. It said so in the guide book!”

He laughs and then pours himself a drink. His eyes dance. Damn it! This is nothing more than a game to him. Seduce the unsuspecting student…

Except, the initial seduction was done weeks ago.

“‘The guide book,' ” he quotes, making no effort to hide his disdain. “Do you really think a few passages in some tattered, old book written by the administrative board will have any bearing on what I do?”

He tips the scotch back and sets the glass down on the table. His fingers trail the rim. “No, Celeste. You’ll soon find that I am very much the exception to the rule… in all areas of life.”

“I don’t even know your name!” I exclaim.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he almost mocks. “Did I forget to introduce myself? Forgive me. My name is James. James Landon.”

He waits for the name to settle in. I give no reaction.

It’s not a farce on my part. Before this morning, I truly had never heard of him.

“So, you were truthful when you said you didn’t know me,” he murmurs under his breath. In a sudden flash he rises. “Delicious!” he proclaims. “How spectacular!”

I eye him warily. “What is?” I ask.

“You, of course,” he answers, moving around his desk with the fluidity of a snake. “Your innocence! You are… majestic.” He comes to me and takes both my hands, and then he spins me around almost like a dance. “I am not tainted in your eyes by who I am. You truly don’t know. You have no expectations of me, and likewise, I have none of you. We are each other’s blank slate. A canvas untouched. Can you picture it, Celeste? Do you see?”