Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (167 page)

I told her hell no. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so brusque, but the last thing I want is for her to find out what’s really going on.

It’s almost as if the sickness –or any sickness –compels people to view you differently. All their “good nature” comes out. And you start to live in a make-believe world full of rainbows and unicorns and kindness and fairy dust and, in the words of one comedian,
golden piss of excellence.

Fuck. That.

I don’t want my life seen through a blurry filter. I don’t want to
live
my life through a blurry filter.

When people start doting on you, life becomes fuzzy. And my life? However much of it I have left?

I want it to be crystal clear.

So, obviously, Summer didn’t understand my reaction. How could she? She thought she was only doing what a good friend would. After all, I’m just dealing with a
mineral imbalance
, isn’t that right? So what’s the big deal?

I told her she’d miss class if she tagged along. She said fuck class, she wants to be with me. And then I dug my heels in and
really
told her no, and voices were raised, and mean things were said, and names were flung back and forth like scraps at a food fight.

In the end, she stormed off, and I was left all fired up. I felt angry more than anything. Angry at myself for piling on lie after lie to my roommate and best friend, with whom I thought I’d share this amazing grad school experience.

I have no one to blame but myself. But, it’s not like I can do things differently.

When the final class ends and we’re let out at 4:10, I see Summer in the throng of people leaving. Our eyes meet for a split second… Then, she turns her nose up and pretends I don’t exist.

It’s no stretch to say that I don’t particularly want to return to our apartment and deal with the inevitable confrontation.

So, I wander around campus aimlessly, lost in my own thoughts. My phone hasn’t been on since last night. I don’t want to deal with James. I don’t want to tell him anything. And dammit, I shouldn’t feel obligated to.

I’m avoiding responsibilities like a spoiled brat.

But with James, unlike with Summer, I feel a bit of nagging guilt. I was in his apartment when my body went haywire.

I don’t owe him an explanation, but maybe a thank you? That wouldn’t kill me.

So, just as the clouds start to gather overhead and seal away the sun, I find myself angling toward his office.

I have no idea if he’s there. And if he is, who he’s with. Would he want to see me after the way I hung up on him last night?

But James is the only person I feel safe turning to. That’s not being weak or hypocritical. I feel safe turning to him, because I can be completely certain of his intentions:

He wants to fuck.

And honestly, right now? What better way to purge all the shit storming through my mind than having it fucked straight out of me?

I come up to the steps of the building. I check my reflection in the window. I don’t look half bad, considering all that happened over the weekend.

Should I call before going in? I debate it…

No. No, I’ll just show up, and he can do whatever he wants with me.

His office door is ajar. I can hear movement inside. Do I knock or just go straight in? I hesitate for a flicker of a second. What if I’m interrupting something? I don’t want to look needy or desperate in his eyes.

But we do need to “talk.” That’s enough of an excuse to see him.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath.
Enough stalling, woman!
I tell myself. I raise my hand to push the door open…

And stop when I hear a very familiar giggle come from inside.

Summer.

I can recognize her laugh anywhere. What’s
she
doing in there?

I barge right in.

And there I see them. Summer, leaning back with her hips against his massive desk. James, standing right in front of her, whispering something in her ear.

An ugly wave of jealousy rips through me. I see red.

James looks back at the interruption. His eyes land on me. He gives that cocky, full-of-himself smile.

He steps back from Summer. “Ah. Ms. Adams,” he says. “We were just talking about you.”

“I bet,” I grate. My eyes flash angrily to Summer. She lifts her chin in defiance. But a tiny bit of color touches her cheeks.

“I need to talk to you,” I tell James.

He gestures for me to continue. “Please do.”

I look at Summer. “
Alone
,” I clarify.

“Why the sudden need for privacy?” James poses. “Ms. Blair tells me the two of you are quite close. Surely anything you have to say can be heard by her, no?”

“Yeah, Celeste,” Summer adds. She crosses her arms and tosses her head. “We don’t have any secrets from each other.
Right?
”

The emphasis on the last word—and the look in her eyes—makes me freeze. Is she hinting at something? Dammit, did James tell her anything he shouldn’t have?

“It’s about
yesterday
,” I stress. “About how you… found me.”

“Oh jeez,” Summer rolls her eyes and pushes off from the desk. “If that’s what you want to talk about, I’m out. I don’t need another repeat of lunch.” She bats her lashes at James and runs a hand down his arm as she passes. “Good-bye, professor,” she purrs. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

She leaves the room swaying her hips in the most
obvious
way.

James goes back around his desk. He takes out a small bottle of scotch and pours himself a drink. Then he sits down in that gaudy red, high-backed chair, steeples his hands, and looks at me.

“So,” he says.

“So,” I repeat. He didn’t invite me to come closer or sit down or share a drink. “Can you tell me what
she
was doing here?”

“Trying to strengthen her application for the TAs position, I’m betting,” he notes casually. “Your friend is quite the flirt.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s pushing the envelope, trying to see how I’ll react. I know it.

But I refuse to rise to the bait. Jealousy is the ugliest emotion. I will not let him know that he can rouse it in me.

“What did you tell her?” I ask.

“About us?” James leans back and kicks his legs up. “Nothing. I know you don’t want her finding out.”

“How do you—“

“Please.” He holds up one hand. “Let’s not kid ourselves here, Celeste. I’m not a child. I wasn’t born yesterday. And while a bit of competition for my affections would certainly be… dare I say… fun?” He sips his scotch. “I am not so vain as to try to evoke it.”

“I
saw
you whispering in her ear,” I accuse. “That didn’t look so innocent.”

“Ah, but that was as far as things went. I told you, I have my eyes set on you.” He puts the glass down. Coupled with his proclamation, the sound of it hitting the oak hardwood makes me jump.

He smiles. “You’re nervous.”

“I am
not
.”

“Why did you come?”

“I told you. To talk.”

“About what? Are you ready to tell me what the doctor said?”

“No,” I say. “I will not. It doesn’t matter what he said. It matters what you know.”

“I know enough to tell that something is wrong. You think it’s not my place to be concerned. Don’t you?” His eyes bore into me. “But, that’s where you’re wrong, Celeste. I told you I would transform you into my lover. You’re not a throwaway, and I’m addicted to your taste. You, Celeste Adams, have evinced your influence on me. But—until you accept that—you and I are at a stalemate.”

Jesus
. When he speaks like that I can barely fight the butterflies that come to life in my stomach.

Do I want to fight? Or am I ready to give in completely?

“You’re asking for something I cannot give,” I say. I need a seat—support—something to hold on to or lean on, to help me steady myself.

I walk to his desk. He watches my every step with a predator’s precision. I waver under the intensity of that gaze before finding my seat.

I eye the bottle on his desk. He sees me looking and pulls it out of reach.

“Why are you really here, Celeste?” he asks.

“I…” I swallow. “I came to talk to you.”

“You didn’t want to talk on the phone last night.”

I stiffen. “I had nothing to say.”

“I had plenty to ask.” He shifts in his seat. “The outburst you had before hanging up made my questions more relevant. You told me you don’t want to be fixed.” He lowers his head so that his eyes reach deep into mine. “That implies there is something that is broken.”

“I…”

“You premeditated this discussion, Celeste. You gave away something you want to keep closely guarded. The question is:
why
?

“I can think of more than a few reasons,” he continues. “None of which I like, and none of which I want to assume. So, this is how it’s going to work.” He leans forward and places both hand on the table, fingers spread wide. “You have things you don’t want to tell me. Fine. I’m not going to pressure you otherwise. But Lord knows you didn’t come here today to see me as Professor Landon, in the same way as your friend. You came here to see me…” he lowers his voice, “… as James, your secret lover, as the man who makes you come. You came here…” his voice goes even lower. “As
my woman
.”

I squeeze my legs together to fight the sudden onset of arousal from hearing his words.
His
woman? That’s who he sees me as?

I can’t give way to that fantasy, no matter how desperately I want to.

It would be false. Just like my time with Brad was false. Just like his love for me proved false. I do not want to cling to a safety net that does not exist.

“I came here as myself,” I tell him, portraying only a tenth of the conviction I need to. “Nothing less and nothing more.”

He smiles. He
sees
the waver, and he smiles.

Damn him if this isn’t all a game. Damn him that he likes to see me off balance. He likes giving me shit!

It’s impossible to stay immune. The little dimple in his cheek does that. The way his eyes glimmer when they reflect the sun does that. The aura of his presence does that. It’s that of a man at the top, a man in control, a man who has everything he can ever want… and has his sights set on me.

Feelings are not what I need. Feelings are nothing I can deal with. They are never, ever anything I can allow.

I made up my rules for that very reason.

But physical sensation, in contrast?
That
I can grant.
That,
I can give into.

“You want to know why I’m really here?” I ask. “You want to know why I came to see you? You want to know the very
real
reason of why I came…
professor
?”

He smirks. “Humor me.”

I lean forward, giving him a great view of my cleavage. “I came…” I whisper, “…because I wanted
you
.”

A fire sparks in his eyes. Desire flashes across his face.

“I came…” I continue, my voice raw and sultry, “…here…” I run a finger over my tight nipples, “so that you…
can fuck me
.”

I tug my shirt to reveal the hot pink lace bra underneath.

His eyes sear into mine. “Fuck. Yes,” he growls, and surges out of his seat.

We meet each other halfway. Our mouths collide, and I fall against the table. I squirm on top, all the while kissing him, breathing him in, letting him take over. My hands tangle through his hair and run down his shoulders and over his back. I grip his butt—his firm, tight butt—and I tug him closer, crotch against crotch.

He deepens the kiss. His hands go to my waist and dip beneath my shirt. His fingers dig into my soft flesh. I love the fierceness, the possessiveness of it all. I love how strong his fingers feel when they claw into me. I love the passion of his kiss. I love how he can make me forget everything—really forget everything, not just block it out –and be consumed entirely by the moment.

I feel his hard dick through the layers of fabric separating our bodies. It presses against my core. My hand slides down his front, under his waist, past his briefs, and I take hold of… him.

He shudders as I stroke his cock. His forehead goes against mine; our lips part.

“Oh fuck, Celeste,” he whispers, such need straining his voice.

I’m on fire. I pulse my hand faster, feeling him grow in my fist with every full jerk. His hands explore the back of my neck, then dive beneath my shirt to unclasp my bra.

I pull off my shirt and shimmy out of my bra. The straps roll off my shoulders. His mouth latches onto a breast. My head falls back, and I give a heady moan as his tongue laps at my nipple.

And then he’s pushing me back, gently but firmly, onto his desk. I land with my head amongst the books and papers. My legs clasp around his waist, and I hook my ankles together.

He leans over me and kisses me again with raw, hard, and passionate kisses. My hand keeps stroking his cock. I love the delicious firmness. I love the hard ridge of the crown. But we’re wearing too many clothes, him and I. We need to remedy that as soon as possible.

So I break from the kiss and push up on his chest. “Get me naked,” I breathe.

He complies with an animal sound of lust. I slither out of my jeans and meet his eyes as he slides my panties down my legs.

And then my head falls back, and my spine arches up as he feasts on my pussy. My hands clamber for support, but on the wide oak table all they end up doing is disrupting the mountains of books and papers and journals he has on there.

I moan as he laps at my folds. He spreads my legs wide, running strong hands over my thighs.

Then he breaks away.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I bring my head up. His slacks have managed to fall to his knees. His cock is showing. It’s thick and strong and full of blood. He undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, growls, “Fuck it,” and tears it over his head.

I’m presented with a vision of his glorious body. But I don’t have much time to savor it. He slips a condom on, turns me to the side, and smacks my ass.

“You want me?” he breathes.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes!” I plead.