Free The Professor by Alexis Adare
Authors: Alexis Adare
of my lingerie began to feel restrictive.
"I did." He picked up his beer and took a sip, eyeing me over the mouth of the bottle.
"So we're doing tea and beer tonight?" I teased. "What's that taste like?"
"Disgusting," he said grimacing, and I laughed at his expression.
"You said three times," I prompted. "What were the others?"
"The second occasion was in class."
I raised my eyebrows in query, and set my tea on the coffee table, giving him my full attention.
"You had the most entertaining argument with that horrible person that sits in the fourth row, what is her name again?"
"Claire Frank," I answered.
"Yes. Ms. Frank," he rolled his eyes and I laughed.
"How did that argument surprise you? I don't understand," I replied.
"I was both surprised and impressed actually. Not only with your erudite defense of Ms. Austen in the face of Ms. Frank's brutal Brontien attack, but with the scope of your knowledge regarding female fiction writers of the 18th and 19th centuries. Your assertion that if Ms. Austen were writing today she'd be practicing her craft in the romance genre was well argued. Your observation that an artist is not only a product of their upbringing and their environment, but of their era was absolutely correct. And your skillful rebuttal of Ms. Frank's clumsy attempt to shame the entire romantic genre was brilliant. I think you left her quite speechless, and hopefully enlightened. I know I was." He leveled his eyes on me, intent.
"You were?" I asked, shivering under his gaze.
"Yes, and I wanted you more in that moment than I have since we met."
"More than the pool?" I asked.
He nodded.
"More than the Laundromat?" I smirked.
"Yes and that's saying quite a lot. Because in the Laundromat I nearly spread you wide and bent you over those dryers."
My body thrilled at his words. I felt goose bumps erupt across my arms and thighs, my nipples hardening against the sheer fabric of my dress. A pool of heat collected low in my core and the smirk fell from my face.
"As I watched you this afternoon I realized that I had not yet glimpsed, not until that moment, the real Jane Claremont. I was fascinated, and I wanted more. Tonight you showed me more."
No, I tried to! But you left! My head shouted. But I didn't say the words aloud. I sensed, I hoped, this speech was going somewhere, and I didn't want to stop him now.
"This evening, as I watched you on stage, my tendency to casually fetishize your name suddenly made sense to me."
It did? Good because I've been wondering about that, too. I smiled at him, inviting him to continue.
"I believe my constant invocation of your name has been part exorcism part mantra." He laughed. "I was inexorably drawn to you since the first I saw you. And I didn't want to be. I wanted you out of my head Jane, and I haven't managed it." His eyes were thoughtful now, shadowed.
"I don't understand," I murmured.
"As you bore witness this afternoon, my life is, at the moment, complicated. It's been complicated for me by others, and by my own hand. It's been complicated by secrets, by hidden agendas, and by lies."
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"No. no, don't be, we all have our stuff as you so effectively reminded me."
I laughed and was pleased to see the warmth return to his eyes.
"I've recently taken steps," he continued and his fingers tapping idly on one knee, "to rid myself of these complications. But the consequence of this ordeal has been that I am now rather jaded, suspicious, and quite good at detecting these deceits in other people."
I frowned at him, no longer sure I liked the trajectory of this conversation. So it was to be a lecture after all?
"The Jane Claremont I met this week had a secret, a hidden agenda, and a reason to lie. Did you not?"
"I won't deny it," I said, unable to keep the sneer out of my voice. I felt my defenses rising. From turn-on to turn-off in less than thirty seconds. God, that must be a record.
"I'm glad," he said, leaning back in his seat, he
"I did." He picked up his beer and took a sip, eyeing me over the mouth of the bottle.
"So we're doing tea and beer tonight?" I teased. "What's that taste like?"
"Disgusting," he said grimacing, and I laughed at his expression.
"You said three times," I prompted. "What were the others?"
"The second occasion was in class."
I raised my eyebrows in query, and set my tea on the coffee table, giving him my full attention.
"You had the most entertaining argument with that horrible person that sits in the fourth row, what is her name again?"
"Claire Frank," I answered.
"Yes. Ms. Frank," he rolled his eyes and I laughed.
"How did that argument surprise you? I don't understand," I replied.
"I was both surprised and impressed actually. Not only with your erudite defense of Ms. Austen in the face of Ms. Frank's brutal Brontien attack, but with the scope of your knowledge regarding female fiction writers of the 18th and 19th centuries. Your assertion that if Ms. Austen were writing today she'd be practicing her craft in the romance genre was well argued. Your observation that an artist is not only a product of their upbringing and their environment, but of their era was absolutely correct. And your skillful rebuttal of Ms. Frank's clumsy attempt to shame the entire romantic genre was brilliant. I think you left her quite speechless, and hopefully enlightened. I know I was." He leveled his eyes on me, intent.
"You were?" I asked, shivering under his gaze.
"Yes, and I wanted you more in that moment than I have since we met."
"More than the pool?" I asked.
He nodded.
"More than the Laundromat?" I smirked.
"Yes and that's saying quite a lot. Because in the Laundromat I nearly spread you wide and bent you over those dryers."
My body thrilled at his words. I felt goose bumps erupt across my arms and thighs, my nipples hardening against the sheer fabric of my dress. A pool of heat collected low in my core and the smirk fell from my face.
"As I watched you this afternoon I realized that I had not yet glimpsed, not until that moment, the real Jane Claremont. I was fascinated, and I wanted more. Tonight you showed me more."
No, I tried to! But you left! My head shouted. But I didn't say the words aloud. I sensed, I hoped, this speech was going somewhere, and I didn't want to stop him now.
"This evening, as I watched you on stage, my tendency to casually fetishize your name suddenly made sense to me."
It did? Good because I've been wondering about that, too. I smiled at him, inviting him to continue.
"I believe my constant invocation of your name has been part exorcism part mantra." He laughed. "I was inexorably drawn to you since the first I saw you. And I didn't want to be. I wanted you out of my head Jane, and I haven't managed it." His eyes were thoughtful now, shadowed.
"I don't understand," I murmured.
"As you bore witness this afternoon, my life is, at the moment, complicated. It's been complicated for me by others, and by my own hand. It's been complicated by secrets, by hidden agendas, and by lies."
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"No. no, don't be, we all have our stuff as you so effectively reminded me."
I laughed and was pleased to see the warmth return to his eyes.
"I've recently taken steps," he continued and his fingers tapping idly on one knee, "to rid myself of these complications. But the consequence of this ordeal has been that I am now rather jaded, suspicious, and quite good at detecting these deceits in other people."
I frowned at him, no longer sure I liked the trajectory of this conversation. So it was to be a lecture after all?
"The Jane Claremont I met this week had a secret, a hidden agenda, and a reason to lie. Did you not?"
"I won't deny it," I said, unable to keep the sneer out of my voice. I felt my defenses rising. From turn-on to turn-off in less than thirty seconds. God, that must be a record.
"I'm glad," he said, leaning back in his seat, he