On My Professor's Bed

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: Dangerous Territory

Ethan’s POV

I watched from the front of the psychology building as I saw Jessica speak to a man who radiated possessiveness. The tight grasp of his hand upon her arm. The way he leaned in too closely. Her tense, upright shoulders.

I clenched my fists at my sides automatically. It wasn't my affair. She wasn't mine. A crazy night before I even knew she was my pupil didn't qualify me to have this possessive urge.

And still.

I forced myself to turn my face away, hurrying to my makeshift office with more urgency than I needed. I closed the door behind me, falling into my chair with my eyes fixed blankly upon Professor Harrington's tidy lecture notes.

Three days. Three days since I'd woken up next to her sleeping figure, her black hair spread across my pillow, her lips partially open. I'd almost phoned my Berkeley connection then turned down this appointment. But my rational mind had won out. This visiting professorship was too valuable, contacts too valuable, research possibility too great.

So I had left a note, written in a moment of weakness with my number, and snuck off to my appointment.

Now I had her as my student. Now there were rules. Boundaries. Consequences.

I was startled from my reverie by a knock on my door.

"Come in," I said, straightening papers that I had not even been reading.

Dean Wilson poked his head in. "Getting cozy all right, Ethan?"

"Yes, thanks. Just going over course material."

He closed the door behind him. "Figured I'd check to see if there would be any surprises in your first class."

I maintained a neutral expression. "I can handle anything."

"Good, good." Leaning in, he lowered his tone. "Between you and me, Harrington isn't coming back. His 'medical leave' is an elegant exit plan after having received some troubling student reviews."

This piqued my interest. "What kind of concerns?"

"Nothing illegal," he explained hastily. "There were accusations of special treatment, unfortunately, especially to female students. The university does not wish to have scandals."

I couldn't help but notice the irony. I lay in bed, less than three days after having slept with my student.

"Thanks for informing me," I replied diplomatically. "I can assure you, I have strictly professional relationships with my students."

Wilson nodded. "Which is also why we chose you first. Your reputation precedes you—ethical academic, independent researcher. The department would very much like to have someone with your background working full-time, you know."

"I am honored, but I have some commitments in California." I stood, closing down the conversation. "But I will certainly try my best for those students where I am."

Once Wilson left, I sat down in my chair again, my chest tightening in tension. A steady position here would be career-making. The labs were superior to Berkeley's, grant possibilities abundant.

And then there was Jessica.

Jessica, with her eyes wide in surprise and something more...

My phone vibrated with an incoming text from an unknown number.

*We need to speak. It's Jessica.*

My pulse quickened embarrassingly. I stared at the message, deciding how to answer.

So I said: When and where?

The reply was prompt: *Maple coffee shop. 5pm.*

I should have refused. Having an off-campus session in itself breached the boundary.

I will be there.

---

The coffeehouse was packed enough to provide cover but subdued enough to permit discussion. I saw her immediately in one of the booths in the corner, nervously shredding a napkin in her hands. There was no sign of the fellow from earlier.

I had requested black coffee and walked over to her table, attempting to maintain what I hoped would be a professional demeanor despite how my skin reacted just being in her presence again.

"Ms. Charm," I said, sitting down in the chair facing her.

"Professor." Her gaze shot up to meet mine in a look of defiance which flashed through me in an electric shock. "Thanks for coming.”

"You said we had to discuss something." I took a sip of my coffee, requiring something to occupy my hands. "Something class-related?"

Her mouth lifted in something approaching a smile. "Don't pretend. Pretense does not befit you."

I glanced in all directions to make sure that we were not overheard. "Okay. This is — complicated."

"That's Nathan now. My former partner." She rotated her cup in her palms. "He wants to 'work things out.'"

Jealousy flared, sharp and sudden. "And you…

"I told him, I'm finished." Her gaze stared straight at me again, daring me to argue with her. "I ended that relationship for good reasons. I'm not going back."

I shouldn't have felt relieved. Shouldn't have minded. "I see."

"That's not why I invited you over." She leaned in towards me. "We need to have this clear regarding how this is all going to happen."

"What?"

"Us. The class. The way every time I see you, I remember exactly how you taste." Her voice was brave, but her cheeks reddened.

My coffee stopped in mid-air, suspended halfway to my lips. Thoughts of that night crowded my mind uninvited—her back arched under me, her fists tightening in my shoulders, her voice breaking as she screamed my name.

"Jessica," I told her, my tone gruffer than I'd have liked. "There can't be an 'us.' I'm your professor."

"For another fifteen weeks." Her eyes did not leave mine. "Then what then?"

The question hung over us, perilous in its possibilities. I should have shut it down at once.

"Fifteen weeks is such a long way off," I told her.

"Not so long." She brushed her fingers over mine to grab hold of the sugar, the touch accidental perhaps but certainly not. Even that brief touch sent shiver down my arm.

"That is my future you are talking about. Your studies." I pulled my hand back. "It is not worth risking."

"Isn't it?" She c****d her head to one side, studying me. "Say you haven't thought about it. Thought about me."

"What I have thought about is immaterial." I leaned in, speaking in a low tone. "This isn't just about breaking college rules. It's abuse. You are my student."

"I'm not a child, Ethan." The use of my first name in that same hushed tone that had breathed it against my skin nearly destroyed me. "I know my own mind."

Nonetheless

"There you are!" A voice interrupted our discussion in mid-sentence.

We both looked up to see the department secretary standing at our table with her familiar smile. "I thought I saw you, Professor Gunner!"

I composed myself immediately, trying to present a calm demeanor. "Oh, Ms. Powell. I'm simply reviewing course work with Ms. Charm."

"How committed. On your first day." Her smile doesn't slip, but her eyes flash between us appraisingly. "Dean Wilson sought you out. Something regarding tomorrow night's faculty mixer?"

"I'll call him immediately," I promised, already reaching for my phone to prove my eagerness to do whatever it took to bring this increasingly stressful session to an end.

"How nice to see you getting on so enthusiastically with our students," Ms. Powell went on, her voice friendly but her eyes sharp. "Professor Harrington himself was very engaged with his advisees, as well."

"Sure, I have a few questions about those syllabus changes," Jessica spoke in her even tone. "Which I can let you return to. Thank you for your time, Professor."

She packed her things quickly and vanished from view, leaving only her perfume in the space where I stood and where Ms. Powell's smile faced me.

"What a smart kid, that one," the secretary said. "Tormented by Harrington, I think."

I gripped my belly. "What kind of trouble?"

"Oh, nothing in particular I overheard. Just tension." She placed her hand upon my arm. "Do call the Dean. And Ethan? The university more than anything esteems discretion."

She delivered that parting shot and departed, her sensible shoes clacking over the floor.

I sat still, my coffee cooling in front of me. I caught her eye from across the coffeehouse as she lingered in the entrance.

She pushed herself through the doorway and from view, but her silent challenge remained.

My cellular telephone vibrated upon receiving her text message: *This is not over. And God help me, despite every rational thought shouting in warning, I did not wish for it to be.*