On My Professor's Bed

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Dangerous Games

Jessica’s POV

I came to class fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, a habitude acquired over years of overcompensation. But to my astonishment, Ethan—Professor Gunner—was also present, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scribbled furiously across the whiteboard. I caught my breath at the view of his forearms, remembering how they'd bracketed me to either side that night.

"Ms. Charm." He refused to turn. "You're early

I would rather be prepared.

He looked in my direction, an eyebrow rising. "Do you?"

Double entendre hung in the air between us, thick with implication. I gripped my book more firmly.

"For class, always." I dump my bag in front of me in the front row, something I'm doing on purpose. "Running into department secretaries when I'm grabbing coffee with my professor? Not so much."

His lips curled. "Patricia Powell's been working twenty-five years. She knows about everyone."

"Professor Harrington's misconduct was?"

Ethan allowed his marker to drop, crossing his arms as he leaned against the board. "You tell me. I heard you had tension with him."

I groaned. "Because I complained when he gave me a C for my research project proposal and awarded his pet student an A for essentially doing the same work."

"And this created issues?"

"He did not take kindly to being questioned by a female. I lodged a formal complaint. The next thing I knew he had been put on "medical leave."

Ethan's eyes became misty. "Did he ever..."

"No." I knew where his thoughts had gone. "He was only an academic bully. Nothing like—" I caught myself.

"Nothing like anything that happened with us." He finished, speaking softly.

Other classmates began to come in through the classroom entrance. Ethan straightened his shoulders, professional mask falling effortlessly back over his features as if nothing at all had occurred. I took my seat, my heart pounding.

Our gazes crossed at pivotal moments, his fingers resting on mine for a beat too long. When he asked me something and I lifted my hand, his fingers brushed mine as he invited me to respond. Each brief touch sent an electric charge through me.

"That's good observation, Ms. Charm," he responded to my comment regarding cognitive dissonance in decision-making. "Although it's possible you are overanalysing the rationalisation process?"

"Where feelings are involved, Professor," I said respectfully, "rationality is rarely clear-cut."

His gaze caught mine. "Indeed. The emotions have a way of complicating even the simplest ethics."

We had built up so much tension between us by the final class I went to that I could not breathe. I gathered my belongings slowly, not stirring until the room was empty.

"Office hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays, Ms. Charm," Ethan informed me, not even glancing up from his papers. "If you have more questions."

"And if my inquiries are not purely academic?"

He looked up at me then, his expression wary. "Then I suggest that you use more appropriate avenues."

"Better than that fellow who whispered exactly what he had in mind doing to me three nights before?" I whispered barely loudly.

One of his jaw muscles began to twitch. "Before—"

"Before your realization that you were to grade me?" I took a step closer. "Did such an epiphany somehow invalidate whatever happened between us?"

"You know it didn't." His tone turned gruff. "It's not all about us, though, is it, Jessica."

He said my name so warmly I felt heat running through me. "Then what is it about?"

"Rules exist for a reason." He stacked his papers in neat piles. "Relationships of power. Professional ethics. Your career."

"Don't hide behind policy." I urged. "If you don't care, say so."

His laugh sounded dry and humorless. "Don't care? You believe that is the problem?"

He crossed then, closing the distance between us in two steps. Not touching me, but close enough that I sensed his heat, caught his faint cologne still hanging on me from that morning.

"The problem is, I cannot even look at you without thinking of every sound you produced, every bit of skin. The problem is, I am supposed to be reviewing your academic background when all I can think about is how you felt underneath me."

My breath caught. "Ethan—"

"Professor Gunner," he reminded me, even as his eyes flashed with contradiction. "I have to be that. For both our sakes."

Suddenly, the door opened wide.

"Jessica!" Nathan's voice broke through my trance. "I've looked all over for you."

I pulled back from Ethan, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Nathan stood in the doorway, same assertive possessive look upon his face which had defined our three years.

"Nathan, how did you end up here?" I tried to maintain my composure as panic brewed in my chest.

He turned to Ethan, his expression dismissive. "We need to speak. In private."

"I am having a conversation with my professor at the moment."

Nathan' smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'm sure the professor will not object to giving us one moment." He straightened to his full height, which was several inches more than Nathan'. His attitude changed too, still professional, but with an edge of steel I'd not previously registered.

Nathan blinked, clearly not used to being ignored. "And you are?"

"Professor Ethan Gunner." Professor Gunner declined to offer his hand. "And you are disturbing my office hours."

"Ex-boyfriend," he growled, in a possessive tone, as if staking his claim to me. "We are..."

"Were," I said, notching up my first words. "Past tense, Nathan. Very past tense."

"Baby, you don't make sense." Nathan said in the same patronizing way he had once used to make me question my own sanity. "After all we've gone through—"

"Everything you put her through, you mean?" Ethan's smile had not faded, but his eyes turned granite-hard. "Ms. Charm has made her position clear. I suggest you treat her with respect."

Nathan's face reddened. "This isn't your business."

"You pushed your way into my room to torment my student, which put you in my business." Ethan's tone did not rise, did not have to. The authority in his tone was uncontestable.

Nathan stared at me, ignoring Ethan completely. "I've reserved Maison tonight. Your favorite. Seven o'clock."

"No." The blunt simplicity of "no" felt freeing.

"Jessica."

"She said no." Ethan took a step forward, half ahead of us. "We stop here."

For an instant, tension flashed between the two of them. Then Nathan's shoulders drooped a little.

"Alright. I will speak with you later when you are alone." He gave Ethan a suspicious look. "I still have your extra key. I may drop by tonight."

I turned white. I had forgotten to change the key.

"That's breaking and entering. A criminal offense."

Nathan stared at him. "Who in the world are you to make such presumptions?"

An individual who is capable of intimidation is not a good relationship foundation. Ethan's tone remained relaxed, sure. "And one who will personally summon campus security if you don't leave. Now."

There must have been something in his tone because Nathan moved backward toward the door.

"This isn't over, Jessica," he told me over his shoulder. "We are destined for something. You will see."

The moment the door shut behind him, my knees almost gave way in relief. Ethan's hand closed around my elbow, fleeting but supportive.

"You okay?" The mask of professionalism cracked, worry creeping into his expression.

"I have to get my locks changed," I told him, aiming for a joke but hearing the tremble in my voice.

"You need more than that." His jaw closed hard. "He's unstable."

"Just entitled." I harrumphed. "Three years of being manipulated don't just vanish overnight."

Ethan's expression darkened. "Has he ever become aggressive?"

"Absolutely not. Controlling yes. Made me doubt myself, my observations. Classic gaslighting."

"You ought to report him. Get a restraining order."

"On what grounds? Because of persistence?" I said, shaking my head. "He hasn't violated the law. Not yet."

His fingers were balled at his sides, as if he were restraining himself from reaching out to me. "I don't like it."

"No, I don't." Our eyes locked for a moment, something unsaid passed between us. "Thank you. For intervening."

"He wasn't completely altruistic." The words hung in the space between us.

"No."

"No." His eyes scanned my face. "The thought of him touching you."

He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. The possessive quality to his words sent a shiver down my spine, not fear, but something startlingly akin to desire.

"I have to leave," I said, though every cell in my body pleaded to stay.

He remained still. "You ought to."

We both didn't stand down.

"This is dangerous," I whispered.

"Extremely." He looked down at my lips.