TEMPTING MY PROFESSOR

Chapter 2 – The First Lecture

ISABELLE

The campus always felt different at the start of a new semester—buzzing with voices, sunlight bouncing off windows, the air thick with new beginnings and resolutions.

But today, as I hurried across the quad, clutching my coffee and the folder of printouts for Modern Literature, my stomach twisted with something else entirely.

Nerves.

“Come on, Isabelle,” I muttered to myself. “It’s just another class.”

Except it wasn’t.

Zoe’s text from earlier that morning still glowed on my screen:

Everyone’s saying the new professor is ridiculously hot. Don’t embarrass yourself.

I’d laughed when I read it. But now, walking into the lecture hall, that laugh dissolved.

The air shifted before I even saw him.

He stood by the desk—tall, composed, his posture almost too precise. The morning light through the windows hit the faint streaks of silver in his dark hair, and when he looked up, those brown eyes met mine.

Recognition hit like a spark.

The man from the café.

For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe. His expression didn’t flicker, but something unreadable moved behind those eyes—like he was cataloging the moment, storing it away.

“Good morning,” he said, voice deep and smooth, carrying easily across the room. “I’m Professor Miller. I’ll be taking over this course for the semester.”

The name dropped into the silence like a stone.

Noah Miller.

Of course.

My heart gave a strange, sharp twist as I slid into a seat halfway up the row. I told myself it didn’t mean anything—that he was just a man, just a professor. But that quiet authority in his voice made my skin feel too tight.

He started the lecture without notes, moving easily between ideas about modernism and rebellion, passion and restraint. His words were precise, but his tone was alive—like he was speaking about something he felt, not just taught. Something he had experienced.

And maybe that was what made me stare longer than I should have.

Every word he said seemed to linger in the air between us. When his gaze flicked over the class and paused—just a heartbeat—on me, it felt personal. Like he sees me, like he was daring me to understand him.

Halfway through, he stopped pacing and leaned against the edge of the desk.

“Literature,” he said quietly, “isn’t just about words. It’s about what you’re not allowed to say.”

The room was silent.

“It’s about temptation,” he continued, eyes scanning the class again. “Invoking emotions.” “About crossing lines and pretending you didn’t.”

I swallowed hard. The girl beside me scribbled notes, but my pen didn’t move. My mind was still replaying the way his gaze had brushed mine when he said temptation.

He shifted the topic to our first assignment—an analysis of forbidden themes in D.H. Lawrence. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

As the class ended, chairs scraped and endless chatter filled the air. I lingered, pretending to organize my notes. When I finally looked up, he was still there—collecting papers, his movements slow, deliberate.

I walked down the steps before I could change my mind.

“Professor Miller?”

He looked up, expression unreadable. Up close, he was even more intimidating—sharp suit, rolled sleeves, veins tracing his forearms as he stacked books.

“Yes?”

“I—uh—I just wanted to ask about the reading list.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “I didn’t get the syllabus on the portal yet.”

He studied me for a moment too long, then nodded and handed me a printed copy. His fingers brushed mine—barely a touch—but my pulse jumped.

“Try to keep up with the readings, Miss Parker,” he said softly. “I expect… engagement.”

The way he said it made something low in my stomach tighten.

“I always do,” I managed.

His mouth curved—almost a smile, but not quite. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

I turned to leave, but his next words stopped me cold.

“By the way,” he said, voice lower now, meant only for me, “you make a good cup of coffee.”

My breath caught.

So he had recognized me.

I looked over my shoulder, trying to sound casual. “Guess you remember faces well, Professor.”

He met my eyes—steady, quiet, dangerous. “Some faces are hard to forget.”

And then he was gone—back to his papers, as though he hadn’t just said the one sentence that would live rent-free in my mind for the rest of the day.

The rest of the afternoon blurred. Zoe wouldn’t stop texting about how “ridiculously attractive” he was, and I kept pretending I didn’t care.

But every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice again: Some faces are hard to forget.

By the time my café shift ended, rain had started to fall. I stayed to close up the windows streaked with silver. The smell of coffee and rain mixed in the air—familiar and heavy.

When the door opened near closing time, I didn’t look up at first.

“Sorry, we’re—”

Then I froze.

Professor Miller stood there, water glistening on his coat, his hair slightly damp, his expression unreadable.

He glanced at the empty café. “I didn’t realize you’d still be here.”

I swallowed. “Just locking up.”

He hesitated near the counter, looking around like he was deciding whether to stay. “I was on my way home. Saw the lights.”

“Do you want—” I caught myself. “Coffee?”

He almost smiled. “You remember my order.”

“Black,” I said, turning to the machine before my hands could start shaking. “No sugar.”

The silence between us was taut, humming. I could feel his gaze on me as I worked—the sound of the machine filling the space where words should’ve been.

When I handed him the cup, his fingers brushed mine again—this time slower, deliberate.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Something in the way he said it made my chest ache. I wanted to step back, to break the spell, but I couldn’t move.

His gaze dropped to my lips for a heartbeat too long. Then he cleared his throat, stepping away like the air between us had turned too dangerous.

“Good night, Miss Parker.”

“Good night, Professor.”

He turned and walked out into the rain.

I stood there long after the door closed, heart racing, his scent still lingering in the air—cedar and rain, temptation and warning.

I should’ve known then.

That my life was about to take a huge turn.