The Professor's Forbidden Lesson

POV: Bella Hayes The first thing I did after submitting my university project was scream. The second thing I did was order a cocktail. The third thing I did was promise myself that I would never, under any circumstances, allow another professor to convince me that a forty-page research paper was a reasonable thing to expect from a human being with a functioning social life. “Forty-seven pages,” Chloe announced, holding up three fingers as though she were delivering a eulogy. “Forty-seven pages of legal analysis, footnotes, and enough references to kill a small forest.” “Forty-nine,” I corrected. She stared at me. “I included the appendix.” Chloe dropped her forehead onto the table. “I hate you.” “You love me.” “I love you when you aren’t reminding me that you wrote more than I did.” I grinned and lifted my cocktail. “To surviving university.” “To never opening another textbook.” “To the fact that I have absolutely nothing due tomorrow.” Chloe raised her glass. “And to finding you a man who can distract you from your ridiculous obsession with academic excellence.” I nearly choked on my drink. “Please. I need a vacation, not a man.” “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” “They are when men are involved.” “Spoken like someone who hasn’t had a decent date in six months.” “Five.” “Oh, forgive me. Five entire months. How have you survived?” “Pure spite.” We dissolved into laughter. The bar around us was beautiful in the sort of way that made me suddenly conscious of the fact that my usual Friday-night attire consisted of leggings, an oversized university sweatshirt, and whatever shoes I could find near the front door. The hotel was expensive. Not the sort of place where students typically celebrated surviving a deadline, unless their parents were paying the bill or they had made a terrible decision about their bank accounts. In our case, Chloe had found a discount online, and I had decided that the end of my project deserved something more glamorous than cheap pizza and a bottle of wine in our apartment. The lighting was warm and golden. Crystal glasses glittered beneath the bar lights. Soft music drifted through the room, and beyond the tall windows, the city shimmered beneath a fine curtain of rain. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t thinking about case studies, deadlines, or whether my final argument was strong enough to impress a lecturer who appeared to consider happiness a character flaw. I was simply Bella. Twenty-one years old. Exhausted. Slightly tipsy. And gloriously, wonderfully free. Chloe checked her phone and groaned. “Oh, no.” “What?” “My boyfriend has arrived.” I blinked. “Your boyfriend? The one who was supposed to be picking you up an hour ago?” “The very same.” “Should I call an ambulance?” “Don’t be dramatic.” “I’m concerned. Maybe he was abducted by aliens and they’ve returned him with a defective personality.” She threw a napkin at me. “You’re horrible.” “I’m honest.” She stood, grabbed her handbag, and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Come home soon, okay?” “I will.” “And don’t drink too much.” “Yes, Mother.” “And don’t go home with a stranger.” I looked at her innocently. “Define stranger.” “Bella.” “Fine. Fine. I promise not to make any life-altering decisions tonight.” “That’s what worries me. Your definition of life-altering is apparently submitting an appendix.” She shook her head, laughing, and disappeared toward the entrance. I watched her go before turning back to my drink. I had every intention of finishing my cocktail, paying the bill, and returning to my apartment. I would shower, climb into bed, and sleep for twelve hours. That was the plan. Then I noticed the man sitting alone at the far end of the bar. And suddenly, my plans became considerably less interesting. He was difficult not to notice. Not because he was loud. He wasn’t. Not because he was trying to attract attention. If anything, he looked like a man who would prefer the entire room to disappear. It was the stillness. He sat on a leather barstool with one hand resting beside a glass of amber liquor, his broad shoulders outlined by a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times. A hint of silver marked his temples. His tie was loosened. His sleeves were buttoned neatly at his wrists. His expression suggested that someone had personally offended him by allowing the world to continue existing. He looked older than the men I usually encountered at university. Not old, exactly. Just unmistakably mature. Thirty-something, perhaps. The kind of man who knew what he wanted, had enough money to get it, and had long ago stopped pretending to enjoy things that bored him. He was also, quite frankly, devastatingly attractive. I took another sip of my cocktail. Then another. I was not staring. I was observing. There was a difference. He lifted his glass, took a drink, and glanced in my direction. Our eyes met. Oh. His eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, and there was something unnervingly direct about his gaze. He didn’t immediately look away when I caught him watching me. Neither did I. A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched one corner of his mouth. My stomach did something deeply inconvenient. I raised my glass to him. It was a small gesture. Casual. Harmless. His eyebrows lifted. Then he returned the toast. I smiled into my drink. There. Done. I had acknowledged an attractive stranger. I could now return to my evening without allowing a pair of dark eyes to interfere with my perfectly sensible plans. Three seconds later, I looked at him again. He was still watching me. I set my glass down. Oh, this is going to be a problem. He rose from his stool. And walked toward me. “Is this seat taken?” His voice was lower than I expected. Smooth, controlled, with just enough roughness around the edges to make me wonder what it would sound like if he ever lost that composure. I glanced at the empty stool beside me. “Depends.” “On?” “Whether you’re going to complain about the state of the world for the next hour.” He paused. Then he laughed. It was brief, surprised, and genuine enough to change his entire face. “No promises.” “Then I suppose you can sit. But I’m charging by the complaint.” He settled onto the stool beside me. Up close, he was even more distracting. I could smell his cologne, something warm and expensive with notes of cedar and spice. He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to meet his eyes, and the breadth of his shoulders made the barstool look absurdly small. He extended a hand. “Adrian.” I placed my hand in his. “Bella.” His fingers closed around mine in a firm, warm handshake. Neither of us immediately let go. I noticed. Judging by the way his gaze dropped briefly to our joined hands before returning to my face, so did he. “Bella,” he repeated. There was something about the way he said my name that made it sound like a private thought. “Adrian,” I replied. His mouth curved. “Are we going to spend the entire evening repeating each other’s names?” “Depends. Is yours the only thing about you worth knowing?” He leaned back slightly, studying me. “You always this direct?” “Only when I’m tired.” “And you’re tired?” “Exhausted.” “Long day?” “Long month. University has apparently decided that students shouldn’t experience joy until they’ve earned it.” “An interesting educational philosophy.” “You sound like you disagree.” “I believe education should be challenging.” “Challenging is fine. Being assigned enough work to question the meaning of existence is excessive.” He smiled into his drink. “What are you studying?” “Something that has convinced me to seriously consider becoming a person who lives on a beach and sells handmade jewellery.” “That sounds like a significant career change.” “I have transferable skills.” “Such as?” “Complaining. Critical thinking. An excellent ability to identify when someone is being unnecessarily difficult.” He looked at me over the rim of his glass. “I’m beginning to think that last skill is your strongest.” “I’m beginning to think you need it.” He laughed again. And I discovered that I liked being the reason for it. “So,” he said, turning toward me, “do you always insult men who buy you drinks?” “You haven’t bought me a drink.” “Would you like one?” I pretended to consider the question. “What are you offering?” “Whatever you’re having.” “That’s a dangerous answer. I have expensive taste.” “Do you?” His eyes flicked briefly over my face, then settled on my mouth. “I’m beginning to suspect it.” Heat crept up my neck. I hated that he noticed. I hated even more that he looked pleased about it. “Careful,” I warned. “I might start thinking you’re flirting with me.” “I am flirting with you.” The words were delivered so calmly that I nearly forgot how to breathe. “Oh.” His smile deepened. “Did you expect me to deny it?” “Most men do.” “Most men are cowards.” I laughed. He signalled the bartender and ordered another cocktail for me, then a fresh drink for himself. When my glass arrived, I lifted it toward him. “To honesty.” He touched his glass to mine. “To knowing what you want.” I held his gaze. “And do you?” “Usually.” “Usually?” His eyes darkened with amusement. “I’m still deciding what I want from you.” The answer should have irritated me. Instead, it sent a delicious little shiver down my spine. I leaned closer. “Take your time. I charge extra for indecision.” His gaze dropped to my lips again. “Something tells me you charge extra for everything.” “Only the interesting things.” “And am I interesting?” I pretended to study him. The loosened tie. The expensive watch. The strong line of his jaw. The way he watched me as if the conversation had become the only thing worth his attention. “Potentially.” “Potentially?” “You haven’t impressed me yet.” He placed his glass on the bar. “Then I suppose I’ll have to try harder.” I lost track of time. That was the first warning sign. The second was that I stopped checking my phone. The third was that I had begun to enjoy the silence between our conversations as much as the conversations themselves. Adrian was not what I had expected. He was confident without being obnoxious, intelligent without making a performance of it, and dryly funny in a way that kept catching me off guard. He asked questions and actually listened to the answers. When I mentioned my project, he asked what I had argued and why. When I explained, he challenged one of my conclusions. I narrowed my eyes. “Are you disagreeing with me?” “I’m asking you to defend your position.” “That’s a very academic way of saying you’re disagreeing with me.” “Perhaps you should convince me otherwise.” I set down my glass. “Oh, you have made a terrible mistake.”His eyebrows rose. “Have I?” “You’ve challenged me after two cocktails. I am extremely persuasive after two cocktails.” “And after three?” “Dangerous.” He laughed, leaning closer. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I explained my argument. He listened without interrupting, then asked another question. I answered. He considered it. Finally, he nodded. “Fair point.” I stared at him. “Excuse me?” “Your argument is sound.” “You’re admitting I’m right?” “Don’t make me regret it.” I grinned triumphantly. “This is the best evening of my life.” “Your standards are alarmingly low.” “You have no idea.” For a moment, he simply watched me. The humour softened in his expression, revealing something quieter beneath it. “What?” I asked. “Nothing.” “That’s a lie.” “It’s an observation.” “About?” “You’re not what I expected.” I tilted my head. “What did you expect?” “Someone who would be impressed by my suit.” I looked pointedly at his jacket. “It is a very nice suit.” “Thank you.” “But I’ve seen nicer.” “Have you?”