Chapter Three
Amber
Over the next couple of weeks, determined to conquer my economics class, I pull myself together and work hard on every assignment, quiz, test, and question posed by Professor Warden.
I do my best to put the idea of dating him out of my mind and focus on my studies. Neither one is going the way I hoped.
I can’t stop thinking of him as Shane, the sexy man with whom I shared dinner …
and the guy I want to kiss. I even gathered my courage and put myself out there with him, only to be shot down.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t hurt by the rejection, because I really do believe his being my teacher is behind his unwillingness to date me.
I still give myself credit for making the overture.
Levi was the last man I truly was interested in sexually as well as emotionally.
When I was a young woman, he was the love of my life.
It was only as I grew up that I realized we hadn’t shared enough for that to be true.
I didn’t know him as well as I wish I could have if he was given more time in this world.
I was young, and sex had been new and exciting, but I was hardly experienced.
And the men who came after? The select few I went to bed with before they discovered I come with child baggage and run for the hills?
Those men didn’t exactly let me explore my sexuality all that much.
The attraction I felt for my past flings wasn’t the kind of instant, sizzling, all-consuming desire I feel for Shane Warden.
I have a feeling going to bed with him would be an out-of-this-world experience.
I only wish I could find out if my imagination lives up to reality.
I want that so badly I am willing to overlook the fact that I had a baby and my body isn’t the thin, lithe one I had when I was in college the first time.
As I realize my mind has drifted back to Shane the man once more, I acknowledge I really am not doing a good job of putting him in the professor box.
But if I am going to accomplish my mission, earn my degree, make my son proud, and provide him with the best life I possibly can, I have no choice but to focus on my studies.
I need to at least pass my Intro to Economics class, and I am struggling. Badly.
But I have an exam tomorrow I need to pass, so after FaceTiming with L.J., who is having a blast in the Big Apple, catching up with Carrie and Samuel, and then having my weekly check-in with each of the guys in New York, I make myself a cup of coffee and settle in to study.
* * *
Shane
I sit in my family room, grading the most recent test I gave to the class, and groan when I come to Amber’s exam.
No matter how I look at it, she is one point short of passing.
Although for most students, I’d chalk it up to a bad exam result, upload the grade, and move on, I pore over her test, trying to figure out what the issue is so I can help her, because she really is trying hard to succeed.
She is doing the work, reading the assignments, participating in class, and asking all the right questions when she has a problem.
Clearly, she is eager to learn and is doing everything she can …
on her own. Either her study techniques are an issue or the subject matter just doesn’t make sense in her brain.
Not everyone excels in every course, but if she really needs this as a prerequisite, she has to pass the class.
I notice, too, that she’s joined a study group, which is a positive step, except that group includes a student, Dan Markham, I had before in a math class.
Dan doesn’t struggle in the class the way Amber does, but he is averaging a B- and he isn’t happy.
In my past with Dan, the boy has issues with any grade less than an A and has a tendency to blame the teacher and not accept responsibility himself.
Not that Amber would know that. It isn’t my place to say anything to her, either.
I hoped that Dan and the others would be able to help Amber, that they could all help each other, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.
I’ll have to talk to her about her grade after class today.
Without a significant change, she is at risk of failing the entire course, and there is no way she can pass the final.
With the right help, however, there is still hope.
Although I tell myself I’d go to this extreme for any of my students, in my heart, I know I am digging deeper because this is Amber …
and I feel a connection to her even if I have kept my distance.
I stand at the front of the room, trying to concentrate on the subject matter, which I know inside and out, or on the other kids in the room, but my gaze always comes to rest on Amber.
Yes, she is older than the others, but she is persistent, and I admire her diligence.
She sits and types in her notes, occasionally resorting to a notepad and pen, always paying attention.
I know when she is frustrated by the cute crinkle of her nose and realize when she catches on to a concept by the bright light in those striking blue eyes.
While taking exams, she twirls her hair around her finger, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth while trying to figure out the answer.
And when she is antsy, she crosses and uncrosses her legs, nice long legs I admire, even when covered by jeans or leggings.
I have it bad for her, and it isn’t easy to focus on what matters most. All my students. My job. Tenure.
Fuck.
I don’t sleep well that night and arrive at class just in time to start the lecture. I wait until the last five minutes to hand back the exams, not meeting Amber’s gaze as I slide the paper onto her desk.
After striding back to the front of the room, I turn to look across it. “You can reach me in my office if you have any questions,” I say, then remind them of my office hours. “That’s it for today.” I pause, then say, “Miss Davis, would you stay after for a moment?”
Everyone scrambles to grab their things and leave the room. Only then do I allow myself to look at Amber and catch the sheen of frustrated tears in her eyes thanks to that test result.
* * *
Amber
Great. So not only do I have another failing grade but now I have to face Shane in my humiliation, I think.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, wondering not for the first time since starting this class if I made a mistake in coming back to school.
Maybe I am too old. Maybe the subject matter is just too much for me.
If I can’t handle it now, when I have no other responsibilities at home, what am I going to do when L.J. comes home and demands most of my time?
I have no one to talk to, either. The Bennetts, my mom, the guys are all cheering me on and believe in me.
Even L.J. told me this morning how proud he is of me.
I smile at the thought of my little man.
I miss him so much, but he is having the summer of his life, and I know I made the right decision starting school alone and letting him spend time with his family.
I told Layla I was struggling in economics, but my friend’s joking answer was to ask my hot professor for extra help, and that just isn’t happening.
Shane made it clear he is off-limits to me.
But now he wants to talk, probably to suggest I drop the course, even now, so late in the semester.
The room has emptied out, and I hear the sound of footsteps coming up the aisle.
Looking up, I glance into his concerned gaze. I still have a hard time thinking of him as Professor Warden.
He strides over to me and settles into the closest chair, shocking me when he places his hand over mine.
“Hey.”
Sparks fly at the simple touch, my entire body alighting with sudden life and need.
I don’t have to wonder if he feels the energy between us, too.
He rips his hand away from me so fast my head spins, and he is right to do so.
I can’t allow myself to focus on sexual tension when I have this failing grade glaring at me from my desk.
But the scent of his cologne surrounds me, mocking my attempt to keep things purely innocent and professional.
“Amber?” he asks, his voice gruff with what I think is the same desire pulsing inside of me. “What can I do to help?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m doing everything I can, but nothing is enough.”
“How are your other classes going?”
I blink back my earlier tears. “Fine. Good, actually.” The realization helps center me. “It’s just this one that’s giving me fits.”
Understanding lights his expression. “So it’s not school that’s hard for you, it’s economics.”
I grimace. “Right. And I wanted to minor in business, so I need this intro class for any course that comes after it.”
“What about a tutor? Maybe some one-on-one instruction will help,” he says.
“Are you offering?” The words are out before I can censor them.
A heightened flush hits his cheeks, and even that hint of color is sexy. I can imagine the same ruddy hue on his cheeks when we are in the middle of a hot make-out session, or when he is deep inside me while in my big, lonely bed.
He opens his mouth to reply, and I speak first. “I was kidding,” I say before he can reprimand me again. “Can you recommend someone to tutor me?”
He nods. “Let me ask around, see who’s available in the summer, and I’ll get you a couple of names.”
Gratitude rushes through me. “Thank you. I don’t want to quit, but I know I can’t do this on my own.” And though he can’t offer his own help, he came up with a solution I hadn’t thought of myself. “I appreciate the suggestion.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you like it. Now let’s hope it works.”
We rise at the same time, and I take a step back, unsteady on my feet. He reaches out a hand to steady me, pulling me forward, and suddenly I am in his arms, my head tilted backward, his mouth millimeters from mine.
“Dammit,” he mutters gruffly, and as if unable to hold back from kissing me any longer, he closes the distance and seals his lips over mine.
I’ve dreamed of this moment many times in the last few weeks, but reality supersedes fantasy. He wraps me in his body heat as his tongue sweeps into my waiting mouth. I moan and lean into him, my long-dormant senses coming alive with the sensations he awakens inside me.
Our tongues touch, tangle, and delve deep. Gripping his shoulders in my hands, I lift myself onto my toes so I can get closer. He tastes like the mints I saw him pop during class, a fresh hint along with his unique masculine flavor, and I can’t get enough.
I want more, more of his taste, more of his scent, more of him.
He wraps an arm around my waist, hauling me against him, my hips grinding against his, my sex coming into direct contact with the hardness of his erection.
He is big and thick, and my body softens, desire pulsing through me.
I knew I wanted him. I hadn’t known how much until now.
A loud creaking noise sounds, followed by the slam of the lecture hall doors.
I glance around but nobody enters the room.
“Shit.” He pushes me away as if I were toxic and steps back into the aisle. “Shit,” he repeats, running a hand through his hair. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did.” And I can’t say I regret it.
“It can’t happen.” Panic laces his voice. “Never again.”
I narrow my gaze, knowing I didn’t mistake the desire between us or the fact that it was mutual. “Why not?”
“For so many reasons, but the main one is that I’m your professor.”
“Is it against school rules for a student to get involved with a teacher?” I ask.
His brow wrinkles adorably. “Not in writing. Although many schools do have things spelled out, not all do. However, I cannot allow for any hint of impropriety to taint my professional reputation. Been there, done that,” he mutters under his breath but loud enough for me to hear.
“Can you explain?” I want to know everything about him, and if he’s dealt with any kind of scandal, that will help me understand his reticence to get involved with me now.
He groans. “At my last university, a student claimed we had an affair. In reality, she was pissed I’d turned down her advances and decided to get back at me.
Damn near ruined my career.” He paces up and down the aisle as he speaks.
“I realize we’re the same age; however, there are so many issues with what’s happening between us I couldn’t begin to name them all.
But I can’t afford anyone to think I’m giving you special treatment, using my position of authority to push you into a sexual relationship… Dammit!” The pacing continues.
“So you admit there’s something between us?” I ask hopefully.
He spins to face me, a scowl etching his features. “That’s what you took from my concerns?”
A hint of a smile lifts my lips. I can’t help it. I’m excited he feels something for me. “No,” I say softly. “I understand it all, and for that reason, I’ll stay away … until class ends.” Then I want to get to know him.
He already knows I have a son and isn’t running away because of L.J. Which means he is a good guy, something I already figured out. So I want to see if we can form some kind of relationship, as hard as it will be to find time to see one another once my son comes home.
He raises an eyebrow, obviously surprised by my easy acquiescence.
“What’s the catch?”
I laugh. “The catch is I want to get to know you in another way.”
“What’s that?”
“The old-fashioned way. You can talk to me at night on the phone. You can text me. I want to see if we have things in common besides”—I gesture between our lips. “—“that.”
Somehow I’ve left him speechless.
“Please let me know about a tutor as soon as possible,” I say, my tone somber.
“I will.”
“And Professor Warden? You have my number.”