Chapter 16
Cormac
“Miss Ford,” I call out to the woman who detonated my brain. “You are not dismissed.”
I take delight in the way she freezes, like prey caught in a spotlight at night. It’s not just me who suffered ninety minutes of internal turmoil, feeling ready to vomit. Okay, maybe that was just me.
I wave off the female students, standing at my podium, gawking at me.
She turns and slowly slinks down the steps in my direction while the lecture hall empties around her. My pulse hammers in my throat, too fast, too loud.
She’s fucking Scarlett Ford?
Bradley Ford’s daughter?
The daughter of the man who was my mentor, who gave me this job?
The daughter I fucked.
Of course she is. That’s why she was in his office weeks before the semester began.
What have I done?
The name Scarlett didn’t set off any blips on my radar that night. I couldn’t even say when her father was my professor if he had a child or children. We never talked about family. It wasn’t any of my business.
When Scarlett gets close, she lifts her eyes to me. Soft and golden brown, her gaze brutally tightens something in my chest.
I drag a hand over my face. That she’s my student is goddamn catastrophic.
The room slowly begins to fill again as students for the next class shuffle in. A professor in a tight pencil skirt and blood-red lipstick strides up to the podium with a stack of folders.
“Dr. O’Rourke,” she purrs. “This is my hall now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She bristles at that. But she is married. Just like Ford wants all his faculty to be shackled.
Dr. Pencil Skirt’s eyes flick to Scarlett standing on the last step, one foot hovering. “Talk to your student in the hall. Or your office.”
Fuck, it’s like she knows. Do we already look guilty?
“Ford. My office. We need to talk.” I don’t wait to see if she follows. I just walk out, jaw clenched, vision tunneling.
In the faculty wing hallway, I stop to turn and check on her. Too abruptly, and she bumps into me. Her tits bounce off my back.
Jesus Christ.
She smells like vanilla and lime and something very forbidden that hits me straight in the gut. And my dick.
I can’t get erections here. Not near students. Of all the things I worried about, this was the last thing I considered. And it’s the first brick in the wall to crumble.
“Come with me,” I grind out. “My office is at the end of the hall.”
I keep walking, then push open the door to my new office with its bare walls and the faint scent of fresh paint. Scarlett passes me, and I squeeze my eyes shut to brace myself.
I close the door behind her harder than necessary.
She jumps at the sound. Good. She should.
“Ford,” I say, my voice flat. “Any relation to Bradley Ford?”
Her brows pull together. “My father.”
That’s all it takes. The floor drops out from under me.
“That’s just great.” I pin her with a stare that feels like it could burn through iron. “What the hell do you think you’re doing taking my class?”
“Me?” Her jaw drops. “What am I doing? What are you doing teaching at my school?”
Damn, she has a point. I just got here. Doesn’t change that I’m dying inside right now.
“Fair enough. But you can’t be in my class.”
“I don’t have a choice.” She folds her arms.
“Sure you do,” I snap. “Pick another section.”
“There is no other section,” she snaps back.
I know. But I can’t let her stay. I run both hands through my hair, pacing once across the room. I swear, I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.
Scarlett’s voice pulls me back. “Dr. O’Rourke—”
“Don’t…” I point at her. “Don’t say my name like that.”
She stiffens and her cheeks flush. God, she’s beautiful when she’s angry.
“This is ridiculous,” she says. “I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know you’d walk into that classroom. I didn’t know anything.”
“Exactly. And now you do. Drop the class.”
“No.”
My head snaps toward her. “No?”
Her chin tips up with defiant, stubborn resolve. And my cock turns to steel.
“I’m already behind. I took a year off,” she confesses coolly. “If I drop Pharm now, it’ll delay everything further. I just reinstated my loan. I can’t extend it to cover another whole semester because you can’t handle looking at my face.”
I step closer, but she doesn’t retreat. God, I like that. Someone who will stand up to me. But she’s the last person I should want like this.
“Let me make this simple,” I say, voice low. “I can’t teach you.”
“Why not?” she challenges.
I drag my eyes down her body. Slow. Deliberate. She shivers under my penetrating gaze.
Yeah. She felt that.
“That’s why,” I say.
Her breath stutters. “That’s… That’s not a reason.”
I stare at her as if I can burn my truth into her mind without me having to say the awful words out loud. That I’m an addict. That I’m still walking a tightrope between sobriety and self-hatred.
That she… God help me… She makes me feel something I’m not allowed to feel.
“You don’t want me to elaborate.”
“Try me.”
Fuck. I move closer until she has to tilt her head back to keep our eyes locked.
“Because I can’t look at you without remembering your mouth on mine,” I murmur. “Without thinking about how you’d taste again. Because if you stay in that class, I’m going to want you every time you walk through the door. And wanting you is something I cannot deal with right now.”
Her lips part. Pink. Soft. Tempting. “I’m sorry. I need this class.”
I force myself back a step, then another. “I’ll let you take it as an independent study.”
“No.”
“You’re not listening.”
“You’re trying to bully me out of a required course because we had a one-night stand.” Instant regret flashes in her eyes. “Like I was the biggest mistake of your life.”
I flinch. “You are so far down the list of my mistakes. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. What I’ve been through to get here.”
She softens, and her shoulders slump. “Me too,” she whispers.
That sparks fire in my blood, and I want to slap myself, falling into the same addict trap. That it’s all about me. Here I go again, ignoring other people’s problems and demons.
“And for what it’s worth, that night…” My voice is rough. “It wasn’t a mistake. At the time. You could never be anyone’s mistake.”
Her throat works, my words affecting her. “I’ll sit in the back,” she whispers. “You teach. I’ll learn. We’ll pretend it never happened.”
Pretend. Christ. I lean on my desk because my legs feel unsteady.
“You don’t understand what’s at stake for me,” I say, gearing up to mention my son.
“My future is at stake,” she fires back. “You’re already a doctor.”
I close my eyes as a beat of silence stretches between us. “Scarlett…”
When I open them again, she’s already backing up toward the door.
“This class is mandatory,” she says quietly. “And I’m staying.”
Then she leaves, and I stand there long after the door shuts. My pulse is a violent, uneven rhythm.
She’s going to ruin me. And the worst part is that the masochist in me will enjoy the pain.