Chapter 13
Alex
I was resigned to my fate.
Dr. Carter said she had some work to sort out, so I was pretty much left to my own devices, with her checking in on me every now and then to make sure I hadn't died from this fucking concussion.
I went into her lounge; it was full of dark wood and soft furnishings.
I settled on the largest sofa, my feet tucked up under myself and the laptop she had given me perched on my lap.
If I was stuck in all day, I might as well get some work done.
I even managed to work out the crazy TV remote and have some indie film playing in the background.
Nobody had ever said I didn't make myself at home. The sofa was fucking comfy, and the low lighting in the lounge was relaxing. I might have been there against my will, but I was no longer complaining, especially if she kept feeding me like she had done that morning.
I trailed into the kitchen, and, to my surprise, she had set up a couple of places at the dining table.
I took the hint and sat down in front of one of the settings.
I watched her glide around—because there really was no other explanation for the way she moved, purposeful and elegant.
It smelled fucking amazing in there, and I was trying not to react like Oliver Twist, because it had been a long time since I'd had meals like that.
Not like I was starving at home, not at all, Mum always made sure we had enough, but it was always so bland and with crappy, cheap alternative food.
We did the best we could, but this stuff I could smell was fresh and must have been expensive.
Dr. Carter set a bowl down in front of me before placing the second onto the mat across the table. Returning to the kitchen, she retrieved a basket of warm rolls, bringing them back as she took her seat across from me.
She gestured toward my bowl with a subtle nod. “Is this alright? I can easily prepare something else if you’d prefer.”
Was she fucking joking? This looked even better than the bagel that morning. I shook my head instantly. “No, no. This smells amazing, thank you.”
She nodded, and I saw that little twitch of her lips before she took a spoonful of the soup herself.
I dug in, willing myself to eat slowly and politely, even though the first mouthful shot right across my body as flavour exploded in my mouth.
Was she a fucking chef or something? I tried to keep the sound in; I managed to divert what would have been a moan to a hum, and she smirked. “Good?”
“Seriously, good.” I chuckled as she offered me the bread bowl, and I eagerly took one, breaking it—it was still warm inside. I shook my head, “Please don’t tell me you made the bread too?”
She smiled again, that little smile that made my chest flutter. "I may have.”
I needed to stop getting to know this woman. It was not good for me. I felt like she was untying pieces inside of me that—what—were making me have emotions? Feel things? Fucking disgusting. But for fuck's sake, that softness in her was pulling me in.
“Well, you're incredible. Is there literally nothing you can’t do?” I smirked as I eagerly dipped the bread in the soup.
She kept eating, contemplating the question with more seriousness than I expected. “I’m not very creative," she said to the soup.
I hummed. “Okay, what makes you say that?” It was insane to me she had any flaws. Damn it. Maybe a flaw would be holding her student captive in her home, but really, I had stopped fighting against that the moment I heard her laugh.
She took her time answering again, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in the soup, chewing thoroughly and swallowing.
Fuck, I knew I was staring, but watching her mouth move like that was making me twitch.
She finally answered. “I tried a few painting classes a couple years ago. I enjoyed them but let’s just say I won’t be changing my specialty any time soon. ”
I smiled at that. “Somehow I don't believe they were as bad as you seem to think. What sort of paintings?”
She looked me dead in the eyes. “Life models.” And ate a spoonful of soup.
Why the fuck did that make me shiver? I licked my bottom lip as I looked down at my soup, making a show of scooping up the last chunks of vegetables before looking back at her. “Did you ever model yourself?”
She instantly chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did actually.”
“No way.” I smiled way too wide. That was so bold and fucking hot. When she didn’t say anything, I smirked. “Do you have any of the paintings?”
She rolled her eyes as she put down her spoon. “Alex, are you insinuating you would like to see me naked?”
Oof, my body turned into jelly with the way she said that, teasing and yet her voice dropped an octave, making it run like fucking liquid down my spine. I looked her in the eyes as I answered. “Obviously.”
She held my gaze for a beat, and I swore my own heart was trying to choke me. She then raised an eyebrow, retorting, “Then I’m sorry to say I do not have any of the paintings.”
“That is a real shame.” I grinned as I finished my soup.
Then, just to see if I’d really transported into another fucking universe where I was casually having this sort of conversation with my lecturer in her house, I added, “You know I’m not too bad with a paintbrush.
” It wasn’t a lie; I was not terrible, but I could guarantee I wouldn't be able to do a woman like her justice.
“Really?” She rolled her eyes as she started clearing away our bowls.
“Really. I’d be more than happy to set up a canvas if you wanted to give modelling another go.
” I grinned, leaning back in the chair, watching her fill the dishwasher.
She tensed for a moment, and I couldn’t tell if she was about to spin around and scold me, or laugh.
Fuck, now that was all I could picture: her naked, spread across some white sheets.
“I have a couple more meetings this afternoon, so I’m afraid booking me as a life model is out of the question,” she joked wryly as she turned to look at me, leaning on the counter. One hand was almost gripping the side, her fingers flexing, making my mouth go dry.
“A real shame," I answered, combing my fingers through my hair.
Ew. I felt fucking gross. No way was I trying to flirt with my supervillain lecturer whilst looking like that.
She tilted her head at me, almost knowingly.
“If you would like to shower, there should be everything you would need in your ensuite.”
“Thanks,” I said, pushing away from the table and standing up. I took a few steps towards her before smiling. “Seriously, lunch was amazing. Almost worth being held hostage for the day.”
She smirked, stepping towards me. She began combing her fingers through my hair again, checking the cut. Fuck, she was close. Her voice was low when she spoke. “I don’t think you can call yourself a hostage if I’m not asking for ransom from anybody.”
I bit my lip. “Good point,” I glanced at her with a cheeky smile, "And actually, you're paying to keep me here. I'm flattered."
She smirked and smoothed down my hair carefully.
“It is a necessity to make sure you don’t die from a sudden brain bleed,” she said sarcastically.
She had pulled her hands away from my hair, but she hadn’t made any space between us, and it wasn’t like the kitchen at home where you couldn’t slide past another person without touching them—here, you could probably play tennis over the island—but no, she didn’t step away, and neither did I.
Her voice was unusually quiet, but I suppose she didn’t need to be loud with only a breath of space between us. "Do you have clean clothes you can wear after your shower?”
Fuck. I didn’t think about that. I sighed. “No, I guess I can throw these back on,” I gestured to the clothes I had worn to uni the day before, and had again that day.
She grimaced, which made me laugh, and then rolled her eyes. “I’ll find you something.”
“Thanks.”
Her hand found its way into my hair again, and it was like she didn’t even realise she was doing it, and I didn't know why I kept letting her. I was not soppy like that. This was fucking weird, and even weirder that it was coming from her. I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to.
Almost like I couldn't help myself either, my hand that was resting on the countertop moved slightly, testing her and myself. I flexed my fingers enough to stroke her hip. She didn’t move, didn’t stop her hand in my hair, and I could feel my heart punching against my chest.
Feeling a little bolder, and fuck it, why not, I moved my hand so it settled lightly, cupping her hip. The action was purposeful, leaving no room for this to be assumed a mistake. Her jaw twitched slightly, but again, she didn’t pull away.
Fuck. My insides fluttered ridiculously. Being that close to her—her hand in my hair and my hand on her hip—it was like one wrong move and it would all explode. Like playing with fire, and I actually wanted to get burnt.
Her hand moved from combing my hair to tracing the contours of my skull, then lightly back over my shoulder.
Her thumb found the bruise on my neck, stroking it.
I swallowed, watching her face—it was unreadable as her eyes flickered over the mark.
Her thumb pressed a little more firmly against the bruise, making my breath hitch.
Her eyes flitted to my face, searching, just as I tightened my grip on her hip.
I’d never felt anything as charged as that. Never. I had had women begging in my ear, our naked bodies flush together in anticipation, and not one of those moments had ever felt like this. Fuck.
Her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but the sudden ring of her phone made us both flinch. Glancing down at her watch, she closed her eyes, taking a brief second to centre herself before stepping away.