Emily
The university’s anthropology department was kind of an afterthought before Langston Fall joined the faculty a year ago. According to the school grapevine, he blazed onto the scene astride a Ducati superbike, striding around campus like a leather-clad pied piper and gathering eager students in his wake. The administration had to scramble to find lecture halls big enough to cater to his classes, and rumour has it, he’ll be poaching some extra classrooms from the biological sciences wing next year. My wing, since interest in the field of entomology is dropping like flies.
Uh. It seems bad jokes are catching.
God only knows why he agreed to be my mentor. We have nothing in common, and it’s not like he has a lot of time, since he also runs a successful forensic anthropology firm. But with so few jobs for PhDs in academia, the university assigns us career mentors in different fields and somehow, we were paired up. I worked with Langston for a thrilling three months - until he took an abrupt leave of absence and disappeared to parts unknown.
It disturbs me how much I missed him. I only really saw him once a week for our mentoring sessions, but for a while there, I thought he might return a little of my interest. He always encouraged my bee-related ramblings, gazing at me like I was sharing the secrets of the universe and not the everyday goings-on of a hive. It didn’t matter how busy he was, whenever I turned up at his door he gave me every ounce of his attention, and I ate it up like a pint of silky Manuka honey.
There’s no denying I had a massive crush on him, and when I got the chance to track him down at a fundraiser one night, I grabbed it. We danced together a couple of times, before he dragged me into a shadowy hallway and gave me a kiss that left me weak in the knees. I was panting for him – literally – and so ready for him to ravish me all night long. But half an hour later he was dropping me home, and a couple of days after that he was packed up and gone.
I try to ignore the lingering sting of rejection as I reach his door. It’s cracked open a little, and as always, an amazing scent wafts into the hallway and rocks me back on my heels. It reminds me of honey toast, but with a muskier tone, like fresh hay laid in a warm barn.
Now who’s getting all poetic?
I roll my eyes as I knock, and at Langston’s summons, push through the door. It’s a typical campus office with large windows looking out over the quad, wooden furniture bought more for longevity than style, packed bookcases with a few mementos on display, and a pair of parched potted plants. I’ve been here a dozen times before, but I can’t tell if anything has changed, since the room has never made much of an impression on me. Which is to be expected, since Professor Fall has the kind of presence that gives me instant tunnel vision.
“Ms. Nash. What a delight to find you in my doorway.”
As I step further into the room, I try to limit my gaze to his face, but it’s an impossible endeavour. Langston Fall is a god on campus, and for good reason. His career success aside, he’s a dominant alpha with an edgy appeal in a world of soft academic bodies. Big and broad with muscular forearms and a full beard, there’s a hint of wildness in his eyes that always calls to me. Without fail, when I’d turn up to one of his mentoring sessions, my heart would go into hyperdrive, and I was sure he could smell my arousal, even though I only have a faint beta scent.
As to his welcome, it inspires mixed feelings. On the one hand, he looks genuinely happy to see me. But on the other hand, he called me Ms. Nash. And I thought we were way past this kind of formality, given the way he’d left me drenched in his pheromones the last time we were together.
“Is it?” I ask, ignoring the visitor chair he nods towards. “Why didn’t you answer any of my emails or texts?”
So much for playing it cool, but the rejection feels painfully fresh now I’m standing in front of him.
A shadow passes over his expressive features. “I’m sorry, but I told you I was going to be out of the loop for a while.”
“For three whole months? I understand that you couldn’t mentor me, but I thought…”
My voice trails off and I bite my lip. Where is that sassy, daring girl who just got off with her boyfriend in the library bathroom? Like always, Langston’s mere presence makes me feel like the ground is shifting under my feet.
“As I said in my text, I very much want to pick up where we left off,” he says, eyeing me from across his desk. Langston isn’t just an alpha, he’s a lounging alpha. One of those big guys who lets his body mass spread out over all available surfaces, like he’s staking a claim on the furniture. Right now, his feet are kicked up on the edge of his desk, and he’s lying back in his chair, his arms up behind his head, and his fingers laced at his nape. In the bee world, he’d definitely be a queen.
But as our gazes lock, he drops his feet to the floor and splays his hands out on the white blotter. I can’t help but stare at them, since the way they felt around my waist on that ballroom dance floor is still etched on my brain. Wide, tanned, and far too rough-edged for an academic. And when he cupped my cheeks during our kiss, I swear I felt supernovas going off under my skin. “Tell me, Ms. Nash. How’s the thesis coming along?”
The question hits me like a bucket of cold water. Of course he’s talking about continuing our professional relationship. I might be obsessing over a half-hour interlude that happened three months ago, but he’s all business.
“I have a new mentor,” I say through stiff lips. “He’s great. Very knowledgeable. And really… available.”
God, did my voice have to crack right as I attempted a carefree shrug?
But Langston isn’t smiling. In fact, he’s pushing to his feet and stalking towards me, his thick brows lowered over his eyes. They’re a striking shade of Paul Newman blue and getting them to twinkle at me used to be the highlight of my day.
“Well, that’s nice for him, but I’m back now,” he says in a tone that makes the hair prickle on my nape. “He can shove off back to the hive, or wherever the hell he came from.”
He stops only a foot away and I’m back to clutching the edge of the desk as his scent swirls around me. To my beta nose, most alphas smell like musk or meat, but Langston reminds me of the sweetest nectar. Maybe I’m just projecting, but ambrosia was considered the food of the gods for a reason.
But as much as I want to fill my lungs with his scent, I force myself to tip my head back and give him a cool look. “The ocean, not the hive. He’s a marine biologist. Professor Downey.”
Langston looks like I’ve slapped him with a limp fish. “That puff of empty air?” His blue eyes narrow and his beautiful lip curls in the thickness of his beard. “The guy’s a hack, . He spends more time surfing than researching, and his last paper was so lacking in insight, even the fish and chips refused to be wrapped in it.”
“What?” The laughter that bursts out of me is an appalled squeak. “You can’t say that!”
“Why not? Academics rip their students apart every day. It’s good for us to have the tables turned now and then.” He steps closer and gives me a lazy smile through his golden scruff. “Or desks, if you want to try that out on me sometime.”
I narrow my eyes at the lazy invitation I see in his gaze. “Professor Downey’s been really helpful, actually. He has all sorts of great advice, and he even took me out on his boat a few weekends ago…”
Langston lifts his hand and plasters it across my mouth. I gasp into his palm, but he just cocks a brow and nudges me back against the desk, his big body crowding mine. “You’re gonna want to stop right there, .”
I blink as his fingers twitch against my lips. “I might not have stayed in touch, but I had plenty of time to think while I was away.” He presses closer, his hips nudging mine. “And do you know what sprang to mind every time I let it wander? My pretty little bee mentee, and how close I came to fucking her in the Hilton ballroom.”
I gasp into his hand, heat washing over me in a heady wave. I fantasised about that exact thing too many times to count, but he must see the doubt in my eyes, because his hand slowly loosens its grip, drifting down until his thumb is pressing against my bottom lip. “I wanted to, more than anything. But a friend needed me, and I had to give his recovery my entire focus. I didn’t think it was fair to start something with you when I was distracted.”
He grimaces, like he’s unhappy with his explanation, but my entire focus is on the way the pad of his thumb feels against the tip of my tongue. I’m not sure if he’s stroking me or I’m licking him, and I’ll later try to convince myself it was… well, a slip of the tongue. But the truth is, I’m dying to taste every inch of Professor Fall. And it’s worth the smug heat that fills his eyes, because it’s like licking sex-infused sunshine.
“You’re my mentee, ,” he growls, gripping my chin hard enough to send a vibrant ache through my body. “And I plan to make that very clear to Dickhead Downey, along with every other man who thinks you’re free for the claiming.”
“I’m dating Derek! And we just had sex in the library!” I don’t know why I spew my private business into the charged air between us, except that I’m in complete sensory overload. Langston’s flavour is on my tongue, his scent short-circuiting my brain, he’s touching me, and growling at me, and talking about claiming … and all I can wonder is: where the hell is the nearest Hilton ballroom?
Derek. Derek. Derek.
That’s who I have to cling to now, not some unobtainable fantasy about my professor.
“Derek Summers?” Langston has pulled back an inch, his brow arched in surprise. We talked about Derek now and then during our mentoring sessions, so he knows enough to be intrigued. “I thought you were just friends.”
“Not anymore.” I lick my dry lips, swallowing a whimper as his gaze tracks my tongue. “And we’re talking about moving in together.”
“Really?” He tilts his head and it’s such a predatory move, I have to lock my knees to stop them from buckling. “It’s serious, then?”
“Very,” I manage to croak. “He’s the best guy I’ve ever met.”
It’s the truth, although admitting it at this moment makes my stomach clench. Derek means everything to me, but Langston is intoxicating, alluring, and so deep under my skin it’s physically painful when he takes a step back.
“Hmmm.” I grip the edge of the desk, searching his face as he sets his hands on his hips. Is he disappointed? Annoyed? Relieved? Before I can work it out, he circles the desk and pushes a piece of paper at me. “If you’re interested, I have a side project for you to consider.”
The change of topic feels like whiplash, and I rub my neck as I pick it up. It’s written on a fancy corporate letterhead, and I scan it twice, then look at him in confusion. “Is it something to do with the university?”
“Not exactly. Vise Solutions does a lot of philanthropic work, but this is part of its research and development side. I’ve consulted with them in the past, and I know they’re looking for a few additional analysts to assist with a project.”
I look up at him, curious despite myself. “And you think I’d be a good fit?”
His eyes darken as they meet mine. “I think they’d be lucky to have you. And it would open you up to networking opportunities that could pay off hugely once you’re ready to enter the workforce. The company also offers a generous study-work balance, so you can keep focusing on your thesis. Plus, it pays quite well.”
He mentions a salary that ignites a buzzing storm between my ears. It’s more money than most science graduates can expect after a decade in the workforce. In fact, it’s enough that I could quit my shifts at the library bookshop, find a professional babysitter for Claudia, and hook my mum up with a real doctor instead of the quacks she meets at the walk-in clinic. A prickling wave of want washes over me, and I have to squeeze my palms together to keep myself from snatching up a pen and signing my life away.
“But why me? Is the project linked to the biological sciences?”
“In part,” he replies. “And one thing I can promise is that you’d be doing important work.”
I study his face carefully, but beneath that veneer of lazy charm, Langston is almost impossible to read, and I turn my attention to the document in front of me. It only outlines the bare basics of the project officer role and offers the usual spiel about the need for collaboration, problem-solving, and analytical skills – with a caveat at the end that the successful candidate will have to sign a non-disclosure agreement. “There’s not a lot of information. Is it a confidentiality thing?”
“The project sponsor is a private guy, and there are some elements of the research that can’t be shared publicly.” Langston leans on his desk, his hands large and brown against his white blotter, and I have to drag my gaze back to the document. “But if you’re interested, I could arrange a meeting. If that goes well, you could begin on a temporary basis.”
That seems more than fair, but I bite my tongue. Given all my other commitments – and this overwhelming attraction I feel for my professor - I know I shouldn’t jump into anything without thinking it over very carefully. “When do you need an answer from me?”
“By the end of the week would be good.” I nod and get to my feet, but Langston stops me before I reach the door. “, no matter what you decide, I’ll need you to keep quiet about this offer.” At my raised eyebrows, his scent shifts into something that smells like burnt caramel. “Like I said, the sponsor is very generous, but this is a pet project for him, and he will protect it at any cost.”