Chapter 7
DIEGO
I stand there, momentarily frozen, gripping the hand of a legend. A brilliant man related to the most frustrating woman I’ve ever had the misfortune of having as a professor.
“Language, Mr. Kahale.”
She tosses that long brown hair over her shoulder while scolding me, and I mumble an apology. However, her father is unbothered and offers a gentle smile.
“And your name?”
The echo of Dr. Rossi’s voice reverberates in my head.
Meeting him. Meeting the Dr. Raffaele Rossi is beyond anything I expected when I decided to apologize to Professor Rossi again.
Not participating in class and undressing her the entire time made my cock hard as carbon.
Still, my guilt was as overwhelming as a runaway exothermic reaction, spiraling out of control no matter how desperately I tried to contain it.
“This is Diego Kahale, a student who shouldn’t be here right now.”
Her scolding tone matches her face when I fail to respond. Too in awe of this man. His rough hand slips from mine, gesturing to a stool opposite the table from him.
“Please have a seat.”
“Papà, you don’t have to entertain him. So, if you would please . . .”
She points to the door, indicating that I have to leave before I finish my apology. Thankfully, her father has more mercy and dismisses her with a wave of his hand.
“Cara, please. A student in need cannot be turned away.”
I would have enjoyed her scolding if I weren’t so enthralled. My palms are clammy. A rare hint of nerves creeps in as he turns his attention to me.
“I just wanted to say how much your work has influenced me. Your publications on asymmetric synthesis and stereoselective catalysis. They’re groundbreaking.”
A spark lights in his eyes.
Surprise crosses his daughter’s face.
“You’ve read my papers?”
“You’ve read his papers?” she parrots behind him, slowly sinking onto a stool beside him and ignoring the experiment they were working on before I arrived.
“Absolutely.” I nod, enthusiasm bubbling up despite myself. “Your approach to chiral molecules changed how I think about organic chemistry.”
“It’s always gratifying to hear that my work resonates with upcoming chemists.”
Professor Rossi shifts, uncomfortable with her father’s easy compliment. She glares but remains silent.
“I was particularly fascinated by your latest article on enantioselective reactions,” I continue, reaching for the flask to keep my hands occupied while I talk to my chemistry hero. “The potential applications in pharmaceutical development are incredible.”
He smiles appreciatively.
“You have a keen interest in advanced organic mechanisms?”
“It’s what I hope to specialize in.”
I swirl the concoction, watching the colors twirl around the glass before Professor Rossi snaps her fingers for me to put it down.
“Dr. Rossi’s research opened up new perspectives for me.”
She clears her throat, unhappy she isn’t in control of the situation. Her eyes flick between us, irritation flashing across her face. Dr. Rossi notices but seems unperturbed when I gently put the flask down.
“Have you conducted any research yourself?”
“A bit.”
I shrug modestly.
My knee bounces under the table from the adrenaline coursing through me.
“Mostly coursework, but I was experimenting with catalytic cycles last semester with my old Professor.”
The one who retired and was replaced with this hot, mean one.
“Impressive initiative.”
His hands clasp on the table, his demeanor open and interested, unlike his daughter, who’s had about enough of me.
“Self-driven experimentation is the hallmark of true passion.”
“Mr. Kahale—”
Isabella leans forward, her voice clipped.
“Call me Diego. Mr. Kahale is my father.”
The steely edge to my tone has her lifting an eyebrow. Not that I’m unpacking my family shit with them, but yeah, I hate when she calls me by my last name. Correcting her in front of her kind father seems to be the right approach, though. She looks sullen, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Diego. While it’s admirable that you’re engaging with the material, perhaps we can continue this conversation during scheduled office hours.”
Her tone leaves little room for argument, and I’m about to stand to leave when her father raises an aged hand.
“Isabella, it’s not every day we meet students so eager to discuss complex topics.”
She presses her lips together, clearly holding back a retort out of respect for him, certainly not for me.
“Actually, I have some unpublished data on a new catalytic process I’ve been tinkering with.”
His hand lowers to the table, and his knotted fingers slightly tremble.
“Would you be interested in taking a look?”
My heart skips a beat as I lean forward, my elbows teetering on the table’s edge at the mention of his work papers.
“That would be incredible.”
“Isabella, can you retrieve my bag?”
He gestures toward an old duffel bag by the door. I’m up and off the stool before she can object or make another excuse to get rid of me. I sprint over, grab the handles, and place it on a stool that I quickly pull up beside him.
“Ah, to move with such ease.”
He chuckles, his dark eyes glistening with an excitement that mirrors mine.
His daughter’s eyes are murdering me in every way possible behind her father’s back.
He moves to his bag, retrieving a worn notebook with loose pages of scribbles shoved into it.
He straightens up the papers and offers them to me.
“Here.”
My mouth opens, my gaze darting from him to her and back. He’s offering me the holy grail as if it’s no big deal. I’m slow to respond until the tremor in his outstretched hand becomes too much, and I grasp the weathered notebook to set it carefully on the table.
“These are preliminary findings. I’d value your thoughts.”
Her eyes widen, moving to the end of the table and squarely within reach of us. Her hand covers the notebook, preventing me from opening it. Not that I’m offended. I completely understand the need to guard one’s private observations and experimentations.
“Papà, are you sure—”
“Yeah, Dr. Rossi, what she said,” I chime in, my hand slipping off the table so as not to appear greedy even though I’m dying to look inside.
It’s a peek into the genius mind of an esteemed chemist and a legend in the science world. My hesitation is met with an approving nod from her, the first sign that we finally agree about something. The only thing at this point.
He smiles reassuringly at her.
“Cara, it’s alright. Sharing knowledge is how we all grow. How our work is advanced.”
With her lips pursed, she’s not happy with his openness.
His classes were legendary. Even Dom talked about them from his brief time at Princeton.
Dr. Rossi’s name lingered in the chem building long after his retirement.
Dom was disappointed he’d retired years before he went there, but swapped stories with esteemed colleagues who had the chance to work alongside him.
He’s a teaching scientist.
It’s in his blood.
His daughter, not so much.
Given how stingy she is in sharing knowledge, I wonder if she should be a professor.
After another long second, her hand withdraws, content to stand over me and shoulder surf when I crack it open. It’s filled with more scribbled notes and diagrams. I skim the first few pages. Some I can’t read because the handwriting is illegible, or . . .
“It’s written in Italian,” she mutters, turning the book toward herself and tracing the messy cursive writing with her finger.
“Oh.”
I gaze up at her and scratch my head, wondering how I’ll understand this. When our eyes meet, hers softens a fraction, and a long sigh exits her sexy lips.
“Move over.”
The back of her hand pats the shoulder of my jacket. She removes her masculine wool blazer to reveal a nice full rack under a tight turtleneck. I scoot over a stool, giving her mine and ducking my head, avoiding staring at her clothed breasts.
A faint fragrance swirls into my nose when she sits beside me. The smell is refreshing and feminine as it engulfs my senses. It’s damn intoxicating. Another pair of sexy fucking boots adorn her calves, hooking onto the bottom rung of the stool.
My balls tingle, trying to harden my cock. I have to will it down because now is not the time to fuck this up by making a move on her. Especially with my hero, her father, sitting on the other side of the table.
“See the complex chemical structures and reaction pathways?”
She fingers them with her manicured nails, the color matching her lips, entrancing me. She doesn’t wait for my reply when she reads her father’s handwriting and translates each detail more intricate than the last.
My brain listens to his fascinating research, and my body reacts to his equally fascinating daughter. Suddenly, I never want this chemistry lesson to end. I enjoy all of it for two very different reasons.
“This is . . . phenomenal,” she murmurs, surprised by his advanced notes.
With those lips close to me, the view of her sexy body under the blazer, and the way the words flow with an accented cadence, it’s no use.
My cock is hard as carbon.
She continues, her family’s language flowing easily, while Dr. Rossi further explains his findings. I was initially only impressed by him because who wouldn’t be?
But I’m starting to be impressed with how they converse, with hands gesturing in the air as they validate each other’s points and the softening of her features.
It’s mesmerizing.
They finish each other’s sentences.
They are so in tune with mutual respect and care that it twists a knife into my heart, wanting what they have that I never did.
“Mr. Kaha—Diego?”
I shake away my drifting thoughts and tamper down my hard cock and aching chest to focus on what she last said. When I come up with nothing, not knowing who said what or which part they were debating, I throw out a random question.
“But aren’t you retired?”
My eyes move from his detailed notes, covering the pages and the sideways writing along the margins.
“Alas, yes.”
He taps the side of his temple.
“But the mind never retires.”
She pauses, waiting for him to finish, before flipping through the pages and going over in fine detail what everything means.
I’m in awe.
Not only with my idol’s brilliance but also with my professor. They share a joke, a chuckle bursting from her that is light and carefree.
I stare at her, unable to take my eyes off how her whole face changes into a younger, less stern version of an already stunning woman. There is an ease to her now that hasn’t been there all week or even half an hour ago.
“I’m afraid a chill has gotten into my bones. Isabella, would you, by chance, have a faculty lounge in the building where I could get a cup of coffee?”
She looks from him to me, unsure about something. Then, her gaze slides to the clock on the wall, ticking off the minutes.
“Maybe we should think about wrapping up. It’s getting dark outside and only going to get colder.”
He slowly nods, his features falling as the lively discussion about his works is forced to an end by her worries.
I, for one, don’t want this to end either.
I haven’t even gotten to ask my treasure trove of questions.
Too content to watch them interact in their element to interrupt them.
If she’s calling this short, I have to change her mind quickly.
“Why don’t I get it? That way, you two can continue talking, and I’ll just be a sec.”
I’m off my stool before the first protest falls from her glossy lips.
“Diego—”
“No, you two keep it up. How do you take it, Dr. Rossi?”
I move around her, standing at the head of the table, taking charge of the situation and intentionally addressing only him. He turns toward me, a glimmer of appreciation in his expression.
“Black, no sugar.”
His voice carries the same calm authority as his daughter's, except he lacks the edge she wields like a sword.
“Same for you, Professor?”
I ignore her fingers, twitching against the pages of the notebook she’s holding.
Her nails briefly graze the edge before she presses her hand flat on the surface.
She glances toward her father, then back at me, her brows knitting together like she’s deciding whether to let this happen or to shut it down completely.
Her stool scrapes against the floor as she stands abruptly, the sound cutting through the room, but I’m already out the door searching for the faculty lounge that I hope is on this floor.
My name on her tongue, calling after me, is a hard pass, knowing she’s trying to stop this. For someone so controlling and uptight, her father is the complete opposite.
Calm, patient, and open.
It’s a wonder they’re related.
My heart’s still racing like I’m on the track instead of in a hallway outside Professor Rossi’s lab.
Meeting Dr. Raffaele Rossi. The Raffaele Rossi is not what I expected from my half-baked plan to apologize.
And yeah, maybe I didn’t plan on sticking around long after my little speech.
A quick “sorry,” a few carefully chosen words to sound sincere, and then I’d be out, right?
But her father? He actually talked to me like some friendly, old dude. Even shook my hand.
Like I wasn’t the late, loud-mouthed idiot, his daughter clearly wished that I would drop her class.
I glance back at the lab door, the faint hum of their voices leaking through the crack. It’s muted. Nothing I can make out, but her sharp, clipped tone carries even through the muffled barrier. She’s still annoyed, no doubt about it.
I pull out my phone and tap out a message to Dominic.
Dude
I just met Dr. Rossi.
Yeah.
THE DR RAFFAELE ROSSI!
WTF?
Long story
Call ya later
As I hit send, I roll my shoulders, push off the wall, and start down the hall. I’ll find this damn lounge if it kills me.