. He forced himself to focus on each letter as he wrote so he wouldn’t be tempted to think about the fact that he was touching her for the first time in weeks. He would not think about how smooth her skin was
“There’s a studio recording from the 90’s with Domingo. You have to hear it.”
He blew on the ink on her palm to dry it. She shivered and his cock jolted in response as he imagined all the ways he’d like to make her shiver. He was suddenly all too aware of how intimate the moment was, and how – even though it felt natural andrightto be intimate with her – it was wrong to be so goddamn turned on while talking to his student. He dropped her hand and it floated to rest in her lap.
Scrubbing his hand over his face, he continued. “Once you hear theAve Mariain Act IV, you’ll never settle for Schubert again. Trust me.”
“I do,” she said, looking at the ink on her hand, his handwriting marking her skin, and biting her lip.
She trusted him, and here he was itching to touch her. He swallowed hard as visions passed before his eyes of dragging that plump lip between his teeth, of her thighs clamping around his hand between her legs, of the vibration in her throat beneath his lips when she moaned.
“I’ll check it out. Thanks,” she said. Was it his imagination or was her voice huskier than it was a moment ago?
“There you are!” Liam and Min turned towards the sound to see Bobby coming down the path from the building that housed the music practice rooms. “I told you to meet me outside,” he complained.
Min looked around as if the tenor were insane. “Iamoutside,” she said.
Liam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
“I meant outside the music building,” Bobby said, his eyes lingering a little too long on Min’s cleavage.
Liam’s blood began to boil. No danger of smiling now. Now he was barely repressing the urge to bare his teeth and growl at this boy like an animal.Get it together.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have left her waiting in the first place,” he gritted out. He would never leave her waiting if she were his. Hell, he’d never want to be away from her at all.
“Hey, Dr. Jacobs. What’re you doing here?” Bobby asked as if he had just noticed their professor. Before Liam could answer, Bobby started digging in the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. “Shit! I left it in the practice room.”
“Left what?” Min asked.
“The Captain. Jeff will kill me if I don’t go back for it. Wait for me,” Bobby said, before turning and darting back in the direction from which he’d come without even looking at Min. He didn’t notice the way her lips had flattened together, the way her shoulders had tensed – but Liam did.
He shouldn’t say anything. It was none of his business who Min spent her time with, no matter how much he wanted it to be.
But he couldn’t help himself.
“What are you doing with him?” he said, the frustration in his voice evident.
Min whipped her head to look at Liam, her cheeks heating and eyes flaring. Even angry she was stunning. “Probably the same thing you’re doing with the girl from the coffee shop.” She flinched as soon as the words were out of her mouth, as if she wished she could take them back.
Even still, he couldn’t help the guilt souring his stomach. Foolish, that. He and Min had made no commitment to each other – they couldn’t. Hell, they could never be anything more to each other than professor and student. But he never wanted to hurt her. He hated that she even knew about the barista.
He softened his tone, reaching for her hand. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” she scowled.
“I am,” he admitted softly.
He saw the moment her anger cracked, the brief flicker of longing that lay beneath before she shuttered her eyes again and looked away. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“Not him, Min,” Liam pleaded. He swept his thumb over the pulse point at her wrist. She exhaled shakily. “He’s not good enough for you.”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she said, still avoiding his eyes.
“I know you,” he insisted, his voice low and tight, gripping her hand harder as if that would somehow make her see.
He didn’t know her parents’ names, or her favorite color, or if she preferred coffee or tea. But he knewher. His soul recognized hers. He knew the music that flowed through her veins, the careful way she held herself together, how she tried to make herself smaller, not realizing she was always the most captivating woman in any room. He knew the sounds she made when she came and the feel of her heart pounding against his chest. What else could possibly matter?
“It was just one night,” she said. But the hurt in her eyes told a different story. It wasn’tjustanything and she knew it. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, finally looking at him, her eyes glassy.
