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My Grace.
“I’m sorry, Professor Goode.”
The student straightened, seeming embarrassed by being called out in front of the class. He should have been glad that’s all I did.
I couldn’t pull my focus off Grace, could see she had an almost embarrassed expression on her face, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. She looked between me and the asshole sitting next to her, then back at me again.
I had my hands curled into tight fists at my side, was trying to control myself. Even something as simple as another male talking to her infuriated me. I was jealous, so fucking jealous it ate away at me.
I forced myself to turn around, to attempt to appear like I had my shit together, that I was actually supposed to be teaching a class, not lusting after my fucking student.
“I want a thirteen-page paper on a genetic variant in a certain population completed and turned in to me by the end of the month.” There was a shuffling of paper and a murmur of voices, but I didn’t turn around, because if I did, my attention would go right to Grace. “Don’t act surprised by this, it’s on your syllabus.” My voice was hard. I was still annoyed, the jealousy still present.
Class ended and I kept my back to them, putting paperwork in my satchel, my body tense. When I heard the door shut, assuming everyone was gone, I rested my hands on the edge of my desk and braced my weight, hanging my head and closing my eyes. I breathed out slowly.
“Professor Goode?”
The sound of her voice, that sweet, melodic tone, went through me, calming me yet inflaming me all in the same breath.
I clenched my teeth together, my jaw set hard as I straightened and turned around to face Grace. She stood a few feet from me, a couple books held in her arms, pressed to her chest as if they were a shield. She looked so nervous as she glanced up at me, her eyes wide, that little sundress so fucking innocent.
“I just wanted to apologize about interrupting your class.”
God, her voice had this pitch to it that instantly aroused me.
“I’ll make sure not to sit next to Theo again. He likes to talk during class.” She worried her bottom lip again, and I wondered if that was a nervous habit. I wanted to reach out and pull her lip away from her teeth, smoothing my thumb along the flesh before I dipped down and kissed her.
It took everything in me not to make a little sound of need in that moment.
“No need to apologize, Miss Hart. It’s not your fault.” I had my hand braced behind me on the edge of the desk, my nails digging into the wood. But I kept myself in control, kept my expression blank. I could see her pulse beating rapidly beneath her ear, and lowered my gaze farther down to the bodice of her dress. Her nipples were hard as they poked through the material.
I fucking loved that dress, but I also wanted to demand she change out of it, that she cover herself so no other man could look at her, could fantasize and lust after her.
I swallowed, feeling the lump in my throat, my mouth so dry. As we stood there for several seconds not speaking, just staring at each other, I swore I could see desire lick across her face.
She nodded slowly and offered me a shy smile, tucking her head as she glanced up at me through her lashes.
God, my chest ached.
“I’ll see you later, Professor Goode.”
She left, and watching her walk away was so fucking hard. I actually found myself taking a step toward her, wanting to lock the door and pull her right up against my body.
I was losing my fucking mind where Grace was concerned. But if this was what insanity felt like, I didn’t want to be sane.
3
Grace
Who would have thought Genetics in Physical Anthropology would be the class I looked forward to every day?
But then again it wasn’t the course that intrigued me, but the person teaching it.
I thought about Professor Goode, all the little things he did, things I doubted anyone really noticed in lecture.
The way he furrowed his eyebrows when he was looking over his notes, deep in thought. The fact his gaze was dark, penetrating … consuming.
Or the way he curled his long, strong fingers around the eraser right before he cleaned off the board.
He was articulate and precise. He made sure his lines were exact when he wrote quotes on the dry-erase board. He was strict in the way he spoke, in the way he gave us our assignments.
It was hard concentrating in his class, hard to do anything but lust after a man I’d never have.
“What do you think about Professor Goode?” I looked over at Sherry, who was busy grinning at a guy currently seated at the next table over. I shouldn’t be asking her anything about this, shouldn’t call attention to my curiosity where he was concerned. “Sherry?”
