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I almost frowned. No. I would have heard that.
He would have had to walk by me as well. Unless he moved along the edges of the room. I couldn’t see that or him in my peripheral view. And my focus was primarily on the stone floor beyond the rug.
Goose bumps pebbled along my arms, not from the chill but from the heightened sense of awareness around me. I… I felt exposed. Watched.
So he is looking at me, I marveled. Unless I’m losing my mind.
No. I could feel his intense stare from across the room. It resembled a brand against my skin that left me feeling warm and desired.
“You’re gorgeous, Jenica,” he murmured, confirming that he was studying me. “That was my first thought when you walked down the aisle in that sexy dress. It was the slits that killed me, giving me teasing glimpses of your legs as you walked.”
My heart skipped a beat. He watched me at the wedding?
“Then you showed up in my class.” His voice was closer now, the deep tenor an alluring caress to my senses. “And for your first assignment, you wore that damn dress with those fucking boots.” He growled, the sound making me shiver. “I wanted to bend you over my desk and spank the disobedience out of you.”
I could feel him behind me now, the heat of his legs warming my exposed back.
“You wore that outfit to make a statement, didn’t you?” His fingers threaded through my hair, taking a fistful of my strands. He tugged my head back to meet his gaze as he stood over me. “A sexual statement.”
“I was advertising, Sir.” The answer slipped from my mouth unbidden, my need to confirm his statement overriding all thought.
He hummed in agreement. “Just like you’re advertising yourself now.” He lifted his drink to his lips, his opposite hand still in my hair.
“Yes, Sir.” Calling him Sir seemed natural to me. I couldn’t define why. Perhaps it was the same reason I didn’t mind thinking of him as Professor Pierce. It gave him a ring of authority that I found appealing.
His throat moved as he sipped the contents of his drink. He’d removed his suit jacket at some point, leaving him in just the button-down shirt—the sleeves of which he’d rolled to the elbows. It left the ink of his forearms exposed, which I found hot as hell.
I also loved the way the light above glinted off the piercing in his eyebrow. He resembled a sexy badass with all his tats and expensive clothes.
Part of the reason for my own ink was because of him.
And also because I enjoyed art.
I’d paired the two loves together by creating my own design and having it put on the same arm he’d used for his first sleeve.
I supposed that qualified as an unhealthy obsession.
Couldn’t say I minded much right now while observing him from my knees.
“That look in your eyes has me wondering a thousand different things,” he said, slowly lowering his glass. “What are you thinking about?”
“Your tattoos, Sir,” I admitted. “And my own.”
“Hmm.” He glanced down at my lace-clad hands. “Remove the gloves.”
I gently pulled them off, then placed them on the rug beside me.
“Lift your arm so I can see your work.”
My insides did a little dance as I obeyed, my stomach suddenly in knots as I wondered what he would say.
He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze intent. Then he took another sip of his drink and released me. “Don’t move.”
The words froze me in place, my neck awkward as I continued to stare up at where his face had been.
I heard a soft clank as he set his drink down. Then he returned to grab my hand and pull it higher. He stood behind me again, his strong legs against my back. His opposite palm went to my throat as he held me there, his focus still on my wrist and forearm.
“You designed this.” Not a question. “It’s beautiful.”
