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Ihad a weakness for men. Hot. Older. Italian men.
Normally, I was excited for the summer since it was my favorite season. Each year, it could never arrive fast enough. Nothing beat a cute bikini and spending weeks at the beach with my friends.
Trunk packed to the brim, I drove from Massachusetts toward New Jersey with the top down and music up, savoring the last hours of my freedom. My weakness had landed me in some trouble with the college administration and my parents.
Mr. Bernardi and I met at a party I went to with my roommate and her mother. My roommate roped me into it to keep her company as her mother schmoozed with all the older, wealthy attendees. While my friend was busy talking to some of the other students from our campus who were also roped into going, I found my attention called away to a tall, dark, and handsome older man. He was standing in the corner, sipping on a cocktail in his dapper suit as I watched in awe.
After what I assumed would be a one-night stand, I started a new semester the next day, and he appeared in the front of a class to introduce himself. As much as we tried to fight wanting one another, it was only a month before we were sneaking around almost every day. Sadly, it was short-lived when my roommate’s mother walked in on us toward the end of the semester and told the university authorities.
Four days before summer vacation, Mr. Bernardi didn’t show back up to work, and he blocked me from his phone. I was given the offer to press charges, but I chose not to. It was just as much my fault as it was his, and I was twenty years old. Not a minor. In my eyes, I didn’t see the problem. Needless to say, my parents found out and my father told me that the moment I was home, he would handle me.
As I pulled through the black, wrought-iron gates and inched down the tar driveway of our red brick mansion, I took a deep, slow breath. My mother had said little about what happened, but I was sure she was upset. My father, however, made a special trip to Boston to argue with the university staff. Yes, he knew I was guilty, but he was a high-profile defense attorney, so every point had to be made in writing or in person while recording it. Still, I was in trouble.
When I came to a stop in front of the long, elegant front porch, my eyes scanned the two-story, off-white pillars and espresso double doors with golden handles. I had grown up in this house, yet suddenly, I felt the need to analyze every detail. Anything to distract me from going inside to accept my fate. My father had called me eight times in the several hours it took me to get here, only to ask how far away I was. It was less concern for my safety and more annoyance that I’d chosen to leave later than expected.
Groaning, I leaned forward, gently tapping my forehead on the steering wheel and pressing the button to close the convertible’s top. Slowly, I lifted my head, scrutinizing the house once more before I grabbed my handbag and stepped out of my Benz.
Hands sliding down my white miniskirt, I adjusted my attire and draped my pink and white floral Valentino handbag over my shoulder. My father’s office window had a view of the driveway, so I was sure he saw me begrudgingly trudging to the front door. One more deep breath and I grabbed the handle on the right.
The house was extra quiet as I stepped inside, the luxurious foyer completely empty. Certain it was some sort of ambush, I flickered my gaze around, arching a brow as I removed my oversized Gucci sunglasses.Hmmm. Shrugging a shoulder, I twisted toward one of the grand twin staircases that flanked each side of the entrance. The moment my foot touched the bottom step—
“Ahem.” The deep voice of my father caused me to freeze.
Plastering a fake smile on my lips, I spun around. “Daddy, hi.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” A suspicious smile crept onto his face. “How was your drive?”
Bracing myself for the trap, I nodded once, feigning confidence. “I mean, you already know because you called me a million times.”
“Right.” He chuckled. “Follow me.”
I darted my eyes back and forth over the two-story foyer.
“What’s the problem?” My father lifted a hand, stroking his recently shaved jaw.
“Me?” I mustered my most angelic smile.
“Elizabeth.”
Closing my eyes, I set my bag on the long, white leather bench to the left of the stairway. Heels clicking on the white and black marble floor, I plodded behind my quiet, intimidating father. I followed him through the long hallways to his office. Once we reached the door, he stepped to the side, waving me in first. He was always a gentleman, even when upset.
Shutting the door behind us, he sauntered to the front of his desk. Arms crossed high on his chest, he perched on the edge, silently examining me for a moment. He shook his head. An audible sigh evaded his lips as he dug his fingers into his temples. “Elizabeth, what the hell?”
Debating if I should open my mouth or not, I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. Anything I said, my badass lawyer father turned around…always. He was damn good at his job, which made him even better at disputes when home. Winning any argument with him was impossible.
“Your professor?!” He folded his arms once again. “Really?!”
Remorse was not something he would get from me. Not even an apology. Iwasn’tsorry. I wanted to see Mr. Bernardi again. Maybe I was crazy, maybe I had a craving for danger. I didn’t know.
“You’re too old to ground or spank.”
Spank. The word itself triggered a fond memory. Regrettably, it was written all over my face. I felt my cheeks getting hot thinking about the way Mr. Bernardi bent me over the side of his bed, spanking me at my request.
“Fucking hell, Elizabeth. He’s my age.”
