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I didn’t know what in the hell I’d gotten myself into, but this was quite possibly the worst situation I’d ever been in, not to mention highly inappropriate.
He was my professor. I was his student.
But then again, I was also in love with him.
ChapterTen
Grace
Twenty minutes later I was dressed, had found the bathroom and washed my face, rinsed out my mouth, and attempted to finger comb my hair into a semblance of control.
I made my way into the kitchen, the sound of dishes clanging together seeming overly loud for my hungover state.
I rounded the corner and stopped when I saw him standing by the stove. He had his shirtsleeves pushed up, his toned, tanned forearms on display. I clenched my thighs together as desire pooled between them.
Rubbing my hands down my legs, I felt so nervous, so awkward, and definitely out of place. As if he sensed me, he looked over his shoulder and smiled.
“Have a seat, Grace.”
The way he said my name, all deep and husky-like, shouldn’t have had me instantly aroused.
I pulled the chair out, the feet scraping along the floor, causing me to wince at how awkwardly loud it was. I sat and looked at the spread.
The table was set for two, with a bowl of fresh fruit in the center, a carafe of orange juice beside it, an empty coffee mug in front of me, a full one at the other place setting, and a gleaming silver fork placed on a pristine white linen napkin to my left.
This all seemed so … domestic.
“Professor Goode, I want to apologize. This is really embarrassing for me—”
“Call me Lucian.” He turned from the stove and walked over to me, holding a frying pan in one hand and a wooden spatula in the other. He scooped out the omelet and set it on the plate in front of me. I watched as he moved back to the stove and made another one.
For long minutes I just sat there, not sure how to act.
I swallowed, my throat so dry, my stomach tightening. I really wasn’t hungry, yet when I looked up at him, about to say that, the expression he gave me had me keeping that thought to myself.
He looked stern, as if he dared me to tell him I wasn’t eating.
Once he had his omelet plated and the pan back on the stove,he grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He filled it with water, came back to the table, and set the glass in front of me. My throat was so dry.
I gave him a grateful smile before reaching out and taking it, downing half of it before coming up for air.
He didn’t say anything as he leaned back in the chair and reached for his coffee mug. I could see steam rising above it, and I stared at him as he took a long sip while he watched me.
He set the mug down but stayed silent for a second. “You should eat something. You’ll feel better.”
I looked down at the plate. “Everything looks delicious, but my hangover is making my appetite next to none.” He stood after a second and went over the cupboard, reaching in for a bottle of what I thought was aspirin.
He came back over and opened it, pouring out a couple of pills into his palm, and handing them over to me.
“Thank you,” I said softly and took the pills, popping them in my mouth and washing them down with the rest of the water.
When he sat back down across from me, his focus was trained on me, his stare making me feel exposed in all the right ways.
“Just try and eat something.” He picked up his fork and started eating his omelet. The clank of the silverware on the plates spurred me to pick up mine and start eating as well.
Although I really wasn’t hungry, I knew that putting something in my stomach might go a long way in helping me.
He poured me a glass of orange juice, and we sat and finished our meal in silence. It was awkward, and I felt a little uncomfortable given the fact he was my professor, but I figured he’d seen me at my worst, so from this point on it could only get better, right?
