Warren The Professor

A Student / Teacher, Ex-Boyfriend's Father, Secret Society Romance
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-64596-100-0
Verlag: Skye Warren
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 364 Seiten

Reihe: Tanglewood University

New York Times bestselling author Skye Warren, delivers the sizzling first book in a brand new trilogy, The Professor, a forbidden, student/professor, ex-boyfriend's dad romance.

It was supposed to be one night with a handsome stranger. I never thought I would see him again. Until the first day of class.

He's my new professor.

And my ex-boyfriend's father.

He has a world of secrets in his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. I should stay away from him, but the more I try, the more consumed he gets.

His possessiveness is rivaled only by his secretive nature. He knows everything about me, but mystery surrounds him. Shadows threaten the entire university...and our forbidden love.

'Every page of THE PROFESSOR shines with poetry and eroticism. If you love forbidden romances, secret societies and age gap, this book is for you!' - USA Today bestselling author Saffron A. Kent

Autoren/Hrsg.

Warren, Skye

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE

Sweet and Full-bodied

“This dress is too short,” I say, tugging at the hem. It reveals too much of my thighs, making it hard to walk without flashing everyone. The material is stretchy but not enough. When I pull from the bottom it drags down the top, making the neckline even lower.

“That’s the point,” Daisy says.

She’s my best friend, roommate, and the leader of this particular escapade. She also has the body of a runway model, which means this slinky, barely-there little black dress looks classy on her. It looks like it belongs in this lobby with its marble floors, chandeliers, and velvet seating.

Instead of garish, the way it looks on me.

Usually my clothes attempt to hide my large bust.

Then again, nothing about this evening is usual.

I tug the V-neck up, which threatens to show everyone my black panties.

“Focus, Anne,” she says. “If we play this right, you can stop worrying about money.”

“I only need two hundred for that one economics textbook that isn’t available used. Oh, and some of those essay exam notebooks they make us buy.”

“You’re asking for five hundred dollars. Not a penny less.”

Five hundred dollars. What would a man do to me for that much money? “What about half the money for half the time?”

She shakes her head, making her curls bounce against her rouged cheek. “Five hundred dollars for one hour is the minimum. That’s why we paid for the Uber to get this far away from campus, where people actually have money.”

“And where no one will recognize us.”

She giggles. “No one would recognize you right now.”

That’s probably true. Anne Hill wears jeans from Goodwill. Between my wardrobe change and the fake lashes that Daisy put across my eyelids, I look like a stranger in the reflection of the thick brass railings that decorate the space.

We make our way up a small staircase to the floating bar area, which hums with conversation. It’s filled with older men who look like they’ve probably already experienced a wealthy midlife crisis and own five Lamborghinis. There are a handful of women, but they look older, too. Sophisticated. They look like they belong in this thousand-dollar-a-night hotel.

Daisy grabs a seat at the bar, easily hopping onto the high leather stool.

I follow more gingerly as I negotiate my way up without disturbing the sanctity of the dress. “But if I charge more, won’t he expect more? Won’t he expect… experience?”

She rolls her eyes. “First day of school is in one week, and you know what that means? That means a bunch of syllabuses, with even more textbook and supply requirements.”

“Syllabi,” I say absently.

“Okay, English lit major. You also get those supplementary materials.”

“Most of those are at the university library.” She’s an engineering major, and in keeping with their technology focus, most of their textbooks have gone online. You can rent them for a semester. In deference to tradition, the humanities department continues to deal in mostly paper textbooks. Huge, expensive textbooks that change slightly every year so that we have to buy new ones.

“I mean I guess you could blow your professor for a copy, but considering he also gets royalties as the author, it feels like you’re paying him twice.”

“Daisy!” She came from a super strict cult-like community, but she hasn’t cut ties. She has no problem going home, wearing linen dresses down to her ankles and smiling with those baby-blue eyes. Then she returns to college, swears like a sailor.

And drinks like one too.

The bartender appears wearing a white dress shirt and suspenders in keeping with the old-world grandeur of the Pinnacle Hotel. It was built in the nineteen twenties and even though they must have renovated in order to keep things looking so beautiful, the design has remained the same. This is what it must have felt like as a glamorous flapper girl.

A glamorous flapper girl in desperate need of money, that is.

“What can I get you?” he asks with a megawatt smile.

“Nothing,” Daisy says, grinning. “But if someone sends us drinks, we want them.”

A wink. “You got it.”

“Do you think he knows?” I whisper as he walks away.

She shrugs. “Does it matter? Everyone uses sex for something.”

“Love? Pleasure?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale. And unless you want to be back here every week, I suggest you stand your ground. They’re going to ask for the night, but you only give them an hour. That way if they want longer, they have to pony up another five hundred.”

“One thousand dollars.” More money than I’ve ever held in my hands.

“They’ll try to negotiate you down, of course. Do not under any circumstance go lower than two hundred an hour. I’m serious about that.”

“Do people even carry that kind of cash?”

“Of course they do. For rich people that’s like ten dollars.”

“I feel like most places don’t even take cash these days.”

“Well, you can always take Venmo.”

I shiver. “And leave a paper trail?”

“The federal government doesn’t care what you’re doing, babe. Though if you’re nervous, you can always send him downstairs to get cash from the concierge. He definitely wouldn’t be the first guy with a raging hard-on to do it.”

“Oh God.”

“If he leaves you alone in the room, be sure to raid the minibar. Little bottles work great in your backpack between classes.”

“Tell me you aren’t serious.”

“Trust me. Chemical engineering is so much easier to understand when you’re buzzed.”

Daisy and I don’t have much in common, really. Except the fact that we’re both full-ride scholarship students who live in the most broken-down dorm at Tanglewood University. We were paired as roommates and have stuck together ever since. We’re both relatively neat, focused on our education, and most importantly, don’t get drunk and pee on the carpet like my friend Allison’s first roommate did.

“Well,” she says, drawing out the word. “You can always ask Aaron.”

I make a face. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, he’s hot. In a frat boy kind of way.”

“He’s…cute.” He’s more than cute. He’s the cool kid on campus. The one every girl wants to be with, and every boy wants to be friends with. And at one point, he seemed interested in me. He asked me out to a keg party, but when I wouldn’t drink enough warm frothy beer to go upstairs to a bedroom to have sex, he sent me home in an Uber.

And I found out later, he banged someone else.

“More importantly, he’s loaded. He could swipe his daddy’s credit card for a few thousand bucks, and no one would even notice.”

“We aren’t even really dating. Everyone talks about his endless hookups.”

“I’m not suggesting you marry the guy. Just let him buy you stuff.”

“And then have sex with him?”

“Most likely.”

“Well, if I’m going to have sex with someone for money, I’d rather it be a stranger. Not someone I have to see every day on campus.”

“Great, because here comes a guy. Remember to smile, giggle, and shake your tits.”

“Oh God.”

“Just pretend he’s one of those old poems you love so much. Then you’ll be fascinated.”

A man old enough to be our grandfather approaches us, his hair white, his suit austere, his eyes hungrily assessing. “Good evening, ladies. You’re looking ravishing.”

“Thank you so much,” Daisy says, practically purring. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Whiskey,” she says. “Neat. I’m dying of thirst.”

He raises a bushy gray eyebrow at me. “And you?”

“Water, thanks.”

Daisy gives me a warning look. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll…have the same. Whiskey.” What did she call it? “Tidy.”

An awkward silence ripples between us. Daisy laughs to clear it. “We’ve just come in from out of town and my friend here has jet lag.”

“Poor thing,” he says, not looking sympathetic at all. In fact, he’s not looking at my face. He’s staring at my breasts as if I’m an object for sale. Which I guess I am.

My skin crawls. “That’s me. Super tired. I might need to go to bed early.”

“Don’t be silly,” Daisy says with a pointed glance. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight.” The emphasis on the word fun brings an image of that economics textbook to mind. How else am I supposed to get two hundred dollars by next week?

“Fun, eh?” the man says. “I love a good time. The name’s Saul.”

Jesus. Has there even been a Saul born in the last century?

“Well, Saul, you look like a man who knows how to enjoy himself.” Daisy gives him this playful jab on his arm that he takes as permission to stand close to her, close enough that she has to look up at him. Her eyes shine like she’s actually enjoying herself, which is… painful.

Our drinks arrive and are promptly delivered. The man pays with a hundred-dollar bill, which is an insane amount of money for two drinks. A surreptitious glance at the thickness of the wallet shows that there are many more where that came from, thus proving Daisy’s point. These people are loaded. Shame runs over me like lava.

The amber liquid shivers in the chandelier light.

“Delicious,” Daisy says, taking a sip of the whiskey. “Sweet and full-bodied. Like my friend here. Now if it were tart and smoky that would be me.”

Saul...