Текст книги "Playing with Trouble"

Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton

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Chapter Two

The Who’s Who of D.C. society will be at the Reynolds estate tonight for one of Mrs. Reynolds’s fundraisers. We’ll be on hand to collect the best gossip and to answer the question on everybody’s mind: What will happen when Blair Reynolds and Thom Wyatt see each other for the first time since their engagement ended at the altar?

—Capital Confessions blog

Blair

I wanted to scream. I wanted to drive a stake through Professor Canter’s heart.

Assuming he had one.

“What was up with that? He’s never made anyone stand for so long,” Adam commented as we walked down the steps to the law school lobby, pushing our way through the crowded stairwell.

I forced a smile. “Maybe he hadn’t eaten his weekly quota of souls.”

Maybe he’s a dick.

“I’m sorry I talked to you. I didn’t think he’d freak out like that.”

I shrugged. “I shouldn’t have answered.”

He shouldn’t be such an asshole.

“He calls on you a lot, right? Like every week?”

Every fucking week. Only me.

“Yep.”

Adam grimaced. “It’s weird. He doesn’t seem to call on anyone else as often.”

No shit.

“Maybe he doesn’t like my father or something. Or maybe he just gets off on making 1Ls squirm.”

I didn’t say the truth—I suspected he liked making me squirm.

“You did well¸ though. You might not always have the answers, but you never seem like you’re going to lose it like the rest of us.”

Adam was being kind. I wasn’t great at law school. My LSAT scores hadn’t been anything impressive and I’d been lucky to even be admitted to Hannover. It wasn’t a stellar law school—not the kind of place a Reynolds attended as my father so often liked to remind me—but it was the best I could do. My father had wanted to pull strings to get me in somewhere more prestigious, but I’d needed the chance to do this on my own, and as much as I’d wanted to get away from D.C. and the scandals that plagued me, it gave me the opportunity to be near the people I cared about—especially when I was still getting to know my half sister, Jackie.

I sank down onto one of the big leather couches in the lobby while Adam took the seat opposite mine.

At twenty-four, Adam was a year older than me. He was from Virginia as well, and we’d grown up around some of the same people, although our paths had never crossed until law school orientation. He exuded the whole boy-next-door vibe and he was pretty easygoing. In an environment where everyone seemed poised to take each other down, it was a welcome quality.

“Do you want to grab lunch after con law?” he asked.

1Ls at Hannover were typically divided into three sections and we all took the same required classes together. This semester I had torts, con law, property, contracts, and legal research and writing. Adam and I were in the same section.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Can we talk about how hot Professor Canter was today?” our friend Caitlin asked, interrupting us as she sat down next to me on the sofa.

Originally from California, she had a laid-back personality that fit in well with Adam and me. We’d formed a study group of sorts at the beginning of the semester and shared notes and case briefs. It helped to divide up the ridiculous workload.

“That suit?” Her eyes widened. “Holy Christ, I wanted to strip it off of him. I’m almost jealous of how much he calls on you. At least he knows who you are, Ms. Reynolds.” She did a fairly good imitation of Professor Canter’s voice that was accurate enough to be unsettling. “I’d give my right arm for him to say my name in that voice of his. I could perv on him all day long.”

I laughed, even though her words struck close to home. I hadn’t told anyone about my attraction to Professor Canter, but despite his horrible personality, most of the female student population seemed to share Caitlin’s opinion.

He was an asshole, but he was definitely a hot asshole.

“I promise you, you wouldn’t feel that way if you were in my shoes. I have nightmares where I wake up to the sound of him calling on me.”

“So you’re dreaming about him?” Caitlin teased. “If he appeared in my dreams, torts would be the last thing we’d be doing.”

I felt my cheeks heat, hating how close she was to the truth.

Adam groaned. “Please tell me we’re not going to have another discussion about how badly you want to do Professor Canter.”

“He’s hot.” Caitlin protested. “There’s no one else on the faculty who’s even close. Besides, I need something to keep me awake. Intentional torts? Not the most exciting stuff.”

She had a point there.

She pulled an apple out of her bag. “How old do you think he is? Thirty-two?”

“He’s thirty,” I answered before I could stop myself.

Fuck.

Adam and Caitlin shot me curious looks.

I shrugged again, fighting off embarrassment. “I looked up his bio.”

The first day of classes I’d sat in the front row, my books spread out on the desk in front of me, armed with a plethora of highlighters and pens, and even more nerves. And then Professor Canter had walked into the room and suddenly law school became the furthest thing from my mind. I’d sat there studying him, and he’d looked up, and our gazes had locked, and he’d seen it all playing out on my face.

For a moment, I’d felt like he saw me, not the Blair Reynolds who graced Page Six, who had a poker face a politician would envy—I knew this because my father had frequently remarked that it was a shame I lacked his killer instinct—but me. Awkward, freaked-out, wound-way-too-tight me.

He had that way about him—as if he could cut through layers of bullshit and get to the heart of things without breaking a sweat. It was probably what made him a great lawyer. It was also what made him a terrifying man.

Caitlin leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I heard he had to leave his firm in Chicago. They say he’s lucky he kept his law license.”

There was a flicker of interest before I batted it away. As much as I couldn’t help but be curious about Professor Canter’s past, I hated gossip. If living my entire life in the public eye hadn’t been enough to turn me off of it forever, having my broken engagement and fiancé’s infidelity splashed all over the papers had been the final nail in the coffin. The scandal that had erupted when news of an illegitimate half sister came out had been icing on the cake.

“Do you know why?” Adam asked.

Caitlin shook her head. “No, but rumor is it was really bad. He made a fortune in Chicago really quickly—some big med mal cases or something—and they say he’d be teaching at a better law school, but Hannover was the only one who would take him with his past.”

I wasn’t sure how much of that I believed. The man was brilliant. He’d done his undergrad at Northwestern and his law degree at the University of Chicago. Even though Hannover wasn’t great, he was young to be a professor, even a visiting one. They wouldn’t have hired him if he weren’t hot shit. Too bad they hadn’t vetted his teaching skills or checked for a soul.

“What are you doing tonight?” Caitlin asked, switching topics with lightning speed in a manner I’d grown accustomed to. “A bunch of us are thinking of going to pub trivia at nine.”

That sounded so much better than what I had planned. “I wish I could, but my mother’s hosting a party. My presence has been requested, aka demanded.”

Caitlin made a face. “Free alcohol, at least?”

“I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, nothing is free with my parents. I’ll be there to help her host, expected to work the room. We’re a month away from the election so everything is crazy right now.”

I didn’t add the rest—the real reason I dreaded her party. It would be my first social appearance since the wedding that never happened. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the speculation, or the stares, or the chance that I’d see my former fiancé. His name was on the guest list along with his parents, and no amount of pleading had convinced my mother to change her mind. Thom’s father was a major contributor to my father’s campaign and at the end of the day, money trumped silly things like infidelity, humiliation, and betrayal. It hardly seemed fair that Thom had escaped the shitstorm of our broken engagement after just a week of bad press. He came from money, but not the kind of notoriety that had thrust me in the public eye whether I wanted to be there or not.

“Sounds exhausting.”

She had no idea. When we were younger, I’d had my sister Kate to keep me company. Kate usually snuck off at some point, but at least she’d been there. Now she wasn’t speaking to our parents.

“We’ll miss you tonight,” Adam added.

I smiled. “Thanks.” I glanced at my watch. “I have my first meeting with the pro bono advisor in ten minutes. I can meet up after con law, though, if you guys want to grab something to eat later.”

One of the advantages of attending Hannover was their amazing pro bono program. They volunteered heavily within the D.C. community, giving free tax assistance, organizing food drives, working with middle and high school students, and overseeing an incredible guardian ad litem program representing children in the court system. I’d just been elected as the first-year representative for the pro bono board.

“I’d better go; I don’t want to be late. Let’s do lunch at Moe’s, okay?”

Adam and Caitlin nodded as I stood up from my seat. I walked over to the elevators, heading up to the fourth-floor faculty wing. I got off the elevator and followed the signs to room 401. I knocked until I heard a muffled “come in” on the other side.

I turned the knob and froze, my earlier discomfort returning with a vengeance.

Speak of the devil . . .

Professor Canter stared back at me, the same look of surprise on his face that I figured was mirrored in mine.

People always remarked on my composure, and considering the years I’d spent learning to hide my emotions when Kate and I were paraded around for campaign stops and photo ops, I knew it was solid. Most of the time. The trick was that I could be calm when I was in control. When I was prepared, I was fine. When things were unexpected, I flailed. A lot.

Like right fucking now.

The moment our gazes locked it was as if someone had vacuumed all of the air out of the room, leaving a whole lot of awkward with a side of lust lingering around me.

We’d never been this close before. There were always rows between us, the classroom and our roles in it, a barrier I didn’t dare cross. But now? Seeing him sitting behind his desk—stacks of papers around him, an old Starbucks cup—

I couldn’t help but stare.

He was dressed in a suit—black and expensive; tie—gray. He wore a snowy white dress shirt that contrasted with his tanned skin. His hair was almost the color of his suit—more black than brown, his eyes a shade lighter. He had an interesting face—not handsome, exactly. Rather, his face was hard and strong, and foolishly enough, made me think of warriors and conquerors and men with swords. He looked ruthless, and given the few interactions we’d had, I didn’t doubt he was.

He was more than a little rough around the edges. I didn’t know how to explain it—just knew it when I saw it—but he lacked the casual air of someone who’d grown up with money. He didn’t wear the tie like he was born to it, instead he wore it with an air of defiance. Like he was his own man and wasn’t afraid to tell the world to go fuck itself if he didn’t meet their expectations.

He remained still under my inspection, my gaze impossible for either one of us to ignore. After the shit he pulled in class—the way he watched me, how often he called on me, the smug satisfaction in his eyes when he got a rise out of me—I didn’t feel the least bit sorry.

One dark eyebrow rose as he leaned back in his chair. “Are you finished?”

There it was again, that voice. Something about it needled me. Maybe it was his confidence that seeped over into arrogance, or the fact that he didn’t play by the rules I’d been raised to follow as though they were gospel. Everything about him seemed to not give two fucks about manners and social niceties. As much as it pissed me off, I also envied him.

I lifted my gaze to meet his, momentarily at a loss for words.

I cleared my throat. “I was looking for the pro bono office. I’m the new 1L rep,” I added.

His eyes widened slightly, his fingers skimming along his jaw, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk.

I wanted to kiss—or slap—that smirk off of his face.

“Of course you are.”

There was a hint of humor there, wrapped in silky darkness, but I couldn’t tell who it was meant for, if he was mocking me or himself. And honestly, I only thought about it for a second, before the full punch of his voice hit me.

I’d been shopping for a dress for a charity ball a few months ago, and I’d gone to this little boutique in Georgetown and tried on a dozen dresses. I ended up with a conservative, ballet-pink satin gown. But before that, I’d tried on this one dress—red, silk, so low cut in the front and back that it couldn’t be worn with a bra. As soon as I’d slid that dress over my skin, I’d felt like someone else. My nipples had tightened, rubbing against the silky material, every nerve ending alive as the dress caressed my bare flesh, surrounding me in heat.

Professor Canter’s voice reminded me of being bathed in silk. Of temptation and darkness and sex.

Most of the time when he spoke, his tone was ice. But once in a while, when he spoke to me, I noticed the nearly imperceptible shift. And my body responded instantly.

Fuck.

“I guess I got the office wrong,” I mumbled. “I should go; I’m going to be late for the meeting. Sorry I bothered you.” I turned for the door, feeling like I was Persephone attempting to flee the depths of the underworld.

“Wait.”

I froze mid-step, the need to obey authority figures too ingrained for me to consider walking out when the last thing I wanted to do was stay. My heart raced, a nervous energy filling my body. Slowly, I turned back to face him as invisible strings pulled me deeper like Hades and his fucking pomegranate seeds.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I’m the pro bono faculty liaison for the first-year class. They just asked me to do it today. Apparently Professor Richardson had to bow out due to a scheduling conflict.” He hesitated and his voice changed again. “I didn’t realize you were the class representative. I guess we’ll be working together from now on.”

And just like that, the underworld swallowed me up with a savage gulp.

Chapter Three

There’s a new man on the D.C. social scene, fresh from the Windy City. What attorney and recent bachelor will be in attendance at tonight’s fundraiser? A newly minted professor, and if the rumors about his looks are true, he can teach us any day . . .

—Capital Confessions blog

Gray

I’d either been really good or really bad to deserve this. I wasn’t sure which one, and right now, I didn’t care.

My announcement had caught her by surprise, and I took the opportunity to study her just as she’d done to me, trying to decipher the enigma that was Blair Reynolds.

She wasn’t sexy. Not conventionally, at least. She was slim, her tits smaller than I normally liked, her hips less curvy, her body less obvious. She wasn’t the type of girl you’d expect to see in a calendar in an auto shop. Everything about her was understated. She was pale, her skin flawless, the only pops of color her cherry-red lips, dark eyebrows and lashes.

And the flush on her cheeks . . .

She looked like one of those old paintings at the museum benefits my ex-wife used to drag me to in Chicago. Like she belonged in another place, another time.

My grandmother had loved poetry. When she got older, her eyesight started to go, and she would ask me to read her poems in her room at the nursing home. I’d thought I’d forgotten most of it after she passed, but lines flitted through my brain.

All that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes . . .

She was a Byron poem. And I was fucked.

When she’d first walked into my office, I’d been convinced that I was now hallucinating in addition to her haunting my dreams. And then she’d stared, her gaze running over me as though she stripped the clothes from my body layer by layer, and I’d gotten hard imagining all the things I wanted to do to her on my desk.

This was either going to be an unexpected pleasure or an unmitigated disaster, and given the way my life had been going lately, the trend skewed toward the latter.

I waited for her to crack under my scrutiny, for her composure to waver.

It didn’t.

That was one of the things that impressed me most. She had an unflappable grace that never failed her. In the beginning, I’d looked because I couldn’t help it, because she was like the fucking sun, shining bright in your face when you were hungover and just wanted a pair of sunglasses and a burger. And then, little by little, with each day that had passed, each time she looked at me, she got under my skin, until now I wanted the light. Craved it. Even when it blinded the shit out of me.

I wanted to know more about her, wanted to understand what it was about this girl that had me completely gone. And apparently I’d just been given the perfect opportunity.

Fucking serendipity.

I nodded toward one of the empty chairs. “You can sit, you know. I don’t bite.”

I lobbed the innuendo at her, waiting to see if she’d ignore it, if I was playing this game alone, or if she’d volley it back to me.

She didn’t disappoint.

“Now, why don’t I believe that for a second?” she muttered, not quite under her breath.

I grinned. Smart girl.

Blair

“You don’t like me, do you?”

I sank down into the chair, his question hitting me mid-motion, my body jerking in surprise. His tone was casual with a hint of silk, as though he could seduce the answer out of me.

I’d never been prone to fits of temper, but god, he pushed all of my buttons. It wasn’t an etiquette thing—a social faux pas he’d somehow made because he didn’t know better—he knew he was being rude and he just didn’t care.

And perversely, I was equally determined to deny him.

The truth?

Of course, I didn’t like him.

It was debatable if I would throw water on him if he were on fire. While my body apparently didn’t need me to like him to want to lick him all over, at least my mind had better judgment.

An uninvited guest, twenty-three years of etiquette, reared its untimely head.

“Why would you think that? Your class is . . .” I commanded my voice to say something nonthreatening like, “interesting,” or “nice,” but instead, “hell on earth,” “my least favorite place,” and “motherfucking torture” pushed to get out.

Screw it.

He sat there with that same smug smile—he knew—and suddenly, I stopped caring about being polite. If he was going to be inappropriate with me, then I was more than happy to return the favor.

“No, I don’t.”

His smile deepened like it was a fucking reward, like I was his prized student, and I’d just given him the answer he wanted.

My scalp tingled, a pull gathering low in my belly. I was so screwed, and not in a good way.

“I call on you too often,” he continued, his stare unblinking, dark humor dancing in his eyes.

He did not just say that.

His eyebrow arched as if to say, I’m rewarding your honesty with mine, not needing to give me the words, weeks of this fucked-up silent war we had going on creating an undeniable intimacy.

He read me like a book.

My breath hitched. The air pulsed. And just like that, my nipples decided to join the party.

I wanted to ask why he called on me so often, why he liked flustering me, yet as much as curiosity poked and prodded its way through my composure, I couldn’t make myself form the words. It was one thing to engage him with the safety of a classroom between us, another entirely to wave a cape before a bull without a buffer. I was heading into deep and treacherous waters, and he looked only too happy to pull me under.

My eyes narrowed. “Are you going to stop?” I snapped.

“Probably not.”

God, he grinned at me. The man’s ego was unbelievable.

Silence filled the space between us, the tension lingering, the heady recklessness tempting me, goading me. Since my engagement had fallen apart, I’d been going through the motions, pretending everything was okay, pretending I was okay, and suddenly I didn’t want to fake it anymore. I didn’t know what it was, but somehow I’d felt more alive in the last few minutes of sitting in his office than I had in months. There had always been a disconnect between what I thought and what I said—a big one—but with him I didn’t care.

There was no pretense with him. He was an asshole and he owned it. I didn’t know what exactly I was, but whatever it was, I wanted to own it, too.