Chapter 6

Six

Rosalee

I spent the better part of the morning in a state of numbness. Only sheer willpower and the need for the credit for the class drags me out of bed. Last night left me a mess of emotions I haven't quite been able to comb through. Hell, how could I?

There was guilt first and then a burst of leftover pleasure, and let's not forget embarrassment and a healthy helping of shame. My momma raised me better. But let's be honest, no sane woman would be able to look herself in the mirror in the morning after what I did last night and not feel all that and more.

And if that isn't confusing enough, there's a dash of excitement and pure one-hundred percent bliss every time I think about my mystery man's scent and the way his touch felt on my skin. The feeling is burned into my memory. The hum running through my body agrees with the latter and screams for my brain to shut the hell up.

None of that changes the fact someone paid me for my virginity, knowingly or not. My mother would be so ashamed, but I can't help but feel a little thrill at the naughtiness and totally secrecy of it all. To add more confusion to my already overflowing pot, all last night I dreamed about how my mystery man's lips felt on my flesh and when he looked up my body and his gaze connected with mine, I saw Professor Blackthorne looking back at me and this time there was no mask.

I make my way to the psychology department and find my usual seat. Other students are filing in.

The very man who has worked deeper into my fantasies is at the head of the class, sleeves firmly rolled down and fastened at the wrist. Today he's wearing tailored white slacks and a navy blue shirt with the top couple of buttons popped open. He starts his lecture, and I'm barely aware of what he's saying, lost in my own thoughts.

Hot on the heels of my wet dream, the first thing I did after waking this morning was touch my newly pleasured body. I'd closed my eyes and stroked a finger over my still swollen clit and as soon as my eyes slipped shut, it was Gideon's face I saw. His voice I heard.

"Ms. Johnson."

I blink and raise my eyes. "Oh, sorry, Professor, I missed your question." Because I was fantasizing about you going down on me. But I leave that off. I feel all eyes are on me, and I blush redder than a tomato as I stare back into my professor's dark eyes. He holds my gaze a fraction longer than needed, and I'm powerless to look away and instantly turned on.

The sudden warm feeling pooling between my legs has me remembering the hungry, wolfish look in my lover's eyes last night. The same dark look the professor is giving me now. I can see his fingers tighten around the edge of the podium and my breath catches. The muscles of his forearm ripple with the strength he is using on the innocent wood.

He's stolen the air from my lungs, and I'm crossing my legs to help with the sudden throbbing of my clit. Chills rush over me even, and right this second I think it's safe to say last night's goal of fucking Professor Blackthorne out of my system didn't work. Thank God I'm working to become a psychologist, because there's something definitely wrong with my head.

He's off on another topic, but his gaze comes back to me every few seconds and I see that look again. It's the same look my bidder had when he bared my nipples to his hungry gaze.

But I blink and he's turned away, off on another point as if nothing happened.

I know what I just saw. Right? No two people can have those same dark eyes. Right?

Grr. I'm going crazy here. I shake my head. God, what is wrong with me? I was wrapped around another man last night, and here I am wanting someone else. Instead of feeling free, I'm pressing my thighs together as I watch my professor walk around the room passing out our next assignment.

Was he my mystery man? I spend the rest of the class watching for all the little clues, but all I manage to do is mount more questions. If he was my lover, did he know it was me? He'd kept his clothes on, but at the time I didn't question the reasons why. If he had any. Maybe he didn't want me to see a scar or maybe he didn't like something about his body.

Or maybe I need to consider the obvious. Whoever my lover was didn't want me touching his body. A bought and paid for woman. Maybe he thought I was dirty in some way and that thought breaks my heart.

My brow knit together as I watch Blackthorne running a finger along the rim of his collar, flashing me a hint of the ink I know he hides.

Another thought occurs. Maybe my lover had tattoos he didn't want seen?

The second class is over, I'm out the back door, my mind already kicking up a plan on how to get to the bottom of this. Not like I can walk up to his desk and ask what he was doing last night at oh, say around ten-ish.

Where's the fun in that. A plan comes together as I recall Amber telling me there is another auction this evening, and I still have my little black card tucked away safely at home.

Those burning eyes, that deep baritone. I have to know and there's only one way that will happen. I don't know if he'll be there, but I'm going to try. There's a fifty-fifty chance I'm wrong and what's the worst that can happen? An encore of last night?

Whether it's my mystery man or my professor who will greet me on the other side of the door I'm about to knock on, I can handle some hot sex.

I'm hooked .