Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

W ow, Charlie thought as she lay back on the bed and stared up at the ornate chandelier. Professor Hunt up close and personal was even more charismatic than in his photograph.

Just being around him made her pulse flutter, and warmth spread between her thighs. She’d experienced a sudden intense awareness of her femininity in his presence. Of her own scent, the silkiness of her blouse against her skin and the slide of her legs rubbing together as she walked.

She pressed two shaking fingers to her lips; even they felt fuller, like her blood was running faster and thicker through her veins.

The fact that she’d had a major crush on the professor since she’d gawked at him from the back of the lecture theater last year when he’d been a guest lecturer, was neither here nor there. She’d taken this job for totally professional reasons, and her sense of excitement was merely to do with landing her dream job. Frankly, it would have made no difference if he’d been an old, wizened griffin. She’d still have been this excited.

Yeah, right.

Be honest, the heat suffusing her body was not from having to run after him up the stairs and along the corridor. It had more to do with watching the perfection of his broad back tapering into those narrow hips as he strode in front of her.

And those powerful long legs.

When they’d entered the room and she’d remarked about the beautiful bed with Max towering next to her, she was quite certain she hadn’t imagined the red glint in his eyes, the hunger in his gaze as he looked at her.

Stop fantasizing, he’s your boss.

With a sigh, Charlie got up and started to unpack. She placed her high-heeled pumps in the bottom of the wardrobe and her party dress right at the back, so her imagination wouldn’t run amok with images of her dancing cheek-to-cheek with Professor Hunt.

Afterward, she went over to the gilt-edged mirror above the dresser and tied her hair back tightly, paused, then, with a little smirk, let it out again, shaking her head until her curls bounced around her face.

As she turned to leave the room, Charlie wasn’t even sure why she’d done that.

At the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated, slightly disoriented by all the doors leading from the main hallway. She couldn’t remember which one Max had said was his study. The first one she tried opened onto a rather fancy dining room with ornate chairs and striped wallpaper, thick velvet drapes and a magnificent candelabra hanging from the decorative ceiling. Definitely early Gothika—this room was very much in the style of Mothfolk, she recalled from her studies, the lattice-shaped ceiling decoration as delicate as moth wings. Absolutely stunning. She tiptoed out and tried the door across the hall. This room had a more modern feel. A cozy den with a large TV screen and big leather sofas and bookshelves. She silenced a sudden image of being curled up next to Max watching a movie.

She closed the door quickly and was just about to open the one opposite when the door swung inward, and she nearly barreled into Max himself.

“Oh—hi,” she yelped in surprise, stepping back.

“I was just coming to see if you’d got lost,” he muttered, also stepping back. Was that a flush on his sharply contoured cheekbones?

He gestured for her to enter, and she caught sight of dark red wallpaper, bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes, a big desk with papers and books piled on top of it and a smaller desk and chair placed next to it.

“Will I be working in here?” she asked as she walked in. Heck, how was she going to concentrate sitting right next to Max, day in and day out?

He frowned slightly and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Er, yes. I’d thought so. Is that okay with you?”

She nodded mutely.

Maybe he took her silence as dislike, because he quickly explained, “You will be collating information for me as I work through texts, and you’ll no doubt want to check my notes—my handwriting isn’t the best.” His gaze met hers briefly before he moved quickly behind his desk. “Eventually it all comes together, but it can be a bit of a journey into chaos getting a book written.”

She watched as his attractive hands shuffled pieces of paper from one pile to another.

“I’m very organized,” Charlie responded. “I’m sure I’ll be able to help with your process.”

“Perfect.” He smiled suddenly, displaying a flash of white teeth. Breathtaking. “I’m afraid you’ll find me the archetypal absent-minded professor.”

For a second more their eyes held, then Max looked back down at the desk. “So, if you want to settle in, get your work set-up organized, I will—” he cleared his throat, “go make us a coffee. I’m still getting used to the appliances and gizmos here. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bates, comes in twice a week, cooks and puts food in the freezer, but not today, I think. So I will have to work out the damn coffee machine myself.”

“I could—” Charlie suggested, but Max cut her off gruffly. “I’m not the kind of guy who expects their assistant to make them coffee.”

“That’s good to hear. But seriously, it’s no problem. I worked in a coffee shop before I started here, so I do understand espresso machines. Why not just consider it part of my job description?”

“Really?” Those expressive eyebrows lifted above his glasses.

“I didn’t put it on my CV or anything. I didn’t think it would be relevant.”

“I guess not.” He glanced at her a little sheepishly. “To be honest, I usually drink instant.”

“Shame on you, professor,” Charlie teased, and when his topaz eyes blinked, she quickly rushed to amend her statement. “I mean… instant is fine, it’s just a very different beverage to espresso. I’ve learned a lot about coffee in the past few months.”

“Then I will expect you to train my palate.”

Charlie thought she detected a twitch at the side of his mouth. A hint of humor. Which would be helpful, because she’d inherited her dad’s sense of fun, and it was fairly irrepressible. Apparently his younger sister, Eloise, had the same sense of humor—not that Charlie could verify that, because she’d never actually met her aunt. Eloise had joined a cruise ship as a dancer before Charlie was born. Very occasionally she sent them a postcard, but she’d never visited, so all Charlie knew of her aunt was what her dad had told her, and a few photos she’d seen.

“Perhaps you could supervise my coffee-making,” Max added now. “And let me know if I’m doing it right.”

“Happily.” She beamed.

As she followed him out of the room, it occurred to Charlie that she was for all the world like an enthusiastic puppy, chasing after her handsome werewolf boss.