I laid my phone down and brushed my fingers over my face. I wanted to shower, to remove the club vibe off my body, and I needed to drink almost a gallon of water to flush the last of this lingering booze out.
Then I heard footsteps. I turned toward the door fast, feeling my eyes widen and my heart accelerate. I raced toward the bed and ripped off the cover, wrapping it around my lower half. And then I just stood there, time seeming to go by terribly slowly as I waited for him to come in.
He knocked on the door but didn’t open it.
I swallowed roughly and looked around, not entirely sure what I was seeking for.
“Grace?” His voice was deep and clear, coming through the door and having my body reacting instantly.
I trembled and cleared my throat, telling myself to grow up and get myself under control.
“Come in.” My voice sounded high-pitched, and I cleared my throat again.
He pulled the door open, and I swore time stood still.
Of course, he was put together and looking beautiful as heck. He donned a pair of dark slacks and a white button-down dress shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants. His dark belt was wrapped around his waist, emphasizing how thin he was yet muscular at the same time.
His shirt was formfitting enough that I could see the shape of his biceps, even the definition of his pectoral muscles.
God, he looked fantastic, and I probably looked like I’d crawled out of a grave.
For a second, we just stood there, neither one of us saying anything, the uneasiness thick within me. I had to give him credit; he didn’t look at me like I was mad wrapped up in a blanket.
I tightened my grip on the blanket, pulling the material over me even more. “I woke up with no pants on,” I blurted out. It wasn’t an allegation, rather out of curiosity on what the hell had happened.
He lifted a dark brow, and the corner of his mouth kicked up. “You were fully clothed when I put you to bed.”
I felt my cheeks flame after he said. I peered around the room again, my attention dropping to the floor. And then I finally saw my pants strewn in the corner in a mound of cloth.
“Do you always shed certain pieces of clothing when you’ve been drinking?” There was amusement in his voice.
My face was on fire, and I glanced at him but quickly looked at the floor, mortified. “Apparently.”
He didn’t say anything for lengthy moments, and when I looked back at him, his countenance was somber once more. “Well, if you get dressed and come into the kitchen, I’ll make you some breakfast.”
The entire concept of eating turned my stomach, but he looked like he was unwilling to budge on this.
I nodded once, feeling his attention on me even though I wasn’t looking at him. After a minute I heard him leave, shutting the door behind him. I breathed slowly.
I wasn’t sure what in the hell I’d gotten myself into, but this was quite probably the worst scenario I’d ever been in, not to mention exceedingly improper.
He was my lecturer.
I was his student.
Then again, I was also in love with him.
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 order.
I made my way into the kitchen, the sound of plates banging together sounded unreasonably loud for my groggy state.
I rounded the corner and paused when I saw him standing by the stove. He had his shirtsleeves pushed up, his toned, tanned forearms on display. I clamped my thighs together as desire pooled between them.
Rubbing my hands down my legs, I felt so nervous, so weird, and completely out of place.
As if he sensed me, he looked over his shoulder and smiled.
“Have a seat, Grace.”
