Long Island, The Gold Coast
MacKenzie Martin rubbed her eyes, which were blurred from staring too long at her computer screen. The antique clock hanging behind her desk ticked away, and she could see the numbers reflected on the monitor. Ten minutes before eleven. It had been a really long day and she just wanted to be done with her work.
Rain tapped softly against the window. Kenzie couldn't see any of Hampstead University's campus through the darkened pane. It was unusually warm for the middle of December, warm enough that she'd trudged through icy rain rather than snow to get to the campus offices. Usually the campus would be buried in snowdrifts which was typical for Long Island this time of year. All she wanted to do now was get home, take a hot bath, listen to some music, and fall into bed. But she had to finish what she'd come to do.
She focused on the screen and entered the final grades into the university's online grading software. As a graduate student and teaching assistant to Dr. Devereaux in the paleontology department, she had the "lucky" job of inputting his grades for the semester. Dr. Devereaux despised logging grades into the university system, and whenever she mentioned it he went rigid before rattling off a dozen excuses of things he had to do instead before he vanished from the office so quickly papers were still ruffling.
She shouldn't have been surprised. He was not the sort of man to sit idly behind a desk and read through hundreds of essays.
Kenzie smiled. Royce Devereaux was anything but idle. He was a tall, dark—haired, brown—eyed walking sex—god. With muscles that made her stomach flip whenever she saw them and an ass made for gripping during hot, wild sex, Royce was like catnip mixed with ecstasy. During the in—person job interview, she'd had to relearn how to speak because he'd fried all of her circuits when he'd flashed that sexy I'll—fuck—you—good—baby grin at her.
He hadn't made a move on her during the interview, of course. He'd been a perfect, but all—too—tempting gentleman as they discussed her duties as a teacher's assistant and the possible research projects they'd work on together.
Protoceratops were her specialty, and she'd focused on that over and over in her head rather than the thought of her future boss sliding everything off his desk so he could bend her over it and take her until she screamed. She bit her lip, trying to erase that particular fantasy. It had been a recurring dream she had every night whenever she and Royce worked late into the evenings.
Saturday nights were off—limits, though. He never worked that day of the week, and she knew why. When he wasn't deep into a dig in the Badlands of South Dakota, he was usually paired with the latest flavor of the month. Not that she knew that for certain—she'd only overheard the whispered chuckles and agreement to meet for drinks at some club here on Long Island.
More than once she'd imagined herself as the lucky woman on Royce's arm. There was something about the feral intensity of his eyes when he looked at her that made her certain he would be explosive in bed. She was almost afraid to look him in the eye because she feared he'd see her darkest desires reflected back, that he'd see what she wanted a man to do to her.
Would he tie her up with those rough hands? Lay a strong hand on her ass to punish her? His tanned skin sliding over paler, softer skin as he fucked his woman into oblivion… A shiver of forbidden excitement ran through her like quicksilver.
I should not be fantasizing about my professor.
She felt guilty that she even had such thoughts. It was far from the professionalism she wanted to project. But she wanted a taste of that darkness so bad that it made her body ache and throb to the point of pain.
I'm screwed up. I should be happy with the guys I've dated and the nice sex I've had.
Nice. That was how she categorized her past sex life. And it more than anything else described the problem.
It was a battle she fought every day. Her little desk faced his across a large office. More than once she had glanced up and seen him leaning back in his chair, wearing faded blue jeans, his biker boots propped up on the corner of his desk as he sketched out lecture notes, a pen cap hanging from his lips. He would tap a light, unrecognizable rhythm on his desk with two fingers, and his rich chocolate—brown hair would fall across his eyes. Royce would eventually get bored and toy with the tyrannosaur claw he had on his desk, a small trophy from a dig in Montana.
He never noticed her watching him. It would be embarrassing if he ever found out she was crushing on him in such a big way. Besides, she couldn't be in a relationship with the professor she worked directly under. If she wanted to date any other professor she'd have to file paperwork with the department, but if she dated Royce she'd have to stop working with him.
Even knowing how off—limits he was, she clung to her fantasies. Despite the fact that they were both adults—she was twenty—eight and he was thirty—three—there was a professional code of conduct that professors and grad students had to maintain. In just five months she'd be done with her program and have her own doctorate. Then they'd be equals, at least in their profession.
Kenzie had worked with him for an entire year, often late into the night, and she had gotten to know a lot about the infamous Dr. Royce Devereaux. As an undergrad she had been spellbound by the sexy professor who rode a million—dollar one of a kind Harley Davidson Cosmic Starship motorcycle and looked like an Armani model. Now she was working alongside him and was even more fascinated by him.
Maybe it was totally normal to fantasize about a man she spent most of her time with. Maybe she was just bored. Her sex life thus far had been average at best. The only time she ever got hot and bothered was when she thought of Dr. Devereaux. Sometimes just thinking about Dr. Sexy got a little too real for Kenzie, and she had to force herself to take a step back.
"God, if I don't leave now I'm never going to get home." She knew she shouldn't be talking to herself, but she often did when she worked late on her own. Sometimes the campus creeped her out late at night.
She exited the program on her computer and had just shut it down when she heard a distant crash, like the shattering of glass. Kenzie froze, her ears straining to pick up any sound.
There was an eerie silence before a hiss of low whispers rippled up from the hall toward Dr. Devereaux's office. A janitor wouldn't be whispering or talking to anyone, right? Kenzie tried to ease out of the desk chair, but it creaked and she winced at the loud sound. The lamp on the corner of her desk was still on, calling out like a beacon to whoever was down the hall.
Shit.
