Read Online Dark Blue: Study in Seduction, Book 1 by Natasha Bond - Free Book Online
Authors: Natasha Bond
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essay.
The bloody stupid, excruciating essay she’d sent him after her night at the club, in a moment of hormonal madness. She’d been so busy at the Gathering that she’d almost forgotten it. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She’d regretted sending it the moment she’d driven off to her home and meant to compose a message telling Alex the essay was a joke, written to entertain her fellow students and attached by mistake. The problem was that there hadn’t been time during her weekend away, and even when there had, she’d hesitated.
It hadn’t seemed right to e-mail Alex about such a trivial thing when she was meant to be thinking of Stephen and her family. That was why she hadn’t sent it.
Wasn’t it?
Or was there something else preventing her from withdrawing the essay, deep in her subconscious or not even that deep at all?
The tute was tomorrow afternoon; there was still time. In fact, she could email him now. She opened up the lid of her laptop and tapped on the email icon, and her heart sank as she saw the message in her inbox.
From: Professor Alex Lemaitre [email protected]
To: Carla Jonas [email protected]
Subject: Re: Dear old Jane
Hi Carla,
Thanks for your essay on Austen. I’m sorry I’m going to have to put back our tutorial by a few hours. I know it’s a bit late but could you possibly come round to my rooms at 8 p.m.? I think it’s *essential* that we meet to talk about this before exams.
See you at 8 o’clock.
Best,
Alex
Chapter Seven
Carla’s heart thumped as she climbed the steps to Alex’s room for her one-to-one. She didn’t think she’d ever been so nervous about anything. Not even walking into the fetish party could match the stomach-churning feeling of dragging herself up that creaking staircase. His room was on the top floor, in a part of the college reserved for dons and guest visitors. The usual thud of music and laughter of students was absent, and every step on the ancient oak treads creaked alarmingly.
She almost stumbled at the frantic beeping from her bag. It was her cell phone alarm call, the one she’d set to make sure she wasn’t late for her tute. Not that it was likely, seeing as she’d arrived at college half an hour previously and spent the time pacing around the quads and gardens, checking her phone and the clock on the lodge tower until eight o’ clock neared. Still terrified of being late, she ended up on the landing outside his door four minutes early.
She reached the top landing. Crap. The wooden plaque on the door seemed laden with foreboding.
PROFESSOR A. L. LEMAITRE
God knew why. It was just a name, all the dons had them, but it reminded her, in stark letters, of the reality of the situation. This wasn’t a fantasy told to her by a mystery man at a party. It was for real.
She’d gone through the door-knocking scenario a dozen times, practising a confident rap and hearing him say, “Come” and walking in, head held high. Okay. Deep breath. She probably had nothing to worry about. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to rekindle the spark between them, and it was too late to worry about the essay because he’d already assessed it. Oh shit.
“Hello, Carla.”
She glanced up after shoving her phone back in her bag to find Alex framed in the doorway.
“Oh, er… Hi. How did you know I was here?”
“I heard the stairs creak. They’re as good as any guard dog. And then your mobile phone went off.”
“I didn’t want to be late,” she said breezily.
There was a definite twinkle in his eye. “Very wise.”
Twin demons of lust and anxiety played tug-of-war with her mind. Alex hadn’t turned out to be what she expected. She’d expected him to be in jeans, sweater and possibly the gown he wore for lectures; instead, he wore a white dress shirt with black studs and black tux trousers with a thin strip of satin along the side seam. He also held a towel in one hand. She saw the ruddy tinge to his chin
The bloody stupid, excruciating essay she’d sent him after her night at the club, in a moment of hormonal madness. She’d been so busy at the Gathering that she’d almost forgotten it. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She’d regretted sending it the moment she’d driven off to her home and meant to compose a message telling Alex the essay was a joke, written to entertain her fellow students and attached by mistake. The problem was that there hadn’t been time during her weekend away, and even when there had, she’d hesitated.
It hadn’t seemed right to e-mail Alex about such a trivial thing when she was meant to be thinking of Stephen and her family. That was why she hadn’t sent it.
Wasn’t it?
Or was there something else preventing her from withdrawing the essay, deep in her subconscious or not even that deep at all?
The tute was tomorrow afternoon; there was still time. In fact, she could email him now. She opened up the lid of her laptop and tapped on the email icon, and her heart sank as she saw the message in her inbox.
From: Professor Alex Lemaitre [email protected]
To: Carla Jonas [email protected]
Subject: Re: Dear old Jane
Hi Carla,
Thanks for your essay on Austen. I’m sorry I’m going to have to put back our tutorial by a few hours. I know it’s a bit late but could you possibly come round to my rooms at 8 p.m.? I think it’s *essential* that we meet to talk about this before exams.
See you at 8 o’clock.
Best,
Alex
Chapter Seven
Carla’s heart thumped as she climbed the steps to Alex’s room for her one-to-one. She didn’t think she’d ever been so nervous about anything. Not even walking into the fetish party could match the stomach-churning feeling of dragging herself up that creaking staircase. His room was on the top floor, in a part of the college reserved for dons and guest visitors. The usual thud of music and laughter of students was absent, and every step on the ancient oak treads creaked alarmingly.
She almost stumbled at the frantic beeping from her bag. It was her cell phone alarm call, the one she’d set to make sure she wasn’t late for her tute. Not that it was likely, seeing as she’d arrived at college half an hour previously and spent the time pacing around the quads and gardens, checking her phone and the clock on the lodge tower until eight o’ clock neared. Still terrified of being late, she ended up on the landing outside his door four minutes early.
She reached the top landing. Crap. The wooden plaque on the door seemed laden with foreboding.
PROFESSOR A. L. LEMAITRE
God knew why. It was just a name, all the dons had them, but it reminded her, in stark letters, of the reality of the situation. This wasn’t a fantasy told to her by a mystery man at a party. It was for real.
She’d gone through the door-knocking scenario a dozen times, practising a confident rap and hearing him say, “Come” and walking in, head held high. Okay. Deep breath. She probably had nothing to worry about. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to rekindle the spark between them, and it was too late to worry about the essay because he’d already assessed it. Oh shit.
“Hello, Carla.”
She glanced up after shoving her phone back in her bag to find Alex framed in the doorway.
“Oh, er… Hi. How did you know I was here?”
“I heard the stairs creak. They’re as good as any guard dog. And then your mobile phone went off.”
“I didn’t want to be late,” she said breezily.
There was a definite twinkle in his eye. “Very wise.”
Twin demons of lust and anxiety played tug-of-war with her mind. Alex hadn’t turned out to be what she expected. She’d expected him to be in jeans, sweater and possibly the gown he wore for lectures; instead, he wore a white dress shirt with black studs and black tux trousers with a thin strip of satin along the side seam. He also held a towel in one hand. She saw the ruddy tinge to his chin
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