Page 20 of His to Teach
She looks pissed now. “Nate—which apparently isn’t even your name?—”
“Itismy name,” I tell her. “My full name is Jonathan Chase the Third. My father goes by John so the family has called me Nathan since I was born. I prefer Nate.”
“But my brother calls you Chase.”
I shrugged. “And I often call him Cain. I call most of my college buddies by their last names. I guess it’s a guy thing.”
She holds up a hand, her face suddenly a shade paler, as if something has just occurred to her. “Hang on. You’re JonathanChase? Dr. Jonathan Chase? As in the best-selling author Dr. Jonathan Chase?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
She just gapes at me. “You’re an expert in the field of pop relationship psychology! How did my brother never tell me that he’s friends withtheJonathan Chase?”
“Is this really the most important issue we have to deal with now?” I ask sharply.
Her cheeks darken. “No, you’re right. We were talking about my next visit to the club and who I might find to teach me, if you’re so unwilling.”
It takes every ounce of my control not to grab her and pull her right over my knee for that. Luckily Mason chooses that moment to reappear at our table.
“Sorry about that,” he says, squeezing his sister’s shoulder in apology as he takes his seat. She ducks her head, hiding her red cheeks. He doesn’t seem to notice, grinning at me across the table. “I trust you filled her in on all the important campus gossip?”
I manage to arrange my features in a neutral enough expression in spite of the raging in my chest at the very thoughtof Harper interacting with another dom. I have no idea why my reaction is so strong—just about every sub I’ve ever been with has moved on to a different dom after our time is over, most of them men that I know well. It’s to be expected. The community here in Charlotte isn’t very large. Besides, I rarely spend more than a few weeks at a time with any sub. Of course, they’re going to move on after me, just as I do after them.
So why does the thought of Harper doing the same fill me with such a hot stab of rage? I barely know this woman.Maybe that’s it,I tell myself.You’re just worked up because you haven’t actually had her yet. The situation feels unfinished.
The explanation is comforting enough to make the meal bearable. A waiter arrives to take my order and our food is brought out shortly later. Mason steers most of the conversation, asking me questions about the department and the campus that he thinks will be of interest to Harper. She doesn’t have to participate beyond an occasional agreement or question—which is a good thing. Despite my lecture on compartmentalizing, she’s still clearly tense. I wonder how Mason doesn’t seem to see it. Her discomfort is obvious to me, in the set of her shoulders and the tension of her face.
These thoughts are interrupted when her brother brings up my research—and Harper lets out a little gasp. “That’syou?” she asks, her eyes wide as she stares at me.
“What’s me?”
She shakes her head a little, looking almost awed. “You’re running the Gender Roles in Twentieth Century Interpersonal Relationship study? Everyone in my orientation group is dying to get onto that research team.”
I do my best to look modest, not at all liking the surge of pride I feel at her obviously impressed expression. “It should be an exciting opportunity.”
“How many grad students are you taking on?” she asks, leaning across the table now. It’s the most animated I’ve seen her since I arrived. It’s also the most confident—her expression is shrewd, eager. Gone is the submissive, shy girl who I found so appealing. In her place is an ambitious, self-assured creature I barely recognize.
But fuck me if she isn’t equally as appealing.
“We’re hoping to bring in four grad students,” I tell her. “The competition will be stiff, of course, since the study overlaps with several departments. It’s likely most of the interns will be second-years.”
She gives me a cheeky little grin. “You haven’t read my application yet.”
Mason and I both laugh and I don’t miss the look of pride on his face. “Unfortunately, I won’t be the one choosing the applicants. That decision will be up to the advisors.”
She nods, thoughtful, and I imagine she’s scheming the best way to get her graduate advisor to consider her for one of the spots. And there’s little doubt in my mind that she’ll be successful—this version of Harper seems incredibly likely to get whatever she wants.
And that would be a disaster,I remind myself, because my traitor imagination seems to be taking my body’s side on this one, already concocting fantasies of Harper in my office, late nights poring over research, her eager eyes on mine, expression letting me know she’s in need of something to break the tension, to help her relax.
God, there are so many ways I could help her, so many ways to make her feel good. And to make her feel very, very bad.
Yeah. It would be a freaking disaster if Harper gets one of the spots.
HARPER
“It’s official,” I mutter, tossing a sweater onto my bed. “I have nothing to wear.”
Emma raises an eyebrow at me before pointedly looking at the pile of clothes on my bed. “Dramatic much?”
