Page 2 of Filthy Professor

My heart lurched as I took in the man below the rows of seats, rifling through his briefcase. The pictures I’d found hadn’t done him justice. Even though I was as far away as I could get, in the farthest seat of the last row, his handsome face and well-defined body hit me. He was even hotter now than when he’d been in the field. How was that possible? I found it difficult to tear my eyes from him as he stood behind his desk, scanning the room. His gaze rested on me for a moment, and my heart picked up again, but his glance quickly shifted to the rest of the students. I blew out a breath, and he addressed the waiting class. His shaggy brown hair gave him a youthful appearance, and his booming voice went right through me.

“Okay, settle down. I know you’re all itching to get out for the summer—so am I—but we need to review for finals next week.”

Groans sounded across the room, and the corners of my lips lifted.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, before the tinkling noise of my phone shrilled out, gathering the attention of the entire room.

Oh shit.

Chapter 2

Harrison

I ground my teeth together. My students know better than to leave their phones on during class; anyone whose phone disrupts us is ridiculed and made to read any text messages aloud. Scanning the crowd, my eyes landed on a woman—most definitely not an eighteen-year-old—fumbling with her bag. Her curly red hair was pulled back from her exquisite face, and her tailored blouse and black pants indicated a level of professionalism not often seen in college students.

The reporter.

I sighed. When the university asked if I would be okay with having a reporter attend class to write an article, I was apprehensive. But I did have big news to share with the entire community, and this magazine was the ideal place to do it. After all these years, I’d been invited on another dig in just a couple of weeks. Getting out in the dirt again appealed to a core part of me, and I couldn’t turn it down. They’d expressed concerns, but I was more fit at forty than I’d ever been in my twenties. I’d made sure of it.

“Read it! Read it!” the students chanted as the woman froze with her phone in her hand.

Her mouth dropped open. She was stunning, but rules were rules. “Ms. Vargas, I presume?” I asked as her gaze locked on me.

She nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

A voice in front of her piped up, “Not good enough!”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I explained. “If someone leaves their phone on during class, they have to read the message aloud.”

“But . . .”

I shrugged. “I don’t think the kids will let you out of this one. Many of them have had to do it.” Trying to keep myself from smirking, I wondered if she would actually read the message to the group. I’d probably let her out of the deal if she protested enough.

She sighed and glanced down at her phone. “An Elvis movie marathon sounds great! Let’s plan it ASAP. How about the one where Ann-Margret does her signature . . .”

I raised an eyebrow, wondering whether to let her off the hook, but my curiosity overwhelmed me. “I very much doubt it cut off there. What is Ann-Margret famous for?” I suppressed a chuckle, since it was probably her dancing.

The woman cleared her throat. “. . . boob-shaking dance?”

Laughter echoed all around the room, and I snorted. The message did not disappoint. “Please silence your phone and enjoy the Ann-Margret boob-shaking. It’s pretty intense. She really does put all she has into it.” I wondered if Ms. Vargas was blushing, but it was hard to tell from so far away. I wonder what color her eyes are.

She laughed and put her phone back in her bag. “Done, and thanks.”

“Who’s Ann-Margret?” came a voice from the front of the room.

I laughed again. “Look her up, Mike. Okay, as I was saying, finals review . . .”

After class ended and as I was packing up my briefcase, I heard footsteps increasing in volume, echoing through the now-empty hall. I glanced up, and the reporter’s face came into view.

Green. Her eyes are a gorgeous shade of green.

“Mr. Keeler, I’m so sorry about before.” She reached out her hand.

“Harrison, please,” I said, shaking her hand, and a pulse of electricity shot through me before I let go. A wave of desire coursed through my body. She was even hotter up close.

“Harrison, I’m Katarina . . . Kat for short. Thank you for letting me sit in today. It was very interesting.”

I nodded. “You’re welcome, and sorry about the thing with your phone. I never would have heard the end of it if I’d let you break the rule.”