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“I was going to say irreverent.”
Elle snorted a laugh then grimaced and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.
“Of course. That’s a very professor-like word to use.”
“The sarcastic students are usually the ones with an untapped and effortless brilliance yet to be discovered. I would hate it if you bailed on your education simply because your pride is a bit bruised.”
Elle mumbled a noise of agreement.
“I probably won’t remember much of this in the morning anyway.”
Taking her wrist, I guided her arm around my neck. Together, we rose to our feet. She grunted in dismay and turned her face into my shoulder. Thankfully, it was only one more block to my car, so we didn’t have to walk far. I eased her into the passenger seat, slotting the seatbelt into place.
Elle tipped her head back, eyes closed. By the time I had taken my position in the driver’s seat, her breathing was steady and even, signaling that she’d fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t throw up in my car now.
I drove across campus to Weston Hall, but when I parked at the curb, I couldn’t wake Elle, no matter how hard I tried. She slept like the dead. Her head bobbed to the side, slumping against the window.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
Remaining parked here all night wasn’t an option. And I had no idea which room in the dormitory belonged to Elle. I could hand her off to the resident advisor, but that might raise questions she didn’t need, making her life harder. People would want to know what she’d been doing, drunk in the middle of the night, with her attractive professor.
Not to mention, my career would be put at risk, too. There were strict rules about faculty fraternizing with students at East Regent University. Even if my sole intention was to help Elle, there were no eye witnesses to prove that I had behaved myself around a drunk student.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and glanced at Elle, sleeping peacefully next to me.
“This is why I don’t get involved.”
Turning my car onto the road, I started for home. Bright and early tomorrow morning, I would have Elle back on campus. Until then, she could get a good night’s sleep in my guest room, with a pot of hot coffee and some ibuprofen to ward off her inevitable hangover.
And we would keep tonight’s events strictly between us. For her sake as well as mine.
Chapter 3
Elle
Iwoke to a blistering headache, enveloped in a cocoon of white sheets as soft as a cloud. Underneath the fresh, clean scent of the fabric was a hint of masculine cologne—barely detectable, like smoky tobacco, old books, and caramel-sweet bourbon.
Why did that cologne seem so familiar? Where had I smelled it before?
Slowly, I opened my eyes to a room I didn’t recognize. My dorm was bland, generic, with plain white walls, and very little in the way of stylized architecture. This room had a classy, old-fashioned air to it, with rustic brick walls, and wide windows, shadowed by dark curtains. A few pieces of art decorated the room—a sketch of the Notre Dame Cathedral rendered in bold strokes of charcoal; a black and white photograph of the university's library with book-lined shelves on every wall, two stories high.
I sat up, clutching my throbbing head.
“Where the hell am I?”
The events of last night were a hazy blur in my mind. I remembered dancing until I could barely breathe, music so loud that I could feel it thumping through my bones. I remembered alcohol—lots and lots of alcohol. And then I woke up here.
I glanced down at myself to see I still wore the same camisole and mini skirt from last night. My shoes and jacket were nowhere in sight. Neither was my phone, or my purse.
The shuffle of movement echoed on the other side of the door.
I wasn’t alone. Fuck.
My mouth felt like it was coated in dry cotton. I touched my hair, trying to gauge what I looked like. When my fingers met a rat’s nest of tangles, I grimaced. Definitely not fit for human company.
Besides, relationships weren’t my style. I preferred one-night-stands where I slipped out the back door before they were awake, so I didn’t stick around for coffee, breakfast, and when can I see you again?
As soon as a guy found out I was actually Giselle Roche, daughter of multi-millionaire tycoon Daniel R. Roche, they had expectations—wealth, class, and access to the upper echelons of society.
