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My mind reels, but Avery snickers. “Whatever he says, don’t take any of his classes. He’s a dick.”
I’m still not sure I believe what’s happening, but I mumble back, “It’s probably not a good idea, anyway. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”
A flare lights Spencer’s dark eyes. He arches a brow. “I can’t imagine why not, Miss Swanson.”
I wear the little black dress Spencer set out for the game yesterday. It’s posh and pretty, with a rounded white collar and the matching bow headband.
The Professor might prefer this preppy look, but I’ve decided I like to mix things up when it comes to my clothes. For better or worse, sexy stuff is what I’m comfortable in, and I walk better in heels than I do wedges or sandals.
I worry Spencer may not approve of the short, pleated skirt for school, but his gaze radiates approval when I rush out of my room—until he sees the platform-heeled Mary Janes strapped to my feet. Then I get a flash of white-hot electricity.
His scent swells as his eyes trace my legs, but he simply offers me a gentlemanly elbow. “Shall we?”
Even with a noticeable bulge in his tweed trousers, his proper courtesies never waver. He opens my car door for me in our garage, and again after we glide into a special reserved parking spot that literally has his name on it. The second the Volvo door locks, he has my arm wound through his again.
He gives a steady lecture on the university’s history and its reputation as we turn for a winding brick walkway. Without missing a beat, he ushers me between two ivy-covered buildings and nods at various places as he gives brief run-downs of each.
My heart flutters while I gaze up at his sharp profile, only absorbing his words half as much as I soak in the feeling his tour gives me. On his arm, for all to see, his approval and respect feel like a cloak around my shoulders.
And, for once, I’m not just a slut. Or a hot piece of ass. Or even a precious omega in need of protection.
Right now? With Spencer? I feel like a lady.
His lady.
The most particular alpha in the universe picked me. And he’s squiring me around his workplace like I’m a duchess.
When I cuddle closer into his side, he reaches over to grasp the hand wound around his forearm. The soft curve of his mouth is the only hint I get that he’s pleased, aside from a fierce flex of alpha approval.
I love that it’s just for me.
No one else would ever know.
Is this how he feels when I tell him I like him?
We finally reach a big building with stone pillars and carved archways. He stops in front of it, turning me to face him.
“Now, then.” I expect him to inspect me for lint or maybe fuss over my hair, but instead, he cups my face between his long-fingered hands. Stepping up against my body, he only pauses for one small second when he feels my hands slide under his blazer. I carefully smooth my touch down his sides, moving slow enough for him to stop me at any moment.
A silent breath quivers out of him, ruffling my bangs. “We have an appointment,” he husks, but it isn’t one of his usual chastisements. More a lament.
I lean my head back to tease him with a smirk. “Oh, you didn’t want to make out in front of the dean’s office?”
Another wave of pride washes over me, along with an undeniable flare of affection. To my delight, he plays along, raising both silver-blond brows. “No, actually. I wanted to do this.”
My pulse skips as he bends over and nuzzles his cheek against mine. The motion is deliberate and careful, his eyes guarded as he switches to rub the other cheek.
Butterflies swarm my stomach.
He’s scent-marking me.
Here. On campus. Right before we meet with his boss.
My eyes feel wet as he pulls back and studies me. Softer electricity snaps through his dark gaze. Seeing me, understanding me.
And still wanting me.
In spite of my scent and my past and all the alpha-omega dynamics he dislikes, Spencer wants me.
