“Brace for the next batch, lass.” He smacked her hard, did some softer ones, then stingingly hard again.
Like an ancient chorus, the pattern repeated until her bottom was aflame. Such an amazing burn.
“Oh my god, he’s hitting her too hard. He’s hurting her. Stop him.” Queenie’s voice was loud and clear.
When Valerie stiffened, the professor eased off. His blows slowed and lightened, even as he grumbled under his breath, “Vanillas.”
She choked on a laugh.
“We’ve been busted, lass. I’m going to help you stand and will hold you until you’re steady.” He eased her to her feet, even as he rose and gripped her waist.
Her ass stung, and if she weren’t an adult—or in public—she’d have rubbed her bottom like a child. Instead, she pulled in a breath and faced him.
Taller by several inches, he smiled down at her, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for the most fun I’ve had in”—he frowned—“in an exceptionally long time.”
She swallowed, unable to look away from the hard face, the attentive gaze. Unable to not respond to his honesty. “Me, too.”
“Good.” He stepped back slightly and ran his hands up and down her arms as if to restore her circulation. “Next time, we’ll do this without the jeans.”
Heat swept into her face, and his smile widened. How many times had he made her blush in the last few minutes?
“Are you steady on your feet? Dizziness? Pain? Aside from your ass, of course.” A grin flashed white in the tanned face.
She half-snorted, then moved another step away, far too conscious of Queenie. “I’m good to go. I…thank you.”
The sharp green eyes softened, and he ran his knuckles over her cheek. His voice dropped to where only she could possibly hear. “The nice part of when sadists and masochists interact is no thanks are needed. We both enjoyed me beating on your ass.”
Her mouth dropped open, because…it was obvious he had liked spanking her. How different this had been from Barry’s begrudging two spankings.
“Come back, and we’ll do it again,” he said softly, before turning to Queenie. “Here she is, all right and tight.”
Chapter Three
On campus, Ghost sat in the mid-sized lecture hall and barely kept from sighing.
Yesterday, he’d thoroughly enjoyed his lecture because his class covering World War I held students who truly were interested in military history. The discussion about the Battle of Somme had really kept their interest. Of course, how could it not? The clash of forces had been a total bloodbath.
He loved seeing young minds at work, spurring them into thinking. Some of those men and women could well be the leaders of tomorrow.
Made a professor feel good.
Unfortunately, on Tuesdays, he had this class that’d been dumped on him after the regular professor suffered a heart attack.
All freshmen. At least it was Tuesday, so most of them weren’t suffering from hangovers.
They did try his patience.
He flipped on the projector switch to display the homework assignment since some still hadn’t figured out how to use a syllabus. “Homework is due the beginning of next class.”
“Nooo,” one young man whined. “No homework. I have a hot date tonight.”
Ghost raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll have to write with your other hand?”
As the nearby students burst into laughter, the young man reddened.
Ghost tossed his lecture notes into his briefcase. Bad colonel.
His self-control had been frayed by the lack of sleep last night. He’d dreamed of his wife and the gut-wrenching weeks where she’d slowly wasted away.
Damn, he missed her.
She hadn’t been perfect—what person was? But she’d been a strong woman, sticking with him through moves and deployments and the ugliness of post-combat stress. They’d laughed and fought and made-up. He’d have given anything if she could have beat back the cancer and won her own victory.
That war they had both lost.
He shook his head. Kelly had been gone over four years now. Perhaps her loss felt closer today because, for the first time since she died, he’d truly seen another woman. Had wanted to be with her.
And damned if he didn’t feel guilty about wanting someone. About not being able to keep Kelly alive.
But her fight with cancer hadn’t been his to win or lose. He’d given her all his support and love. During her last month of life, she told him, over and over, that he’d better live his life to the fullest and find someone to love, or she’d come back and kick his ass.
He hadn’t been ready to hear those words then. Now he saw the truth. If he’d been the one to go first, he wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn him all her days. Well—he smiled ruefully—for a while, yes, but then he would expect her to put her life back together.
So, lose the guilt, Colonel.
The students filed out, chattering about their next classes, exams, and, of course, hot dates.
He stopped one young man with dreadlocks and piercings. “A moment, please.”
“Professor?”
“You had a good argument on whether prejudice was involved in the number of Irish who died. I look forward to hearing more from you in future discussions.”
The student’s mouth dropped open. “Uh…”
Suppressing a chuckle, Ghost tilted his head toward the door, releasing the student…who fled.
During the discussion, the light of battle had filled the freshman’s face, yet the diffident student rarely spoke in class. So, Ghost had singled him out and goaded him to talk. The youngster had an excellent mind, and it was Ghost’s duty—and honor—to encourage him to use it.
For the next hour, Ghost held office hours. He advised a student about study habits, another about what was expected in essay questions. And, oddly enough, another one about a possible military career. Apparently, his past in the service was common knowledge, and the lad wanted information a recruiter might not provide.
After buying a coffee in the Marshall Center, he enjoyed a quiet break by the lake next to the Fine Arts building. A few of the green and brown mallards waddled up, and he tossed out a handful of cracked corn.
Bread wasn’t good for them. Wasn’t particularly good for him either, but at least his morning PT kept his gut within bounds.
Brushing off his hands, he checked the time, then headed inside and down a hall, checking lecture room numbers. Here. He entered the room silently and chose a place in the shadows in the back.
At the front, Valerie Winborne was talking about Middle Eastern cultures. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy French braid. She wore tan pants and a white top with dark red embroidery. Professional…and, even when lecturing, she had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. Her vibrant contralto was somehow peaceful and sexy at the same time.
Curiosity had spurred him into searching for more information. Conveniently, very few professors were named Valerie. She held an interesting mixture of degrees and minors—philosophy, economics, world religions—and had been hired as an adjunct to replace a tenured professor who’d retired early.
Of course, the university had jumped at acquiring a teacher who’d written a bestselling book about the commonalities of various religions and philosophical practices. She’d tried to show how most people believed in something more, whether they called it god or gods or a great spirit or life force—and the beliefs, if followed, led people to create a better world.