Chapter One

Nick

I never meant to become the center of a scandal, but one disgruntled client started a rumor that spread like wildfire. Now everyone in my hometown thinks I’m the sort of man who gives “special” massages at my day spa. I’m a massage therapist, not a gigolo, but no one cares about that. Apparently, I’ve become a “meme” on social media, whatever that means. I needed to get away for a while until the fire snuffs out. Hunkering down in my house only worked until someone found my address, hiding out at my parents’ house got bloody boring after three weeks, and my brother’s suggestion that I take a holiday for a few weeks didn’t appeal to me either. I decided to do something different.

Go back to school. Finish my university degree. And do it in America.

Why? Because it’s far away from England and the scandal that’s threatening to ruin my career. My right-hand man, Bennett Montague, can handle things while I’m gone.

So here I am walking into a building called Rathbone Hall at a school called Vallefrio University in northern New Mexico. The desert is a new experience for me, but this morning, I have other things on my mind. I’m to meet my faculty adviser, someone called Dr. SJ Griffin, Professor of Mathematics. That’s what it says on the bloke’s door, anyway. I read those words as I walk through the open door of the office.

A young woman sits at a desk holding a phone to her ear.

When she notices me, she holds up a finger in the universal gesture that means “keep quiet, you arse, I’m busy.”

“No, Jimmy,” she tells the caller, “I can’t cut out early to go to the liquor store and get your loser friends a twenty-four-pack of beer. Get it yourself. We’re not dating anymore, which means I’m not your beer slave. Goodbye.”

She scowls as she punches her mobile screen to disconnect the call.

“Good morning,” I say, smiling. “I have an appointment with Dr. SJ Griffin.”

The girl brushes red hair away from her eyes. “Oh right, you’re the new…” Her gaze wanders over me, and she bites one side of her bottom lip. “Uh, are you sure you’re in the right place? Dr. Griffin’s nine o’clock appointment is supposed to be with a new student.”

“That’s me.” But I know I don’t look like a student. I’m nineteen years older than when I gave up on my degree, so I can’t blame the girl for being confused. “I’m Nick Hunter. Dr. Griffin is expecting me, and yes, I am a new student.”

“But you’re British and middle-aged.”

Middle-aged? I may not be a teenager, but bloody hell, do I look middle-aged?

The girl winces. “Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s just that you’re, um, older than most of our students. I’m Lana, by the way, Dr. Griffin’s graduate assistant. You can wait in here. It should just be a few minutes.”

“May I sit down?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Thank you, Lana.”

She walks out of the office, leaving the door open.

I amble past the desk she vacated, one that clearly belongs to a professor. It has pens and pencils in a coffee mug, a desk calendar with notes scrawled on it, and various math-related things like a protractor and a scientific calculator. Oddly, there’s no computer. But there is a lamp and a stack of books with mathy titles.

Wonderful. My adviser is probably an elderly gent who wears bifocals and sniffles all the time.

Two chairs sit in front of the desk, so I settle onto one and prop my feet on the desk’s corner. If I have to wait for my crotchety adviser, I might as well get comfortable. Slouching in my chair, I lean my head against its back and close my eyes. The long flight from the UK has left me knackered.

“Ahem,” someone says. “Would you mind getting your big feet off my desk?”

That’s not a crotchety gent’s voice.

I open my eyes—and sit up straighter, pulling my feet off the desk.

The woman standing in the doorway has raven hair and amber eyes, not to mention skin so smooth and creamy that it’s like fine alabaster. Her lips are puckered, probably because she’s annoyed with me. A tweed skirt suit molds to her body, highlighting her sensual figure, but it still manages to be professional. She’s tied her hair up in a bun, and even that makes me hot for her, especially the way a few locks have fallen over her ears.

Well, maybe Dr. SJ Griffin isn’t so bad after all.

She takes a seat behind her desk and brings a laptop computer out of the bag she had carried over her shoulder. Setting the laptop to one side, she rolls her chair forward and folds her arms on the desktop. “You’re Nicholas Hunter, I presume. Welcome to Vallefrio University. I’m your faculty adviser, Dr. SJ Griffin.”

“I know. And you can call me Nick.”

“No, Mr. Hunter, I will not be doing that.”

“But I prefer it. We don’t need to be so formal, do we? I’m not an eighteen-year-old freshman.”

She scans me up and down, her lips puckering again. “Yes, you’re awfully old to be a student.”

Why does everyone keep saying that? And why do I feel the need to defend myself?

No idea, but my mouth has its own logic. “My great uncle went to university for the first time five years ago. He was seventy-nine.”

“Mm-hm.” Dr. SJ Griffin pulls a file folder out of her bag and spreads it open on the desktop, then she slips on a pair of reading glasses and focuses on the papers in the folder. “Nicholas Hunter, forty years old, a foreign student with transfer credits from the University of Reading.”

“I’m impressed. You pronounced the name correctly. How did you know it’s Redding and not Reeding?”

She glances at me briefly but doesn’t answer my question, then returns to studying her dossier on me. “I see you had an adequate GPA.”

Adequate? I don’t care how sexy she is, this woman is too uptight to be any fun. “Do I get to know everything about you too?”

“No.” She gnaws on her lip like a rabbit chewing on a carrot and tugs on her earlobe, which I find adorable until she speaks again. “Only freshmen get faculty advisers, but someone pulled a lot of strings on your behalf. Don’t expect special treatment because you’ve got connections. Your advanced age does not grant you any favors.”

“That would be my brother, Richard. He pulled those strings, I mean. But I expect to work my arse off like any other college student.” I smirk. “Despite my advanced age.”

She chews on her lip again, rabbit-style, then shuts her eyes and sighs. When she looks at me, her expression softens—a little. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Mr. Hunter.”

“Yes, I agree. Not sure why, but I feel like it’s somehow my fault.”

“It’s not you.” She sits up ramrod straight and tugs her jacket down as if it needs straightening, though it doesn’t. “I apologize for my rudeness.”

“No worries. I’ve heard much worse lately, and I realize my age is a bit of a surprise.”

“That’s no excuse for my behavior.” She glances at her file folder, head down, then looks at me from under her beautiful lashes. “I know who you are, Mr. Hunter. Your age and your connections made me curious, and I, um, looked you up online.”

She can’t know about my recent troubles. There must thousands of Nick Hunters online.

“Your home address is in your file,” she says, sounding almost embarrassed. “So I didn’t have much trouble finding you.”

Oh bugger. She must’ve read all about my scandal. No wonder she’s treating me like a criminal.

“Let me explain,” I say. “Whatever you’ve read is not the truth. It’s a rumor, one that does not reflect who I am or what my business is about. I’m a massage therapist, and I own a day spa in Cockshire. It’s not where I was born, but I’ve lived there for years.”

Her lips tighten, but it seems more like humor this time. “Cockshire? You’re pulling my leg. That’s too on the nose for you.”

“Is it my fault somebody called the town Cockshire? It’s spelled S-H-I-R-E, by the way, not S-U-R-E.”

My sexy adviser leans back in her chair, her lips curving upward just enough to give me hope she’s not as uptight as she seems. “Did you move there because of the name? It describes you so well, and you seem like the type who loves double entendres.”

“I do, but that has no bearing on why I moved to that town.”

“Why, then?”

Because I didn’t want to be just Richard Hunter’s brother who runs a massage business. Moving to a neighboring town kept me close to my family without Rick’s shadow hanging over me all the time. It sounds narcissistic, though, and I don’t care to admit the truth to SJ Griffin. So I change the subject.

“What’s your first name?” I ask. “Calling you SJ will be awkward.”

“You will call me Dr. Griffin. Maintaining appropriate boundaries is essential in a teacher-student relationship.”

“Can’t we be friends? I don’t know anyone in America. Well, except for a few Scots I’ve gotten to know lately, but they live in Utah.”

“You have Scottish friends? All mine are American, except for Sanjay Desai. He’s British, like you.”

“Are you shagging him?” When she puckers her lips again, I realize I probably shouldn’t have blurted that out. “I meant are you, ah, romantically involved with that bloke.”

“No, I am not. We’re friends. But I know you were asking if I’m screwing him, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Sorry. If you’re friends with him, why can’t you be friends with me?” I raise my hand to stop her when she starts to speak. “I’m not an average student, am I? And I’ll gladly sign a waiver granting you my permission to sexually harass me to your pretty little heart’s content.”

“You’re insane.”

I shrug. “As you well know, I’ve been called worse. On the internet. By anonymous wankers who don’t have the nerve to say things like that to my face.”

“Uh-huh.” She closes her file folder. “Why did you quit one semester short of getting your degree in business?”

Somehow, I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice that, or at least wouldn’t mention it. Of course she noticed and mentioned it. A student of advanced age who quit nineteen years ago within spitting distance of earning that degree? Anyone would be curious.

Dr. Griffin seems more curious than most people.

“It’s a long story,” I say. “My reasons are personal, and I don’t know you. Now, if we had lunch together and chatted to each other, I might feel more comfortable sharing my life story with you.”

One corner of her mouth slants upward into a grudging smile. “Are you blackmailing me into having lunch with you?”

“I can’t blackmail you since I don’t have anything on you.” I smile. “Not yet.”

Maybe I shouldn’t flirt with her, but I can’t help it. Underneath her prim exterior, I sense there’s a wild woman dying to get out.

SJ Griffin picks up a pen and taps it on her lips. “You’re going to give me trouble, aren’t you? The university has a code of ethics, one by which I am bound to abide.”

“Could you say ‘bound to abide’ again? It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

My luscious adviser stands up, stretching out a hand to offer me a business card. “Here’s my office number if you need anything. Please go to the bookstore and buy all your textbooks. Classes begin on Monday.”

I get up and take her business card. “Is your home number on the back?”

“No.” She sits down. “I saw that you’ve registered for one of my classes. You won’t get any slack just because you’re older than the average student. Business analytics is an advanced statistics course. I hope you can handle it.”

“You really have low expectations for me, don’t you?”

“Realistic expectations. A lot has changed in the past nineteen years.” She points at her laptop. “We have computers now.”

“Oh yes, we had to make do with parchment scrolls back in the Dark Ages when I was growing up, but I can adapt. Do you have a quill pen I could borrow?”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t quite smile. “Go buy your books, Mr. Hunter. You’re probably staying in the dorms, eh? With all those nubile coeds.”

“I have a flat off-campus, for your information.” And my brother is paying for it, but I don’t need to tell her that. I lean over her desk to gaze straight into her eyes. “If not lunch, then have dinner with me. I need advising. Lots of it. You can’t abandon a student from another country who has no idea how to survive in America. And at my advanced age, I might need help finding the right classrooms.”

“Sure you will.” She eyes me from head to toe like she had when she first saw me. “Why do you want to dress like a frat boy? You’re a grown man.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I’m wearing my Arsenal T-shirt, because I love football, and also stonewashed blue jeans and cowboy boots. Don’t Americans love cowboys? Not my adviser, I guess. When I was getting dressed this morning, this outfit seemed appropriate for my first day at university.

Dr. Griffin screws up her mouth, then shrugs. “Goodbye, Mr. Hunter.”

Since I’ve been dismissed, I walk out of her office. Dr. SJ Griffin intrigues me, but I came here to finish my degree, not chat up my faculty adviser. I shouldn’t flirt anymore. Kissing her is absolutely out of the question. Under no circumstances will I offer her a “special” massage.

Unless…

No, you sodding arse, you’re here to learn, not to seduce SJ Griffin.

Not knowing her first name has made me want her even more. To strip off those stuffy, yet somehow sexy, clothes could be the best time I’ve had in years. The uptight ones often turn out to be the most incredible lovers once they let go.

But I will not cock up getting my degree. I’ve waited a long time for this, and I will behave like the mature man I’m supposed to be. All work and no play might drive me barking mad, but I will prove to everyone I am a serious businessman.

I’m halfway to the door that leads out of the building when I realize I’ve made my first mistake not ten minutes after meeting Dr. Griffin. I hurry back to her office and open the door just enough to poke my head inside. Lana is sitting in the chair where I’d sat a few minutes ago while Dr. Griffin is studying papers on her desk.

“Sorry,” I say. “Forgot to ask where the ruddy bookstore is.”

Dr. Griffin looks up from her computer, seeming mildly startled. “What?”

“I don’t know where the bookstore is.”

“Didn’t you get a map in your welcome packet?”

“Possibly. But I sort of left that in my flat.”

She gives me a teacher-like look of stern disappointment. “Lana can get you another one.”

My sexy adviser goes back to studying her computer screen.

I get a map from little Lana and leg it to the bookstore.

Chapter Two

Dr. Griffin

I will never tell Nick Hunter my first name. Dr. Griffin will do just fine because I suspect telling him my first name would lead to lots of flirting and innuendo, not to mention sexy smiles. He’d probably mold my name into dirty syllables simply by speaking it in that steamy British voice. Yes, all right, he’s hot. But I do not have sex with students. Not that I was even thinking about that. Ugh. Of course I was. How could I not? The man is ridiculously hot, and I’d love to spend one night with him, if only to find what a “special” massage is. I can’t do that, though. I’d lose my job if anyone found out, so I’ll stick to fantasizing about Nick Hunter.

He’s forty years old and a college senior. Maybe that shouldn’t bother me, but it does a little. I’m forty-two, so I can hardly criticize him for his age. Why did I do exactly that? I acted snippy because I’m attracted to him. I’ve had bad experiences with immature men of a certain age, meaning men over thirty-five. Nick dresses like a frat boy and acts like he doesn’t take anything seriously. Sure, those faded blue jeans look sexy on him, and I can’t help liking the stubble on his face even though I normally don’t like that kind of thing. His cowboy boots give him a strange bad-boy appeal. A Brit wearing western boots? Somehow it works for him.

But I don’t get his shirt. It’s dark red and has the word ARSENAL printed in capital letters on it under a drawing of what looks like the London skyline.

God, I love his eyes. When he leaned over my desk, I got a good look at those baby blues.

No, I don’t love his eyes. He’s a student, which means I notice nothing except his GPA.

Ten minutes after Nick Hunter left my office, my cell phone rings while I’m engrossed in creating lesson plans for the summer semester.

I answer my call with my usual greeting since I didn’t bother to glance at the caller ID. “Dr. Griffin, professor of mathematics, speaking.”

“Jeez, you’ll never get a date if you say that to everyone.”

“Dating isn’t a priority for me.”

“No, really?” says the snarky female on the other end of the call. “I know you’ve been burned before, but come on. You should at least try to get some.”

“Sure, I’ll ‘get some’ food at lunch, and I’ll ‘get some’ work done.”

“You are so not funny. Getting laid, that’s what you need.”

I groan. How many times have we had this conversation? No matter how often I explain, she refuses to listen. “Sweetie, please stop encouraging me to have casual sex with random men. It makes me worry about what you’re getting up to.”

“Did I say anything about random sex with random guys? I want you to find somebody so you won’t be alone now that I’m gone.”

“You aren’t gone,” I say, quashing the impulse to snort derisively. “Despite sharing an apartment with Tricia, you turn up at home every other day looking for food or clothes or DVDs.”

“Jeez, Mom, DVDs are so last century. But your broadband is better than what we get.” She sighs with the kind of long-suffering melodrama only an eighteen-year-old can pull off. “At least answer your phone like you want to talk to people. Please, for me? Please, please, please?”

“I’ll try.” My lips are curling up at the corners. I can’t help it. My daughter always knows how to make me smile. “Was there a reason you called? Because I do have work to do.”

“There’s a reason.” She pauses, then switches to a stage whisper. “I heard there’s a new student, and he’s a hot British guy.”

“He’s too old for you, Felicity.”

“Is he, like, your age? That’s what I heard. I like older guys. Maybe I should ask him out.”

“No, absolutely not. Nick Hunter is off-limits for you.”

“For me? But not for you, that’s what your statement implies.” She reverts to her stage whisper. “He must be super-wicked hot if you’re warning me away from him. I was kidding about the older-guys thing, but you should go for it. Tap that already.”

“I can’t express how disturbing it is to hear you sing the praises of casual sex.”

“Chill, Mom, I’m still a virgin.”

Oh thank God. I don’t say that out loud because it would make my daughter laugh hysterically. She thinks I’m uptight. Nick Hunter probably thinks the same thing. Not that I care what he thinks.

There will be absolutely no “‘tapping” of anyone.

But his smile…his body…

No, no, no. I’m a mature, professional woman, not a lustful teenager.

At least Felicity hasn’t rushed to lose her virginity. She wouldn’t lie to me about that or anything. My relationship with my daughter is the best thing in my life, since men only ever let me down. Catastrophically. Somebody should invent disaster insurance for relationships to save me from making another horrible mistake. You know, the kind of insurance that prevents you from doing the walk of shame or crying your eyes out for three days straight.

That idea has nothing whatsoever to do with Nick Hunter.

“Soooo,” Felicity says in her sneaky-snarky voice, “you must know the British hottie. Nick Hunter? You wouldn’t know his name unless you’d met him. I need the deets, Mom. How finger-lickin’ delish is he?”

Good enough to eat him up and go back for seconds.

But I tell Felicity, “I’m his adviser, so yes, I’ve met him. He’s…fine. But don’t get excited because I won’t see him very often. Faculty advisers are for occasional advising, not daily chats.”

Except Nick is taking one of my classes, which means I’ll see him four days a week. My tummy flutters when I think about that.

I glare down at my belly. Stop that, you stupid tummy.

“Uh-huh,” Felicity says. “I bet Nick will need lots of advising. I mean, he is in a foreign country where he doesn’t know anybody and doesn’t know his way around.”

How does she make that sound like I’ll be screwing Nick in my office every day? Showing someone around the campus is not a salacious act. Not that I’ll be showing him around. Lana gave him a map, so he doesn’t need a tour guide.

“When can I meet him?” Felicity asks.

“Nick Hunter? Never, I hope.”

She laughs. “Wow, Mom, you’re crushing hard on him, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you have a class to go to?”

“It’s summer. I don’t start until the end of August.” She does that silly whispering thing again. “Is Nick Hunter taking one of your classes?”

“Yes.”

“Which one? Because I was thinking about auditing one of your summer classes to, you know, get a jump on my higher education.”

“And you think I’m going to tell you which one the ‘British hottie’ is taking? No way.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t have an aneurysm. You can have Nick all to yourself.”

I hear voices in the background at her end. “Where are you, Felicity?”

“At the mall. I’m meeting Tricia for a marathon shopping spree, and I’ve got your credit card in my pocket.”

“Very funny. Dinner will be at seven, if you’re coming home tonight. Don’t be late.”

“Am I ever? Being late is a crime, being on time is proper, and being early is a virtue. That’s number three on the list of the Griffin Rules of Etiquette.”

Sure, I’ve said that. I don’t have an actual list, but hearing her recite my rules makes me sound…so uptight.

Maybe I do need to get laid.

“I better go,” Felicity says. “Have fun with Nick the Hot Brit. Bye, Mom.”

She hangs up before I can complain about what she called Nick.

He might be hot and British, but I am required to adhere to the university’s code of ethics. That means no sex with Nick. No kissing Nick. No flirting with Nick. I should probably avoid him as much as possible, and I will not let myself admire his body. If I must speak to him, I’ll look him in the eye.

Those gorgeous blue eyes…

I growl at myself and try to focus on the lesson plans I’d been working on before Felicity called to harass me about my lack of male companionship. I don’t notice time passing, but suddenly, I realize the clock on my computer says it’s one o’clock. In the afternoon. No wonder my tummy had started grumbling a little while ago.

Rising from my chair, I yawn and stretch.

Since the campus cafeteria is the closest place to get food, I make my way out of Rathbone Hall and across the quad. I’ve just passed the statue of the Spanish explorer Juan de Oñate when someone calls out my name.

“Dr. Griffin, slow down.”

Oh God, not him again. I stop and turn to face the man who’s striding toward me.

Nick Hunter walks with his shoulders back, his spine straight, and his head held high. A slight smile tugs at his lips, and his gaze is aimed straight at me. Naturally, having his attention focused on me makes a tingly warmth chase over my skin.

He halts too close for my comfort, which means less than a continent separates us. “I love the way you walk, like you’ve urgently got to be somewhere. It’s sexy, Dr. Griffin.”

I wish he’d stop calling me that. Wish he’d stop talking, period. And stop standing there, looking gorgeous and edible. In fact, it would be perfect if he could just poof out of existence.

“Did you need something?” I ask, and wince because that sounds like an invitation for him to suggest something dirty. “I mean, something related to your education here at Vallefrio.”

He moves closer, his body only two feet from mine. “Yes, Dr. Griffin, I desperately need your help. I can’t find my way around this campus.”

Sure, he’s lost and helpless. I’d bet all the money in my savings account that every female who sees him offers to be his campus guide.

“Try Google Maps,” I say. “You can zoom in on the campus to see all the streets and buildings. It even tells you the names of those buildings.”

“But I need personal attention from my adviser.” He glances around like he’s afraid someone might overhear what he says next, then he bends his head to within inches of my face. “I’ve asked a dozen people, and no one can tell me where to get a decent cuppa.”

“Maybe because they don’t understand what you’re asking for.”

“A cuppa.”

“Which is what, exactly? Americans don’t speak British, Mr. Hunter.”

He straightens, and one side of his mouth twists upward. “Yes, I’m beginning to realize that. My brother and my mates told me this would happen, but I assumed they were having me on.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My brother and our mates, the Dixons, have all married American women. Well, Richard will marry Maddie in a month, but they’re already living together.”

Why is he telling me about his friends and family? It doesn’t clear up the “cuppa” issue at all.

Nick shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry. I’m babbling, aren’t I? ‘Cuppa’ means a cup of tea. I can’t find anyplace on this campus where I can get one of those.”

“Try Starbucks. It’s a block off campus.”

“Which way?” He squints as he scans the surroundings, then he suddenly groans and shuts his eyes. “Bugger me.”

“Do what now?”

He looks at me, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t remember where I parked my car.”

The defeated expression on his face plucks my sympathy strings. I try not to feel bad for him—honestly, I try so hard—but I’ve always been a sucker for a pathetic, sexy man.

“Come with me,” I say. “Let’s look for your car.”

“Thank you, Dr. Griffin. You’re a real mate.”

“Uh-huh. Did you have to put coins in a meter, or did you have a student parking card?”

“The former.”

“We’ll start with the metered lot that’s closest to the main campus.”

I start walking, waving for him to follow. He falls into step alongside me, walking with that same self-assurance as earlier, and he keeps glancing at me sideways with a faint smirk on his lips. Did he trick me into helping him? No, I don’t believe that. He had seemed genuinely upset when he realized he forgot where he parked his car.

But I’m sure he’ll now take advantage of the situation to flirt with me.

We reach the first metered parking lot, and it’s packed.

“See your car yet?” I ask.

He squints and scans the parking lot, just like he’d scanned the quad a few minutes ago. Then he grins and points to a vehicle three cars away from where we’re standing. “There it is. Blimey, I was afraid I’d have to sleep on a park bench tonight.”

“You’ve never heard of taxicabs?”

“I hate those.” Nick aims his playful grin at me. “Maybe I could sleep on your couch, Dr. Griffin.”

Will he never stop calling me that? Sure, I ordered him to use my professional name, but I hadn’t realized how often he would say it or how hot he would sound doing that.

“There are sofas in the administration building,” I say. “But you found your car, so you won’t need to crash on anybody’s furniture.”

He takes my hand, lifting it to his lips, and kisses my knuckles. “Thank you, fair lady, for assisting me in my quest to find Camelot.”

“This is a parking lot, not King Arthur’s kingdom.”

“But you have saved me.” He kisses my hand again, then winks. “I’ll repay that debt any way you want, Dr. Griffin.”

“Uh, sure, whatever.” I pull my hand out of his grasp. “See you on Monday at eight o’clock.”

“For a clandestine liaison in your office?”

“No, for the first day of classes. Business analytics starts at eight. Please be on time.”

His lips slide into a smile that’s too damn sexy for my sanity. “How will you punish me if I’m late?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Hunter.”

I hustle toward the cafeteria and pray Nick doesn’t follow me there.

That man will drive me insane—and I can’t swear I won’t love every minute of it.