Page 6 of A Reputation Dark & Deadly

When she a safe distance away, Peyton turned back to Logan and perked her brows. "I'm surprised," she murmured. "That girl was giving you goo-goo eyes. Might be the leather jacket. Pretty sure you have a shot with her, if you want it, of course."

There was a second, a moment that Peyton could feel hang in the space between them. Without warning, Logan leaned over and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently shoving her in the direction of the door. Peyton allowed him to move her to the door without pushing against him. He only released her when he opened the door.

Once they were in a small, vacant hallway with no light that must be used solely by professors, Logan placed both of his hands back on her shoulders.

"Think very carefully before you continue with that smartass comment, sweetheart," he said, his voice low, dangerous, his face mere centimeters from hers. She could smell a subtle hint of forest and ocean and cinnamon and anything masculine. Peyton could hear her heart beat pulsate through her head and reverberate throughout her ear canals. "I don't like fucking barely legal girls who have no idea what the fuck they're doing. I also don't fucking sleep with my fucking students. And it pisses me off that you would think otherwise."

Peyton swallowed. It was shaky but she didn't care. She held his gaze even though she wanted nothing more than to look away.

He nodded his head. "Glad to see you fucking know your place," he said after another moment.

"My place?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Who the hell do you think you are? My place. I shouldn't have said what I said. I get that. But you don't get to talk to me that way."

"You don't get jack shit, sweetheart," he countered. "You see" - he crossed his arms over his chest so the leather from his jacket crinkled - "I'm willing to bet that you're the type of woman who apologizes because she knows it's the fucking right thing to do but not because she actually fucking means it. You're a manipulator, aren't you? You know exactly what to say because you fucking pay attention. You adapt. And I must say, I respect that quality in anyone but I especially love to see it in a fucking woman. It's a rare fucking quality. What I don't appreciate it is that you fucking think you know everything. You fucking think you know me based on a couple of hours together. You think you have me all figured out. I'm not here to tell you that you don't. Quite frankly, I don't fucking give a shit what you think about me but you're the type of woman who likes to run her mouth. Personally, I don't mind a pair of balls on a woman. Keeps things fresh. Adds a little fucking spice in life. But one thing that I will not stand is disrespect, you got it? That doesn't mean you have to think like me or fucking act like me. I like a healthy debate. I like seeing things from a different fucking perspective as long as you're not a goddamn moron. It turns me on, to be honest. Intellectual debate. I would gladly argue with you and then fuck you against the wall right here, right before class, so you couldn't make any fucking noises out of your goddamn mouth because my students - who I do not fuck - might hear."

Peyton's throat suddenly ran dry. She wasn't sure why but the intensity of his hazel eyes clashed with her sea-blue ones and her stomach did a weird flip like the kind she got when she was an elevator and it started to descend.

"I am your student," she murmured, her voice broken and raspier than she needed it to be.

He nodded once, biting his bottom lip as his eyes dropped to her mouth and lingered for a moment too long. A moment that made her stomach do more things she couldn't quite name.

"Yes," he agreed. "You are." His eyes shifted to the door they had just come from before sliding back to Peyton's. "Now, lest we get reported, how about we get the fuck back in my classroom and start this fucking intro class. Is that okay with you, princess?"

Peyton clenched her jaw but made no move to speak. Instead, she kept hold of his gaze and nodded once.

"Is there anything else you need to fucking say?" Logan asked. "You've already insulted me by insinuating I would even be attracted to barely legal teenagers who like my goddamn dimples. Any more gasoline you want to throw on the fucking fire?"

Peyton's throat was dry. "I..." She forced herself to swallow but that didn't do any good. He merely quirked an eyebrow and waited. "No," she finally said, shaking her head. "I've clearly said enough."

"Clearly." He was turning to head to the door when Peyton felt compelled to ask him a question.

"Do we need to meet?" Peyton asked, tilting her head to the side. "To talk about your expectations of me as your TA, what I need to look for in assignments, how you want me to grade things?"

Logan blinked once before throwing his head back and laughing.

"You don't need to be a prick about it," Peyton asked. She dropped her hands and started to head around Logan so she could get back in the lecture hall where there were witnesses and she didn't feel so confined in this cage. Not with those knowing eyes. Not with that vicious smile. In fact, the very notion of allowing him to confine her here with him alone was nonsensical. Why would she allow him to do that?

"No need to call me names, sweetheart," he said. Before Peyton could weasel around him, his hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist, tugging her back to him. She wasn't expecting the opposing force and nearly collided into his chest.

"It was just a question," she said. "This is my first time. I want us to work well together. I'm supposed to be assisting you so if you want to tell me what you want from me, I want to listen. I want to learn."

Logan's eyes dimmed as he took in Peyton. His jaw popped as he clenched his teeth together. Finally, he said, his voice dark and low, "You're telling me I get to pop your fucking cherry?"

"God, there's no need to be gross about it," Peyton said, scrunching her nose. She ignored the fact that his voice caused goosebumps to run up and down her arms. She ignored the fact that he had yet to drop her wrist from his grasp. His hand was big and tough, as she thought it would be. He probably played sports or did a lot of physical labor for his calluses to be permanently etched into his skin.

"You're right," he said with a single nod of his head. "Let's meet after class in my office. You know where that is?"

Peyton nodded.

"Good," he said with a nod. "Let's fucking get this shit over with."

* * *

Class wentas well as could be expected, considering that Logan Jeffrey had a particular reputation and freshmen typically fell into two black and white categories: the bros who wanted to be like him or the girls, who wanted to sleep with him. There was one third group, a rare group consisting of students who actually wanted to learn without being belittled or sworn at, but Logan Jeffrey was also the best professor at the university, so it might be okay to deal with his questionable behavior if it got them a lucrative career. Which it almost always did.

Peyton sat in a folding chair at the corner of the room. It was different to be on this side of the conversation, where she could watch him teach without worrying about him calling on her. Instead of focusing on him, she focused her attention on the students. Some of the girls were already in love with him, giggling at his behavior and making goo-goo eyes at him as he paced back and forth in front of the lecture hall. He really wasn't like any of the professors here. He was beautiful and scary and dangerous and intellectual.

There was something about him that was alluring in a dark, atypical way. It was one of those things that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but whatever it was, he had it.