Page 7 of A Reputation Dark & Deadly

Peyton had taken this class her freshman year, and yet, she listened to him with her full attention, watching him from behind as he paced up and down the lecture hall like he owned the place. Although, if she was being honest, paced was the wrong word. Logan wasn't really pacing; he was casually walking around. He liked to gesture with his hands, she noticed. It was something she didn't particularly expect from someone so commanding but she found it humanized him a little bit. It was a tell; despite being a complete ass to his students, he was passionate about his career and, if she had to guess, probably the law in general.

When the hour and twenty minutes was over, he dismissed the class without even bothering to introduce Peyton as his TA. She bristled at this but made no mention of it when he turned round and perked his brows. It was only then did she notice that he didn't actually have anything with him in terms of a briefcase or any material that might help assist with his lectures. Which meant that he knew exactly what he was going to say somehow. Which all made it ridiculously hard to take notes in his class and to keep everything organized so when students visited her during office hours, she would have some kind of idea about what was going on.

"Ready?" he asked.

"For what?" Peyton asked, quickly grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She had to practically skip to keep up with him and his long legs.

"Don't tell me you already forgot this fucking meeting you wanted," he called over his shoulder as he stepped through the professor's door, the door students weren't allowed to use when exiting. "Just so you fucking know, I've never had a meeting with any of my TAs before in my entire tenure here. Doesn't look like you're off to a great, sweetheart."

Peyton frowned. "You know," she said, following him through the door and down the dark, narrow hallway, "it's not like you're a typical professor. Being a TA to you is not as intuitive as you think it is."

"Sounds a lot like complaining, if you ask me," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," Peyton said, not bothering to hide the snark from her voice. "Should I come up to you in a low-cut top and proposition you for sex? Is that what you're more used to than a woman asking questions and speaking her mind?"

Logan stopped abruptly and turned so he could look at Peyton dead in the eye. She had to immediately stop walking or else she would have walked straight into his back.

"You have a fucking mouth on you, don't you," he said rather than asked. “For your fucking information, I'm a leg person. Toned legs up to her neck is what does it for me. I could care less about her breasts just as long as she fucking loves them. I love them because they’re hers. I also love a good ass, too, but not as much as the legs. I love when they wrap around me. I love pushing her legs over her head. I love being between them. Legs are like the fucking road to a woman's holy grail. But she has to have more than a body on her. She has to have a fucking brain, first and foremost. A pretty face. And she has to have the decency to know that whatever is going to happen between us isn't going to last fucking forever."

"Quite the romantic, aren't you?" she asked, perking her brow. Her arms crossed over her chest and she didn't bother to hide the droll expression on her face.

He snorted. "I never claimed to be a fucking prince," he said with that arrogant smile. "And the women I'm with, they know that. We're very clear up front about what to expect and what not to expect."

Now Peyton rolled her eyes. "That's right," she said. "You and your rules." She cocked her head. “Is it true you don’t kiss the women you sleep with?”

His grin got possessive. "You've been looking into me, sweetheart?" he asked. "Is that why you're asking all these questions about my personal life?" He quirked his brow. "Interested?" He looked her up and down. "You are my student but you could be the exception that proves the rule.”

Peyton snorted. "As if," she said.

He chuckled, standing up and sauntering over to her. His hands were in his leather jacket pockets, the smile still on his face as he walked toward her. Peyton felt rooted to her spot; he was this slithering predator and she was his prey and her fight-or-flight reaction left her both paralyzed and uncertain how to protect herself. "And just so you know, because I want to make sure I fucking answer your question, I would rather have a woman who spoke her mind and said her shit than a woman in a low-cut top. Ideally, she'd be both." His eyes dropped to her cleavage - a boyfriend top paired with a push-up bra did wonders - before snapping back into her eyes. "And you're both."

She knew why he was doing this. She knew he was trying to throw her off, that he probably didn't mean what he was saying because he wanted to push her. He wanted to scandalize her, probably get a reaction out of her. She could cower, which would be exactly what he wanted her to do. This was a power play, and if she wanted to continue to go head to head with him and keep her footing as equally as she could, she needed to do something more, something that would throw him off and give her the upper hand, temporary as it might be.

His scent filled her senses. It was raw masculinity and the soft smell of a hard rain. She didn't remember the last time she had been this close to a man before, rooted in place as she looked into his hazel eyes. She couldn't get around him without admitting defeat and the only way out, really, was through. Which meant she might have to...

The thought of kissing Logan flashed before her eyes and she immediately banished it away. She couldn't allow herself to even think about kissing him, regardless of how attractive he was, regardless of the fact that she hadn't kissed anyone in a long while and her hormones were jumping on the inside of her skin, begging for some kind of attention.

Finally, she closed her eyes, suppressing a shudder. She needed to break free from his grasp, try to fill herself with sense.

Without warning, she felt his cool fingers curling under her chin and she was shocked into snapping her eyes open, straight into his. His eyes still sparkled in amusement but his smile wasn't as big or as arrogant as it usually was.

"You know, I'm surprised you fucking caved so easily," he told her, his rough voice low, giving it a husky edge. The sound did things to her insides she didn't even know were possible and she squeezed her pelvis as a way to try to control herself. "My TA’s, in my entire fucking tenure, have never asked me for a goddamn thing. They kept their mouths shut and did what I asked and I always wrote excellent reviews for their service. You are the first fucking TA I've ever had with as much sass as I've ever seen. I thought you'd be harder to put into place. Guess I was fucking wrong."

Anger flashed in her eye and she knew she had to do something, anything, to remind him that he couldn't just talk to her like she was beneath him, that he was in charge of her behavior. It couldn't just be a comment of a smartass remark, if needed to prove a point, to throw him off, to catch him off guard.

Break his rule, a voice pointed out.

Her eyes suddenly dropped to his lips and she allowed the thought to tease itself out.

Just do it, the voice urged. He's positioned himself in front of you just because he knows you won't have the guts to do something about it. Show him otherwise.

But still, she hesitated.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he murmured. "Good to see you realize who's in fucking charge now. Maybe you'll stay complacent and quiet. Just sit there and look pretty like a good fucking girl."

He said it on purpose. He kept pushing, pushing, pushing -

Until she snapped.