The Professor's Student: The Bound Series, #3

By Bronwyn Green

The professor becomes the student, and the subject is submission…

Six weeks in Ireland on a Bronze Age archeological dig is exactly what Josie Cooper needs. She loves teaching, but fieldwork is where her heart is, and working with Professor Declan O'Shaughnessy is a dream come true...until she meets the man. Declan is brilliant, gorgeous, and unapologetically arrogant. By the end of the first week, Josie is ready to push him into the Atlantic. 

Unfortunately, annoyance doesn't stop her physical reaction to him. Nor does it stop the way every accidental touch makes her crave more. More of his hands on her skin. More of his lilting voice in her ear.

Knowing Josephine Cooper's reputation in the archeology world, Declan is thrilled that she'd accepted his invitation to work the dig. However, he hadn't counted on his overwhelming attraction to the American professor. Though he tries to maintain his distance and keep things professional between them, that plan goes to hell when he learns that Josephine returns his interest. And when an opportunity to act on that attraction, as well as explore her submission, presents itself, he jumps at it—taking complete control.

For the next five weeks, Josie agrees to submit to Declan. His instruction awakens needs she didn't know she possessed, and she learns more about desire and herself than she would have thought possible. But what happens when their time is over, and Josie has to give up being his student to go back to being the professor again?

WINNER OF THE 2016 PASSIONATE PLUME AWARD FOR CONTEMPORARY EROTIC ROMANCE

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bronwyn Green
• Release date: May 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507066553

Book preview

Chapter One

Josie Cooper was going to kill him. She was going to beat him over the head with a shovel and toss him off the cliff into the Atlantic. Then, she’d take the rest of the dig team to the nearest pub, and they could all drunkenly celebrate Declan O’Shaughnessy’s demise. Josie, herself, would dance a fucking jig. On a tabletop.

A long, lanky shadow fell over the excavation unit where she’d been systematically working her way through her section of the grid. She knew without looking the shadow belonged to Declan. She gripped her trowel a little tighter and fought the urge to stab it into one of his large feet that was entirely too close to where she sat cross legged on the ground. She’d already been lectured by him today; she didn’t want to listen to another.

This excavation was supposed to be the ultimate vacation—six weeks in County Mayo, Ireland, potential Bronze Age site, and a reprieve from the summer classes she normally taught to bring in extra money. As one of the newer, adjunct faculty members at Western Michigan University, she’d been ecstatic when the department chair had recommended her to Declan for this dig. Now, she was beginning to wonder if she’d somehow pissed off her boss, and this was the woman’s way of getting back at her.

Josephine.

The way he said her name in that thick, Irish accent sent chills down her spine that settled between her legs.

It’s Josie, she said, for what had to be the twenty-seventh time that week.

She didn’t want to be attracted to him. The man was a pompous ass. But, holy hell, he was stunning. Unruly black hair, impossibly blue eyes, cheekbones so high and sharp they could cut glass, and full, kissable lips she wanted to bite. Then, there was that accent—that fuck-me-anywhere-anytime accent. She could listen to him talk all day long—well, as long as he wasn’t complaining about her or her work.

He squatted next to her, and she caught sight of his hands. Men’s hands had always fascinated her—there was something about strong, well-formed hands that just did it for her. And Declan’s were some of the most gorgeous she’d ever seen. Broad palms, long, well-shaped fingers. They were hands she wanted on her body—all over her body. Well, they would be, if he weren’t such an asshole.

Yes. Well. I just wanted to make sure that you realized the importance of not undercutting the context.

She took a deep breath then turned to look at him. "I do, in fact, realize the importance of not undercutting the context. I understand that letting the top layers contaminate the lower layers of the field can produce false data. Which is why I’m not undercutting the context."

He stared at her, eyes as piercingly blue as the clear Irish Sea. How could someone so stunning, and so brilliant, be such an absolute dick? And he was brilliant. She’d been following his research for years. Listening to his recorded lectures. Reading every paper he’d ever published. She’d been so excited for the chance to work with him. To learn from him. However, that had been before she’d actually met him. Now, privately, she thought of him as Professor McBroodypants.

He pursed his lips briefly, glanced at the screen where she’d carefully laid bits of pottery then back at her. Your technique needs work.

Her hand tightened around the trowel, but she forced her fingers to relax. My technique...needs work.

He nodded.

I assume you’ve stopped by to give me some pointers? Archaeology one-oh-one, perhaps?

His face remained impressively blank, but she thought she might have seen amusement glinting in his eyes. Before she could be sure, he moved behind her and wrapped his hand around hers—the one that still held the tool. Leaning forward, his chest pressed to her back, and his arm to hers, he guided her hand into the dirt, stripping off a layer and moving to deposit the results into the bucket she’d sift through once it was full.

Keeping hold of her hand, he repeated the motion several more times, his chest gliding against her back, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers through her t-shirt. His hand was on her body—not quite where she wanted it, but it was all she was going to get. Finally, he released his grip on her, slowly sitting back and letting those long, perfectly shaped fingers slide up her forearm as he did. He left goosebumps and streaks of dirt in his wake.

Now, he murmured in her ear. Let me see you have a go at it.

You realize, she muttered, disgruntled, I’ve been working dig sites since I was fourteen. Having grandparents who’d insisted on bringing her along to archaeological excavations during her summer vacations had given her certain advantages in fieldwork. Though, not by Declan’s standards, it seemed.

"You haven’t been working my dig sites."

Trust me, I’m aware. Sighing, she leaned forward and did as he’d asked, cognizant of the fact that it was the only way she was going to get him to wander away to annoy someone else or interpret the data they’d collected so far.

Better, he allowed, rising to a standing position. I’ll be back in a bit to check on your progress.

Fabulous, she said flatly. Can’t wait.

Josie watched him move to Siobhan, an Irish university grad student, across from her on the grid. While he did offer some guidance on her technique, he didn’t seem to be quite as critical of her. Maybe he just didn’t like Josie because she was American. It had been known to happen—Americans really didn’t have the best reputation abroad. Or maybe he simply didn’t like her. Either way, he didn’t need to be such a jerk.

Professor McBroodypants eventually moved to his own spot on the grid and worked diligently until the sun started dropping on the western horizon. The site began shutting down for the night—tools were put away and locked up, tarps were spread, finds were bagged and meticulously labeled and recorded. As Josie was putting away the last of her finds, Siobhan, and her boyfriend, Oliver, approached.

We’re heading to The Black Rose tonight for supper and a bit of vitamin G, Siobhan said. You want in?

Josie must have looked confused because Oliver translated. Guinness—a pint or two—

Or five, Siobhan interrupted.

With supper, Oliver continued as if Siobhan hadn’t spoken.

Josie looked down at her arm where the streaks from Declan’s fingers were still visible. I’m going to need a quick shower first, but I’ll meet you down there.

It was the least of the dirt on her skin, but the marks were practically brands. She knew that if she closed her eyes, she’d still be able to feel his hands on her.

Put on yer dancing shoes, Siobhan said. They’ll be music, tonight.

Oliver nodded to the rest of the team who were heading to their cars or finishing shutting down. I think most of the rest of the crew’ll be coming. Not sure about O’Shaughnessy, though.

Unwillingly, Josie found herself scanning the site, only to discover Declan watching her when she finally spotted him. She quickly looked away, turning back to Oliver and Siobhan. Whatever. She shrugged. I’ll be there. Just save me a seat, will you?

Of course, we will. We’ll see you in a bit, Siobhan tossed over her shoulder as they headed for their car.

Josie stretched her tired muscles, cramped from hours of being hunched over and turned toward the shore. Well, it was more cliff than seashore—craggy and hundreds of feet above the water. A damp breeze blew in from the Atlantic, scenting the air with sea water and salt, while pink and orange clouds flamed across the western sky. Waves crashed on the rocks below. They seemed to be rolling faster and harder than they had earlier, and she wondered if they were in for a storm, tonight. Grabbing her camera from her bag, she walked out on the cliff head that jutted farthest into the sea. She at least wanted some shots of this trip that weren’t all broken bits of pottery and carefully excavated quadrants of earth.

Breathing deeply, she stared out at the wind-tossed waves. The colors of the sunset had leached ever so slightly into the ocean, tinting the water and casting mysterious-looking shadows across Achill Island.

She hoped to get a chance to get over there before her summer vacation was over. One of her former professors was supervising the ongoing digs on the island and teaching at the Achill Archeology Field School. He’d offered her a job at the school at the same time she’d gotten her job offer back home. The Achill post hadn’t paid as much as the Western position, nor had there been any guarantee that she’d end up on the tenure track had she taken it. But she did still want to see the site in action, and she was eager to catch up with Doctor McGrath. She was eager to do a lot of things while she was here.

Raising the camera, she took pictures of the sunset, the waves and the tiny island in the distance.

It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

She startled at the sound of Declan’s voice, close to her ear.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.

I just didn’t hear you walking over here. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. And, yes, it’s amazingly beautiful. Breathtaking, really.

She peeked at him again. And so was he. The sinking sun set his skin aglow, and his eyes, already an unearthly shade of blue, had become almost hypnotic. She turned away from him, not wanting him to catch her staring. Again.

I can’t imagine living anywhere else. He seemed almost wistful as he stared out over the ocean.

She supposed this could be her chance to toss him off the cliff, but now, he actually seemed like a relatively nice guy, rather than the driven perfectionist she’d spent the entire last week with. Instead, she asked, Is that a possibility?

I’m not sure. It’s always a possibility, I suppose. This is the first I’ve spent more than a month at a time on the island in the last few years. My schedule has been...arduous.

Dear lord, if he could just repeat the word arduous in that accent. Or really repeat anything at all... Shaking herself from her accent-induced lust, she focused on his words. I can imagine. You do seem to travel the lecture circuit quite a bit.

He nodded.

And don’t you do authentication consultation work, as well?

He grinned, and the sight of it just about brought her to her knees. It’s hard to turn down the chance to delve into the histories of other cultures. He tilted his head toward the site. As you well know.

Yeah. There was no way I could say no to coming here. It’s a dream come true.

He looked around. It’s truly the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. It’s not common knowledge, but I’ve put in a sabbatical request to the university in order to finally compile the findings of the local research I’ve done over the years and see if there are any historical commonalities that have been missed, and perhaps, devise a new theory or two.

I hope you get to stay. I can’t imagine leaving Michigan permanently.

I’ve never been there.

It’s beautiful—it’s surrounded by five lakes as big as small seas, and the landscape is incredible. Sand dunes, waterfalls, trees, farmland. It’s beautiful. Of course, I can’t afford to go too far, anyway. I’m trying to get on the tenure track at work.

You like where you teach?

Yeah, it’s great. Of course, there aren’t a ton of places that offer archaeology courses in Michigan, so I’m fairly limited. But it’s also a pretty competitive field. They want their profs to have field experience, but going to sites during the school year, unless it’s been arranged for the students, is frowned upon. Luckily, this trip worked out perfectly.

I’m glad you were able to make it. I worked with your grandparents a few times. They’re wonderful people, so when your dean told me their granddaughter was available, I jumped at the chance to have you on my team.

Her heart fell a little. She should have known it was more about her connections than her abilities. Well, I hope you’re not regretting that decision given my questionable excavation skills.

His lips twitched. Your skills are fine. I’m just...

Picky?

He shrugged. Picky works.

He continued to stare out over the water, and all she could think about is how it had felt to have him pressed against her and his hands on her skin. Actually, all she could think about was how she wanted more. Would he be as intense and single-minded in bed as he was on an excavation site? Would he be forceful and domineering? Some perverse part of her brain wondered what it would take to find out.

He met her gaze, and his brow furrowed. I’m sorry, was there something you needed?

Shit. She’d been staring at him this whole time.

Yes, there was something she needed. She needed to get laid. As soon as possible before she did something stupid. Preferably by a dark-haired Irishman with eyes like the sea and an accent as thick as warm honey. Surely, he wasn’t the only man around here who fit that description.

No. No. Just lost in thought. I should probably get going. I’m supposed to meet the others for supper.

He nodded then turned back toward the sea. I’ll see you, Josephine.

His accent curled around her name like a cat twining around someone’s legs—sinuous and alluring. And the rough sound of his voice settled in the pit of her stomach then sank lower as her pussy clenched and turned to liquid.

As she made her way to her rental car, she tried to remember all the times he’d been an arrogant jerk this past week. And she reminded herself that he likely wouldn’t stop being an arrogant jerk just because she was ridiculously attracted to him. Lusting after Declan O’Shaughnessy was a mistake only an idiot would make, she told herself firmly. But that didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder at him one last time.

For fuck’s sake. Shaking her head at herself, she got into the rental. She needed a damn drink.

Chapter Two

Declan entered The Black Rose and scanned the dimly lit interior. Loud music, raucous laughter and the smells of ale and stew. It was the same traditional pub one would find in any small Irish town, but this one happened to be in his hometown.

Declan, boy-o. George, the bartender waved him over. Come to have a drink with your crew?

Declan sat in one of the high-backed chairs that lined the dark wood bar. Come to have a drink, anyway.

You need to get out more. Have a wee bit a fun like those girls there.

Declan craned his neck to look in the direction George pointed. Josephine and Siobhan sat opposite each other, each with a pile of empty shot glasses in front of them and a bottle of Jameson sitting between them. As he watched, they each tossed back another shot and money changed hands in the crowd gathered around them.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Declan muttered staring in horrified fascination as both women grabbed another shot glass. Siobhan threw hers back immediately, but Josephine paused, lifting it to her lips, then setting it back down before she finally pushed it toward the other woman and grabbed a white napkin and waved it through the air.

Siobhan tossed back the last shot and collected half the pot as a portion of the crowd cheered and the rest grumbled about the American. Good contest, girlie. I’ve got your tab.

As a barmaid swooped in to clear away the glasses, Siobhan sloppily high-fived Josephine, and the next band took their seats on the small, raised platform at the front of the room and began to play a traditional reel. Declan absently tapped out the rhythm on his thigh as he watched Oliver try to get Josephine to dance with him.

George leaned on the counter next to Declan. You want a pint?

Actually, I’m gonna hold off a bit, he answered distractedly, his gaze sticking to Josephine as Oliver pulled her from her seat and twirled her around the dance floor. Now, that she was upright, he noticed she’d changed. Gone were the jeans, grubby t-shirt, and ponytail. In their place was a strappy little purple top that hugged her full breasts and some kind of short, floaty skirt that swirled around her legs, flashing her pale, milky thighs. His cock jerked against his fly as he imagined her wrapping those legs around his head as he ate her out. It stiffened further when he imagined fastening black leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. The contrast against her fair skin would be stunning. Oh, the things he’d like to do with her. Things that would probably make her run back to Michigan if she learned of them.

Oliver spun her again, and her long auburn hair flew out behind her like streamers. Her laughter reached him across the room, and Declan’s fingers fisted as he fought the need to bury his hands in the thick mass and yank her head back to kiss her.

That American lass, she’s a looker, George said. Seems like a sweet thing. Not sure she can hold her whiskey, though. She on your crew?

Yeah. She’s a professor in the States.

George nodded. Clever and a sweet bitta fluff. You after her?

Declan shook his head. Not if he was smart. She’d been furious at him earlier. Christ, he was surprised she hadn’t thought about pushing him off the cliff when he’d approached her. Who knew? Maybe she had.

Shame, George said as he glanced down the bar where a regular was gesturing for another round. She looks lively.

Oh, she definitely did. Another man approached her, cutting in and sending Oliver back to Siobhan. The other man seemed vaguely familiar, but Declan couldn’t place him until he