Lost in Light by Kat Kingsley Read Free Book Online Page A

like to actually be touched by him? I wondered as I rinsed off in a daze before switching off the water and stepping out of the tub.
    Wrapping my hair up in a towel I began drying off while continuing to wonder what it would be like to have his lips and hands on my body. Gradually I became aware of the fact that my thoughts had shifted from the realm of fantasy to devising a way to make it happen. Could I really be thinking about this? Could I seriously be planning to seduce my teacher?
    Staring at my wide-eyed reflection in the foggy mirror I knew without a doubt that it was precisely what I was going to do.

Chapter Five
    As I left Penrose Library I paused to bask in the last light of the day, the sun barely visible above the surrounding buildings. Closing my eyes I drew in a deep breath of the early evening air that still held a hint of freshly cut grass.
    Exhaling deeply I opened my eyes and looked around. Except for a couple of guys playing Frisbee on the commons in the dwindling light, the only other people in view were a couple walking hand-in-hand out of Nagel Hall, no doubt having just left the cafeteria. I was always surprised by how quickly the campus emptied before a holiday weekend.
    Resettling my backpack I jogged across Evans Avenue, cutting in front of the law building as I made my way to my Jeep. I fished out my keys out of my backpack, but then paused as I looked up at the nearby art building, my stomach knotting in sudden apprehension. The proposition I had in mind sounded insane, and maybe it was, but I had to do something before my hormones drove me to do something really crazy.
    Although there were lights blazing in the windows of the Shwayder Art Building, it looked otherwise deserted. I wasn’t even sure that Professor Davis would be in his office, but according to the time on my phone he was supposed to be there for another fifteen minutes. Drawing a deep breath and pushing my nervousness aside I dropped my keys back into my bag and headed to the main door.
    My footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as I made my way towards Professor Davis’s art room. Nearing his room I heard the faint strains of music filtering out into the hallway through the partially open door and I smiled at the soulful sound of Kenny Wayne Shepherd’s “Blue on Black.” Memories of warm summer evenings spent watching my dad and his Blues band practicing in our garage rose in my mind.
    The song came to an end, and with it, my trip down memory lane. As the first few notes of Robert Cray’s “Right Next Door” filled the air I pushed the door all the way open and raised my hand to knock before I froze at the sight that greeted me.
    Professor Davis stood in front of a large canvas, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned to reveal his paint speckled undershirt clinging tightly to his chest and flat stomach. His hair, though still in its usual ponytail, looked wild as it swished back and forth across his back with his movements. An iPod and dock sat on one of the worktables across the room pumping out classic Blues.
    He moved in time with the music, looking sinuously swaying from side to side as he applied one sweeping stroke after another, his strokes showing a confidence and conviction that I had never felt in my own art. He was unfettered by the pressure of class and students, free and wild in a way I had never seen before. I was utterly mesmerized by the sight of him, adrift in a flood of fantasies about running my fingers through his hair and tracing the paint splatters on his skin with my lips and teeth.
    He was breathtaking.
    My hand, continuing on its course, rapped clumsily against the door. The sound shattered the spell encompassing the room, and suddenly I felt like an interloper, intruding upon this small piece of sanctuary. I took a reflexive step backwards when he spun on his heel, his expression feral and heated, and for a moment I was unsure if he recognized me. After several breathless seconds he seemed to come back