Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight related.

Summary: Esme's was content with her life, until she had afternoon tea with her professor. Rated M for Lemons!

Tea with the Professor

Prologue: The Missive

His scent still lingered on the missive resting upon her desk. Esme must have read the letter at least a few dozen times. She had only received it three days ago and yet the parchment looked worn and aged from the obsessive amount of times she folded and unfolded it.

By the third time she read it, every word, period and comma were already engraved into her memory, but she continued to open it just to see the lean elegant cursive spread across the paper.

His writing was just so inexplicably him, she recalled one of Shakespeare's renowned quotes about the eyes being the windows to the soul, and couldn't help but to feel that she was staring into his very soul, his writing being the window that bared him so deliciously for her viewing.

And this confused her

These feelings that she were having seemed to feel a little more personal than they should have, after all, he was only her professor.

She should be in the mist of learning from him the correct ways of nursing the wounded soldiers from the war, not nourishing a childish school girl's crush on him.

She was supposed to be engaged to Charles Evans, they planned on having a summer wedding. Her parents supported the union, in their eyes she couldn't have chosen a more suitable gentleman to wed. He was every girl's dream; he was handsome, rich and had good upbringing.

Well, if it wasn't for him being overseas defending their country, Esme was fairly sure that they would have already been married, if certain devices were left to her mother.

He loved her and though Esme's feelings hadn't quite progressed into anything more than a strong sort of fondness, she knew that given time and nourishment the feelings that she did have for Charles would grow into something more suitable of a wife.

So that made Professor Cullen off limits to her

And that's what she kept telling herself whenever she was in his presence.

The only thing wrong was Carlisle Cullen's very essence demanded her attention.

And as demanded she couldn't help but heed his stipulations.

It was really rather silly, the way her body hummed when he was near or the slight prickle she would get on the back of her neck whenever he got too close.

He would lean over her, every once in a while to instruct her the correct ways of bandaging whenever she was bandaging wrong, his hot moist breath would tickle her ear, and she would suppress the violent shudder that threatened to disturb her body.

He then would reach out to correct her fingers around the thin scrap of fabric, and she would feel his warm rough hands slightly gliding over hers, sending her heart racing erratically.

And then the scent of his cologne would waft towards her, ridding the crisp spring breeze, it was always so strong and spicy, it fuddled her nerves and Esme found herself leaning that much closer to his already near warm body.

It was really rather absurd of him to expect her to pay any veneer of concentration during his lectures, after all, the man couldn't be that naïve to not know the effect he had on the female populace on campus.

And the letter he had written her, meant to invite her to a friendly tea between mentor and pupil, seemed so innocent and not at all like the way her aberrant mind had processed the information as a sensual date between lovers and not a meeting to discuss her failings in his class as of late, which is what the letter was initially meant to portray.

Esme was confused and feeling passions she was once unacquainted with. The rapid beat of her heart, the short quickening gasp of breath and the delicious smarting feeling southbound that was once foreign to her had become a sort of familiar to her, an expected and long anticipated friend.

Though the logical side of her that listened to the strong upbringing bestowed upon her by her family's virtues, cried out to her, warned her to stay as far away as she could get from the professor, another part of her, the unfounded part fed by the curiosity of these new and miraculous sensations she was experiencing, told her to press on, egging her on and into uncharted territories.

Esme was certainly afflicted, but by such an outlandish predicament. It was laughable really, to be so conflicted over a quandary rooted by presumptions and impudence brought on by nothing short of whimsy desires and immature mendacity.

Professor Cullen might not have been a married man, but certainly there had to at least be an intelligent beauty out there that had already accomplished his favour. Surely Professor Cullen couldn't be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as her when he could have any woman he so desired.

He was very handsome after all. He wore his shock of blond hair casually, it looked as if he hadn't even tried to style it, instead chose to let the wind carry it every which way, it was roguish and it held a certain promise of a dangerous personality. His steel grey eyes were entrancing and always seemed to see right through her.

There were many redeeming characteristics of Professor Cullen that Esme was sure she could list a mile long, which pushed her into an even more dangerous dilemma.

Esme sighed, reaching over his missive for a felt tip and a bit of parchment. Her reply would lack the elegance and the neat calligraphy his invitation was comprised of, but the thought she put behind her reply wouldn't.

Unfortunately, she would have to decline his innocent requests. After all, Esme knew her limits and sitting in a secluded room with a man that procured such thoughts from her would exceed her restrictions.

I decided to write a short love story about Esme and Carlisle. When I say short I mean short, like six chapters max. Let me know what you think!