Sitting at your desk, your teeth chattered and body shivered from the bone-deep chill that still clung to your skin. Your clothes hung on hooks dripping onto a towel on the floor.
You stared at the screen before you, trying to concentrate on your last paper. All you had to do was correct this, finish a presentation, and you would be done until finals.
But visions of long legs and blonde hair kept intruding on your thoughts, making attending to your task near impossible. Of course, she was the type of person he would be with. Sophisticated. Elegant. What were you compared to her?
Your own parents merely tolerated you. Why would Professor Rogers be any different? He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he want a college student who couldn't even declare a major?
Closing your laptop, you promised yourself to finish your corrections tomorrow. Climbing into bed, you shivered as you pulled the covers high over your shoulders, ignoring the warm tears that flowed to your pillow.
Steve sat across the table from Yvonne who sipped delicately at her white wine. His literary agent for over a year, she had helped him shop for a publisher and editor after he had proposed his book idea to her. He probably could have gotten published on his name alone but wanted to make sure his books fell into the right hands. And that those hands didn't take advantage of him, his name, and his reputation.
"Well now that we've got all the chit chat out of the way…Don't make me hunt you down again. It's not like you to ignore my calls." She stared intently, waiting for a reply.
She was right. It wasn't like him. But neither was asking her to come to his office. He knew she would track him down if he ghosted her. "You're right. I apologize. It was rude and thoughtless. I guess the end of the semester and deadlines just got to me." He cut into his food, taking a bite into his mouth.
"Really?" Her eyebrows raised. "You sure it doesn't have anything to do with your little go-for today? She looked like I killed her puppy."
Steve nearly choked. He wasn't that transparent, was he? After years of reconnaissance and undercover training, he couldn't mask a…what was this? A crush? An infatuation? An obsession?
"She's just typing for me," he managed to say, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.
"Mmhmm." She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "You need to watch out. The last thing you need is some student going all Fatal Attraction on you."
"Fatal what?" he asked, ready to add it to the list of never-ending references he didn't quite get.
Yvonne shook her head and sighed. "It's a movie where a woman…never mind. Just be careful. You don't need a scandal right before your book comes out." She smiled adding, "On second thought, a scandal with America's Golden Boy would send sales through the roof."
Steve set down his fork, pushing his finished meal away from him. "There is no scandal. She's just a student who needed a job. You know typing isn't my strong suit."
"Neither is fiction, Steve. But keep telling yourself that." She stood to go. "I'll take care of the bill and I want you to take care of yourself." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and left him staring after her.
Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe he should back off. Could he though? For all his talk of self-control, it seemed he'd finally met his match.
You had been grateful for the work and classes that kept you busy the last few days. Anything to keep you from thinking of him. And her.
The truth was work was all you could do. Eating and sleep seemed impossible. By Friday, you were exhausted but made it through your presentation and other classes. The only thing keeping you going was the thought of seeing Professor Rogers later that day. Whether you were looking forward to it or dreading it was anyone's guess. But all your energy was wasted as you received a text postponing until tomorrow morning and redirected into wondering why.
The next morning you felt like death. There was no way you were going to call in though. Throwing on a sweatshirt and jeans, you drove to his house ignoring the subtle throb of your temples.
He answered the door, dressed and smiling which only made you feel worse. His smile faltered as he greeted you. "Rough week," he asked, leading you into the office.
"You could say that." Your eyes felt heavy and your mind was fuzzy.
"Well at least it's over, and I'm sure you're looking forward to going home for Thanksgiving." He sat at his desk, watching you as you slumped in your chair.
"No, sir," you responded flatly.
"Not looking forward to it?" he prodded. His arms crossed against his chest as he studied you.
"Not going home."
His mouth opened and closed in disbelief. "What do you mean, not going home? Why?"
Sighing, you gathered your thoughts which seemed to be evading any sort of cohesion. "My mom is traveling with her newest boyfriend. I'm not invited to my dad's. They're going to his wife's family's home. I'm not exactly welcome there, not that I would want to go anyway."
"What about your boyfriend?" he asked.
"Boyfriend? I don't have a boyfriend." Where had that come from?
He spoke slowly as if he was unsure of what to say. "Sorry, there were rumors of you going home with someone at Halloween. It made it through the faculty. It's not my place to ask…"
"Halloween?" Your brows came together as tried to think of who would have even noticed. "Oh! No, no, no, no, no." A smile tugged at your lips at the sheer ridiculousness of this conversation. Your brain did not have the strength to deal with this right now, but the fact that he thought you had a boyfriend needed to be fixed. "Aiden. He's just a friend with a long-distance boyfriend. Neither of us is much for clubs so we decided to sneak out early once our roommates were occupied. He's nice, but I am most definitely not his type."
Professor Rogers' demeanor shifted. He seemed almost relaxed "What are you going to do all week? Alone?"
"I don't know…." You had hoped to work with him, but Yvonne had ruined those dreams. You hadn't considered that Professor Rogers would probably have people to celebrate with. Now you would be as pathetic as you felt. Eating leftover take out alone in your dorm. Not wanted. Not missed. Not remembered.
You stood swaying slightly, closing your eyes and praying that your body would decide whether it was hot or cold.
"Are you okay?" he inquired.
"Fine," you lied. "I was hoping to get some work done today if that's okay.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
You nodded, ignoring all the aches and pains as you set about organizing the papers on your desk.
Something was wrong. Steve wasn't sure what he had expected today. He had to admit he hoped she would show signs of disappointed hopes, lovelorn eve. But this was too much. Much more than being overworked. Much more than jealousy.
She'd never admit to being tired or let it affect her work. She had too much pride to admit defeat. She'd always doubled down in the past. So what had changed?
A small cough and sniffle drew roused him from his thoughts. Was she crying? His eyes rested on her form so close and yet so closed off from him. Her body shook, fingers rubbing her temple. He had never seen her this way before. Had he misread the situation? Gone too far?
You'd been reading the same sentence for minutes. And yet you still couldn't make sense of it. Your eyes and brain seemed to have severed communication with each other today.
And yet, was it really their fault you couldn't concentrate? Being this near to him and knowing that Yvonne had been closer made your stomach churn.
You felt awful the last few days but today your body seemed to mirror your feelings. Everything ached. Everything hurt.
You coughed again. All you wanted was to lay down and go to sleep. The thought of having to drive all the way back to school was enough to make you cry.
Tears welled in your eyes as you realized you were pitiful. No wonder no one wanted you. A tear slid down your cheek as you looked up to see Professor Rogers watching you. Surely, he could see you for the mess you were.
Steve stared at her. She looked so lost. So helpless.
Closing the distance between them in a few strides, he placed the back of his hand on her cheek, then her forehead. "Damnit, you're burning up. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
Scooping her up, she offered no resistance as he carried her to his room. Her body trembled against him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Shhhh." Pulling back his covers, he laid you in bed. He removed your shoes and tucked in you. "Everything is going to be okay. You just need to rest."
He watched her eyes close and waited a few minutes for her breathing to even out before he left. It had been decades since he was a sickly boy bedridden in a small apartment in New York. He knew what he needed to do. What his mother had always done for him.
The smell of him surrounded you. Your eyes blinked as you realized you were laying down. In his bed.
You stumbled to the bathroom. It was the size of your entire dorm. A walk-in shower, a tub that looked like it could fit the whole Avengers team, and two giant closets on either side of the room, one filled with his clothes and the other empty. Finding the water closet, you took care of your needs and washed your hands, splashing a little water on your face as well.
Walking a few feet felt like a marathon, but you made it back to the bed and searched for your shoes, finding them on the floor. As you tried desperately to shove your foot inside the sneaker without bending over, Professor Rogers walked in.
"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded.
"I'm going back to the dorm." You covered your mouth as a cough erupted from your mouth.
"No, you're not."
"I don't want to get you sick." Your shoe flopped to its side evading your attempts. Your head dropped as you sighed in defeat.
He knelt down taking your shoes away from you. "I can't get sick."
"Then I don't want to impose." You added with a mutter, "Or ruin your plans with Yvonne."
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I don't have any plans." His hands went to the hem of your sweatshirt pulling it over your head leaving the t-shirt underneath. "And Yvonne has other clients to deal with."
"Clients?" Your brows furrowed in confusion. Where you hearing him correctly or was your brain just that fuzzy?
"She's my literary agent. She wanted to make sure I was working…she doesn't get commission if the book is never finished."
"Agent?" you repeated, relief loosening some of the tension in your stomach. "So, she's not…" you let your voice trail off not wanting to embarrass yourself further.
Smiling, his fingers went for the button on your jeans. "We're just colleagues."
"What are you doing?" you squeaked as you realized he was tugging on your pants.
"You're staying here until you're recovered. You'll be more comfortable out of these jeans."
You swatted his hands away. "I don't need your help." You pulled at the waist of your jeans.
He was undeterred as he worked them down your thighs. "Yes, you do."
"I can't stay here." You squirmed. "It wouldn't be right." Your hands tugged at your shirt, stretching the material to shield your plain panties. Modesty went out the window, as he lifted your leg to help you step out of your pants, your hands flying to his broad shoulders to regain your balance.
"You don't have a choice. You can accept it or you can fight it, but it's happening." He tossed your jeans to the side, then slipped off your socks. Standing over you, he pulled back the covers and pointed to the bed.
Crawling under the covers, surrendering for now as another wave of exhaustion overtook you.
Tucking you in his low voice softly floated down to you. "You're mine now. And you will do everything I say until I think you are well enough."
"I'm just going to take a quick nap. Then I'm leaving, and you can't stop me." The comfort of his bed might though as the foam hugged your body, a far cry from the springs that stabbed you nightly at school.
Bending over you, his fingers turned your chin to face him. "If I have to take you over my knee then tie you to this bed then I will."
Eyes already closed, you snuggled into his pillow. "Can't threaten me with a good time."
Professor Rogers laughed, leaving you to wonder if you had accidentally said that out loud as you fell asleep once more.
Steve checked on her as she slept. Each time he touched her cheek, she felt warmer than before. How warm was too warm?
He called a nurse's hotline, thankful for the convenience but wishing he could call a doctor for a house visit. The nurse said to force liquids and explained when she needed medical intervention if the fever got too high or lasted too long. Until then avoid dehydration and keep her comfortable.
Guilt twisted his stomach as he watched her illness progress. This was his fault. He thought back to how she could have gotten sick and the sight of her dripping wet, holding two coffees in his office flashed in his mind. Had she taken care of herself, drying and warming her body to prevent catching cold…no. Add the stress of the end of the semester it was no wonder she was sick.
He shouldn't have put her in that situation. He should have been strong enough to wait for her. But no, he had to push. To prove to himself that she had the same feelings for him that he had for her. That he was more important than that boy…what was his name? Aiden. But what good were those feelings for each other as long as he was her professor?
Coolness spread against your forehead, down your cheeks, across your eyes. Reaching up, your hand was stopped as another larger and warmer wrapped gently around your wrist.
"Shhhh," a deep voice reassured. "It's just a washcloth. Why don't we sit you up and drink some water?"
You wanted to obey. To soothe your dry throat. But your body felt heavy. Weak.
His arm went under you, adjusting you upright while bringing a glass to your lips with his other hand. "Drink. That's a good girl. Take these." He offered you two pills. "When was the last time you ate?"
Closing your eyes, you shrugged. When was the last time you had a proper meal? Yesterday? The day before? In your haze of misery and schoolwork, hunger hadn't really touched you.
He grunted in disapproval and left the room.
You tossed and turn in a feverish nightmare. A tangle of sheets that were suffocating and frigid in turns.
Hours or minutes later, you couldn't tell, your pillows were moved and your body positioned against them so you sat at an incline.
"Sweetheart. You've got to eat something. I made you some soup."
You lolled your head towards the voice, low and soothing. Professor Rogers sat on the chair next to the bed, a tray with a bowl and glass of water laid on the nightstand. You watched his hands lay a napkin across your chest. His lips pursed as he blew on the spoon filled with broth. His eyes filled with concern as he brought the spoon to your lips.
The chicken was tender, noodles soft, carrots and celery just the right texture. No metallic taste leftover from a can. It was the best soup you'd ever had. After a few swallows, the need to sleep once more overcame you, and you turned your head away.
"A little more, honey," he pleaded. His knuckles caressed your cheek.
You would do anything for him as long as he kept looking at you like that.
The rest of the day Steve checked in on her as she fitfully slept in his bed. Her fever rising despite his best efforts. Seeing her in pain and discomfort pulled at his emotions more than he thought possible.
Around midnight, he laid his palm on her cheek. As he lifted it away, her hand reached for his from under the covers.
"Don't leave me," she pleaded.
His stomach clenched; breath caught in his throat at the plaintive request. Toeing off his shoes, he crawled into bed next to her. Pulling her close, feeling the heat emanating from her body, he wrapped his arms around her, savoring the feel of her against him. Closing his eyes, he slept.