Need Me Synopsis:
When Honey Perribow traded in her cowboy boots for stilettos and left her small Kentucky town to attend Columbia University, she never expected to find a dirt-cheap apartment or two new best friends. No stranger to hard work, Honey’s sole focus is a medical degree...until she sees newly-minted Professor, Ben Dawson, and her concentration is hijacked. Honey is fascinated by her gorgeous, young English professor and vows to find a crack his tweed-wearing, glasses-clad exterior.
While at an off campus party, an accident lands Ben in a dark, locked closet with a sexy-sounding southern belle...and their chemistry is explosive. But when he discovers that the girl in his arms is the same beautiful student he can’t stop thinking about, he is stunned. Student-teacher relationships are strictly forbidden…yet no matter how hard he tries, Ben can’t stay away from Honey.
And when his attempts to fight their attraction nearly ruin the best thing that ever happened to him, Ben will do anything to prove how much he needs her.
Excerpt
When choosing the perfect panties for a seduction, one
couldn’t be too selective. Careful consideration had to be given to the cut,
the style, and, most importantly, the almighty color. Honey Perribow rifled
through her underwear drawer from her position on the rug, picking up and
discarding undies with the efficiency required of premed students the world
over. Red silk was a little too on the nose. It didn’t give the guy any credit.
Blue? Hinted at mood swings. Yellow with a strawberry pattern…what am I,
five?
There was no help for her. She had to call in the big
guns. “Roxy!”
Her roommate of one month propped a hip on the inside
of Honey’s door a moment later, biting into a piece of toast. “Did you lose
your indoor voice in that pile of underpants?”
“What color would you wear if you wanted to seduce
your English teacher?”
The toast paused halfway to Roxy’s mouth. “Aw, shit.
Today is the day?”
Honey took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve finally worked up the nerve. No more hiding under
my hoodie in the back row. Professor Dawson is going down to Honey town.”
“How long have you been waiting to say that?”
“A while. How was my delivery?”
“Not too shabby.” Roxy shoved the remainder of the
toast in her mouth and plopped down onto the floor, cross-legged, eyeballing
the mountain of panties. In the month since they’d become roommates in one of
the oddest interview processes of all time, they’d formed a friendship that
sometimes seemed as if they were feeling their way in the dark. Honey could
still sense some hesitancy on Roxy’s part to open up completely, but Roxy’s new
boyfriend, Louis, seemed to be unlocking a new part of her. Considering Roxy
had hidden out in her room at the outset, commiserating over panties was a vast
improvement. “All right. So, we know he’s studious. He teaches Intro to
Literary Theory. How does he dress?”
Honey hid her swoon by turning and pressing her face
into the rug. “He has
this tweed jacket. It’s like a greenish-brown, which should be ugly, but it
looks so dang amazing on him. If I got up close, I bet it would smell like
honest-to-goodness man mixed up with old book leather. He keeps candy in the
pockets, too. I can’t tell from the back of the room which kind of candy he
always pops into his mouth, but if I had to guess, I’d say butterscotch. So the
jacket might have a hint of butterscotch smell going on, too.”
“Are you telling me tweed inspired all that?”
“It’s crazy, right? I know it. I can hear myself.” Honey
rolled back over and stared up at the ceiling. In the few weeks since she’d
started courses at Columbia University, Professor Dawson had wiggled his way
under her skin like a splinter from a yellow poplar tree. No one back home in
Bloomfield, Kentucky, would ever have accused her of being shy. In fact, they
would have laughed over the very suggestion. She’d won first prize two years in
a row for mud wrestling a pig at the county fair, after all. Shyness and pig wrestling
simply didn’t add up. But the day she’d walked into the lecture hall, a mixture
of confidence and nerves, and seen Professor Dawson, quietly gorgeous, in his
tweed jacket and black-rimmed glasses,, she’d slunk into the back row like a
scolded basset hound.
Then. Then
he’d spoken. Good Lord, she still remembered the shift
of energy in the room. Each and every female student had leaned forward and
propped their chin on their hands. Spellbound. There was no other word for it.
His voice filled the room like sexy fog, rich and nuanced. It held a subtle
hint of New England, not an all-out Boston accent, but occasionally he would
drop an R in a way that made her
shiver. It wasn’t just the sound of his voice, either. His passion about the
subject material came across in every word, every endearing head scratch or
thoughtful chin rub. She’d been more of a science girl in high school. Give her
physics or chemistry any day of the week, but English had become her favorite
subject with enough speed to inflict whiplash.
Since she’d been bitten by the shyness bug, talking to
the object of her nightly fantasies directly hadn’t been an option. Yet. Oh, and there was that teensy little issue of college professors not being allowed
to fraternize with students. But she’d cross that rickety bridge when she came
to it.
All her life, she’d lived in a small town where the
most exciting thing to happen was a fistfight between two grannies at the Dairy
Queen. She’d purposely applied for universities with strong premed programs in
New York City because she wanted, needed, excitement. Needed to take life by the short and
curlies and tell it who was boss. She loved her parents and her hometown
dearly, but she wanted more. Starting small wasn’t an option, either.
She wanted to start with something so far outside her wheelhouse she needed
binoculars to see it. This was her life, and it was time to live it.
Starting today, she would seduce Professor Dawson.
Just the thought of it raised goose bumps all over her arms. From the back of
the room, he looked like a movie star. Something she watched on a screen from a
safe distance. What would he be like up close?
“If you rub your thighs together any harder,” Roxy
broke into her thoughts, “this pile of panties is going to turn into a
bonfire.”
“Sorry.” Honey pushed some unbrushed blond hair out of her
face. “Let’s
focus on the matter at hand.”
Abby, their third roommate, breezed into the room.
“What are we focusing on?”
“I was focusing. She
was fantasizing about tweed.”
“Tweed is still in style, but elbow patches are out,”
Abby stated offhandedly, taking a spot on the floor. Of the three of them, Abby
was the one gainfully employed in a corporate gig downtown, which explained her
tailored black pantsuit at eight in the morning while Honey and Roxy, an
aspiring actress, were still in pajamas. “What’s with the panty mountain?”
“I’m
beginning the seduction process this morning.”
Roxy rolled her eyes. “Try not to make it sound so sexy, Perribow.”
Roxy rolled her eyes. “Try not to make it sound so sexy, Perribow.”
Honey threw a pair of plaid panties at Roxy. “I’m not you. I can’t just flash a little leg and leave
a trail of man-drool in my path.”
“Have you tried?” Roxy asked, looking smug when Honey
stumbled over a reply. “Look, you’re not going to flash him your panties in
class. That’s not your style. Worry about the top layer first, drag him back to your cave later.
Worry about the panties then.”
“I agree.” Abby nodded. “This is premature panty
picking.”
“Of course I’m not going to flash him.” Honey
shrugged. “I was thinking it might boost my confidence a little if I had
something sexy underneath my jeans. Might give me an extra boost so I won’t chicken
out.”
Abby gave her a warm, encouraging look. She fished
through the pile with one manicured hand and picked out a silky, mint-green
thong with lace detail. Still with the tags on. “Wear these. They’re unique and
subtly brilliant, just like you. You won’t chicken out.”
“And you’re not wearing jeans,” Roxy added, standing and dragging
Honey to her feet. “To my closet, Batgirl. Where you will behold the wonder of
humankind’s finest invention.”
Honey shot a nervous look over her shoulder toward an
amused Abby. The brunette practically skipped along behind them down the
hallway. “What would that invention be?”
“The strapless maxi dress,” Roxy breathed.
Ben Dawson gathered up the papers he’d spent his lunch
break grading and tucked them neatly into his leather satchel. A quick check of
his wristwatch told him he had seven minutes until his next class started.
Since it took exactly three minutes to walk to the lecture hall from the
teacher’s break room, he should probably get moving. As far as arriving at
class went, there was a sweet spot three minutes before class began that
allowed him enough time to gather his thoughts and arrange his lesson plan on
the podium, but didn’t leave enough time for the students to engage him in
conversation.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like conversation. He just
liked to keep his social life and his professional life completely separate. He
called it his laundry theory. Talking to students about their weekend plans or
the shitty coffee in the cafeteria was the equivalent of throwing a red sock in
with a load of whites. It just wasn’t done.
He snapped his bag closed with a definitive click and
took a deep breath before leaving the break room. Yes. Separation of his social
and professional life was key. The minimal age difference between him and the
college sophomores he taught sometimes gave them the false impression that they
were his peers. Being a professor at the age of twenty-five made him seem
accessible, when, in fact, he wasn’t. He came to class, he lectured, and he
went home. If he wanted to grab a beer and talk baseball, he did it with his
buddies, Louis and Russell. Not students. Never, ever, students.
Ben taught English because from the moment he’d cracked
his first book, words had hummed in his blood. They were something he breathed
and slept and lived for. If his students left with an impression of anything,
he wanted it to be his lectures, the contents of the assigned reading. Their
opinion of him as a person couldn’t be allowed to enter the mix, or it took
away from their experience. Conversely, he didn’t form opinions of them. Ever.
Which is why he shouldn’t have read Honey Perribow’s
latest essay seven times. Seven.
He didn’t know which of his students happened to be
the insightful Ms. Perribow. They were just a sea of faces, none of which he
focused on for more than a few seconds now and again. He wouldn’t find out,
either. Didn’t want to know what she looked like, because it didn’t matter. It couldn’t
matter.
His reading assignment of The Things They Carried
and subsequent essay had been met with the usual moans and gripes. Honestly.
The book was a work of art. But his students’ lack of enthusiasm for anything
other than a rooftop kegger had carried over into their lackluster essays. Then
he’d read Ms. Perribow’s paper and he’d actually spilled his coffee in his
haste to turn the pages. Instead of listing the items men carried into war, as
was done in the book, she’d written a clever modern spin about what college
students carry to class. What they’d chosen to bring from home. What they kept
in their book bags and dorm rooms. It was obvious from her nods to the book
that she’d not only read it but enjoyed it, too. She’d made him laugh. He couldn’t remember
the last time he’d heard the sound coming from his own mouth.
Ben banished that depressing thought as he entered the
lecture hall, where students were flopping down into their seats, clicking
pens, finishing up their oh-so-urgent text message conversations. He hooked a
thumb into the strap of his bag and lifted it over his head, placing it
carefully on the podium. Don’t look up. Don’t try and figure out which one she is. It’s
irrelevant.
The problem was, he kind of felt like he knew
her after reading the essay. Her voice had drawn him in and locked him up
inside of it. More, he felt like she’d been talking directly to him. That simply wouldn’t do.
The big hand on his wristwatch landed on one o’clock.
He made sure the edges of his lesson plan were perfectly lined up with the
podium and looked up at the class to begin.
And stopped.
Front row. Who was that blonde in the front row? He
might not pay any attention to what his students looked like, but Ben was
certain he would have remembered her. Yes, he definitely would have remembered
a petite little goddess with big golden eyes and shoulders made to be gripped. Oh fuck, where had
that thought come from? Stop looking. Stop looking. But he couldn’t, because her lips parted just
slightly, as if she was surprised to find him staring at her. Who wouldn’t stare at her? Okay, as long as he didn’t look any
lower than her face—
He looked. There was no stopping his gaze from dipping
down to her cleavage. Not enough to be classified as provocative, but enough to
be sexy in an I-don’t-even-have-to-try kind of way. Thank God her legs were covered. He
wished her legs weren’t covered. What was happening here?
“Lolita.”
When every head in the class came up, Ben realized
he’d said the single, horrifying word out loud.
A male student wearing a Rangers hat spoke up. “Lolita?”
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. His neck had
grown so hot that he swore it was on fire. Kind of like the rest of him. Thank
God he was standing behind the podium, because his dick was hard enough to give
someone in the front row a black eye. What was wrong with him? He was acting
like he’d never seen a beautiful girl before. This city was packed full of
them, just walking around looking like they’d stepped out of a glossy magazine,
but this one. Oh, this one. Something about her made him ache everywhere.
Innocent looking with a hint of excitement in her eyes, like maybe he was
making her just as hot. But that couldn’t be right, because he was wearing the
ugliest thrift shop tweed jacket he’d been able to find just to make himself
the opposite of hot. Unappealing. Unapproachable. Just their professor.
This—all of this, including his hard-on—had to be
dealt with later, though, because his students were still looking at him like
he’d sprouted a third eye. Think fast, Ben.
“I, uh…” He started to adjust his glasses, but he forced his
hand to lay flat on the podium. “I’ve
decided to give extra credit for a paper on Lolita.
The book, not the movie. Although, if you ever want to watch the movie, I’d
recommend the Kubrick version. Not the one with Jeremy Irons.” Oh my God.
This is such a massive fail. “Um. Okay, so. Three-thousand-word minimum.
Due this time next week. Let’s talk about The Things They Carried.”
“I’d
rather talk about Lolita,” baseball
cap said, earning a few laughs.
This is what happens. One crack in his armor and
suddenly they’re making jokes in his joke-free environment. He tried not to
look at the blonde in the front row and failed miserably. When he saw her frown
over baseball hat’s comment, he found himself frowning at her. He didn’t like how good it felt to have her on his
side. They weren’t on the same side. Teacher. Student. That’s it. That’s how it
would stay.
Ben spent the next hour reading passages from the book
and giving several different interpretations of what the author wanted the
reader to glean about each fictional character based on the items they carried
into war. Every once in a while, his gaze would stray to the blonde, and he’d find
her watching him steadily from underneath her long eyelashes. Like clockwork,
every ten minutes, she would switch the leg she had crossed. Right, left,
right, left. Her toes were unpainted. He liked that. Stop
looking. Stop.
At two o’clock on the nose, he dismissed the class
with the promise to return their graded papers next time. As the students filed
out of the class, he briefly wondered which one was Honey, but the blond Lolita
captured his attention. She wasn’t leaving like the rest of them. Why wasn’t
she leaving? He needed her to leave. His mouth went dry when he realized they
were the only two people left in the room. They stared at each other, him
behind the podium, her still seated. His cock strained harder and more
insistently behind his fly the longer he kept his attention on her, but he
couldn’t look away. He should say something, otherwise it would be weird. She’d
know how much she affected him. But he didn’t. He could only stare back as she
rose to her feet and sauntered toward him, her breasts swaying underneath the
dress. No bra. Red. Alert. She’s not wearing a bra. I’m screwed.
She shook her long hair back over her shoulders and he
groaned. He fucking groaned, right out loud. Amusement lit her eyes.
Satisfaction. None of the pretense employed by females her age. Only confidence
that her girl-next-door looks were hooking him like a half-witted sea bass. And
they had. There was more, however. She looked at him as if they already knew
each other on some level and this face-to-face meeting was long overdue. Which
is exactly how he felt. Jesus. He’d never wanted to fuck a girl so badly in his entire
life, and it was wrong on so many levels. So many. It broke every rule.
The school’s rules. More importantly, his own rules. He knew too well what
happened when a man gave in to temptation. Knew what the consequences could be.
He’d seen it. He’d
lived it.
Her tongue came out to wet her lips, and he watched it
happen in slow motion. Felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten at the image of
her mouth skating down, down, to deal with the turmoil in his pants. She
stopped right at the front of the podium and traced a finger over his lesson
plans. No one had ever touched his lesson plans before, and it felt intimate.
Maybe more intimate than a kiss for someone like him. She opened her mouth to
speak—
“Ben.”
The familiar voice broke through his red haze of lust.
His colleague, Peter, stood at the entrance, eyeing him strangely. Why? Oh,
probably because he was sweating and staring at a student like he wanted to eat
her for lunch. Eat her…fuck. What color panties was she wearing? He’d give
anything to know.
“Hey, Ben,” Peter said with a little more oomph. “We’ve got that faculty meeting.”
The blonde, looking more than a little disappointed
with their audience, gave him a small smile and walked away. Just like that.
She’d aroused him out of his mind, made him question his strict rules, then
walked away so casually she might be headed to a beach party. When she passed
Peter in the doorway, the fellow teacher looked at her speculatively, and
something ugly reared its head inside of Ben. Don’t look at her. Don’t you fucking look at her, he wanted to shout.
Jesus, man. Reel it back. Repeating those words on a loop, he gathered his
things quickly and joined Peter at the door. At least he had his body under
control now. The icing on this cake of a day would be explaining his peter to
Peter.
“What was that about?” his often nosy colleague asked
him. “That looked…bad.”
Ben scratched his chin. “No idea what you mean. It was
nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.” Peter bumped him with
his shoulder, and Ben gave him a dark look. He found Peter irritating on a
regular basis, but something about him discussing the blonde in any capacity
was making him twice as unbearable. They were both new to the faculty, though,
and taught the same course. They were required to share notes and compare
lesson plans, which put them in one another’s company pretty frequently.
“Listen, we have to be careful. We don’t have tenure yet. One wrong move—”
“Stop. I
don’t know what you think you saw, but you need to drop
it.”
Peter held up his hands. “Just looking out for you.”
Ben stayed silent the rest of the walk to the meeting.
He thought of the blonde the entire way.
Review
I've said it before and I will say it again, Tessa Bailey is the Queen of writing the perfect Dirty Talker. Everything that came out of Ben's mouth was naughty and pure perfection...well except for the few little mistakes that he made, but that just helped to give the story "feeling" and there was tons of "feels"! LOVED it! 5 stars.
I really don't need to summarize the story much on this one, you know from the synopsis that it is a student/professor romance. Need Me is also a standalone among several standalone. I recommend reading Chase Me first, simply because these characters make appearances in that book and they along with the previous hero's and heroines will also make appearances in the next book.
I highly recommend you read this series, Need Me was my favorite simply because I love the student/professor storyline! I can’t wait for the next book which happens to be Abby and Russell's book! If you’re looking for a super sexy, sweet read…you’ll enjoy this one!
*Reviewed by Brandi
Buy Link
Need me - http://amzn.to/1G3eG3f
Chase Me - http://amzn.to/1Pb2q7D
Review
I've said it before and I will say it again, Tessa Bailey is the Queen of writing the perfect Dirty Talker. Everything that came out of Ben's mouth was naughty and pure perfection...well except for the few little mistakes that he made, but that just helped to give the story "feeling" and there was tons of "feels"! LOVED it! 5 stars.
I really don't need to summarize the story much on this one, you know from the synopsis that it is a student/professor romance. Need Me is also a standalone among several standalone. I recommend reading Chase Me first, simply because these characters make appearances in that book and they along with the previous hero's and heroines will also make appearances in the next book.
I highly recommend you read this series, Need Me was my favorite simply because I love the student/professor storyline! I can’t wait for the next book which happens to be Abby and Russell's book! If you’re looking for a super sexy, sweet read…you’ll enjoy this one!
*Reviewed by Brandi
Buy Link
Need me - http://amzn.to/1G3eG3f
Chase Me - http://amzn.to/1Pb2q7D
About the author:
Tessa lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and young daughter. When she isn't writing or reading romance, Tessa enjoys a good argument and thirty-minute recipes.
Connect with Tessa Bailey:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tessa-Bailey
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mstessabailey
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6953499.Tessa_Bailey
Website: http://www.tessabailey.com
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