He buried his nose against her nape and inhaled deeply. “Damn, you smell so sweet. What is that you’re wearing?” “Just my bodywash,” she returned, wriggling out of his hold. Public displays of affection weren’t in her comfort zone, especially with the guy who was supposed to be her boss. It was bad enough they were a cliché—professor and assistant—but flaunting it in front of the entire staff at the university dean Robert Calum’s party wasn’t happening. Magda pivoted on her favorite silver teetering heels, careful not to lose her balance and fall against Nick’s chest. Because that would be infinitely worse. “Well, it smells good enough to eat,” he said, his eyes as dilated as they were after he roared his release and collapsed against her, sweaty and sated. She gulped the rest of the champagne in her fluted glass. The alcohol hit her system and went straight south, but didn’t warm things enough to make her lose her inhibitions. If she wanted to teach at this university—or any other, for that matter—she required a good reputation.
