Rosette Prouvaire sighed as she tossed her unruly ebony hair over her shoulder. She was late. Bloody Rougemont was going to have a fit.
She locked the car and gracefully ran across the campus quad, waving and smiling to the people she saw there. Rosette was popular. Generous of heart and generous with her money, she didn’t have to try and make friends. They found her.
She quietly pushed open the heavy wooden door. The man at the front of the huge domed classroom looked up. His green-grey eyes were clouded.
“You’re late” he snarled with his usual unsmiling gaze.
His tempestuous blond locks brushed his collar as he lent forward over his notes. Damn her, he thought, why did she always have to look so… tempting. He coughed and continued.
“Most mammals use symmetrical gaits (such as the trot) at moderate speeds but change to asymmetrical gaits…”
The lecture droned on. A bluebottle, intent on committing suicide, bounced off the light of the overhead projector. The room hummed with heat. Students, draped over their notes, desperately tried to pay attention. The women, concentrated on their tutor. Moody, taciturn and brilliant. He was world-renowned as the best tutor on mammalogy in the northern hemisphere, if not the world. Wherever he walked, an audible sigh followed him. Underneath those dark jeans and cotton button-down shirt were, they were sure, abs of steel.
The clock jumped. 5 o’clock.
“Ms Prouvaire?” Benjamin’s deep voice reverberated around the hall, “if you have a minute, come to my chambers. I’d like to discuss your last essay.”
A brush of scarlet flashed across Rosette’s cheeks, drawing Benjamin’s eyes to her plump mouth. If only…
Benjamin’s chamber was a small room off the large hall. Large rugs covered the cold flagstone floor. The walls were dark rose with a border of lavender along the bottom. His manly cologne was palpable, but a languid blast of air from the open window went some way to dissipate it.
Rosette stood, looking at her tutor. She wanted him. She had always wanted him. Ever since the very first day she had arrived at Ridgefield Farms university, starting again after a bitter divorce. And now, finally, maybe, she would get her chance.
Benjamin turned to away from her. He could feel her soul-piercing sapphire eyes boring into his broad back. “Now Ms Prouvaire. about that..”
“Please Benjamin” her tongue curled around his name in a way which made him quiver, “call me Rosette”
“Ahem.. yes. Rosette. About this essay…” he turned and looked at her and suddenly he couldn’t hold back anymore. Propelling himself forward with the ease of a 100 metre sprinter, he swept her into his arms. “Oh Rosette,” he whispered huskily into her mane of black hair ”Rosette, you know it’s always been you. I know we shouldn’t but…”
“Shh,” she whispered. “I know. I know.”
He gently pushed her backwards so she fell, gracefully onto the heavily embroidered chaise lounge.
*Squeeeeek*
Rosette’s face drained of colour. She slowly stood up and looked behind her. There, in the place of a tasseled cushion, was a hedgehog. Benjamin followed her gaze. With a sharp intake of breath, he stumbled forward and fell to his knees in front of the seat. He looked up at her, pain and anger in his misty eyes.
“Prickles” he croaked, “you’ve… squashed… Prickles.”
Backing away from him, Rosette spun on her heel and fled from the room.
He did not follow. Burying his head in his arms, he started sobbing. Life without Prickles, his devoted pet hedgehog, was futile. If this is what love bought him, so be it.
He would never love again.
-Fin-
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Thanks to LizSara for the particularly evil subject of “Why hedgehogs don’t make good pets” and romance novel style.
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