Dolphin Paradise…from Naughty Getaways:
To: Karen Barrow
From: Argyle Riviera
Karen, as you may have heard, Robert’s wife’s health has taken a turn for the worse and he has decided to step down from his position as director of Dolphin Paradise. The board wanted me to reassure you that another director will be appointed before you arrive on the island next week. We know you will do everything you can to help the new man learn the routine and assume his responsibilities. With your help, we can assure our kids a great experience this year as always.
Karen’s mug slipped from her numb fingers and fell to the floor with a thump, soaking the outdated mottled brown-and-gray carpet with thin, acidy department coffee. It would probably eat right through to the floor. But so what? The Science Department budget held no money for extras, and the 1970s era décor would remain unless the building actually burned down. The coffee was bad, but not that bad.
The new man. Every time she thought sexism began to fade into the past, it again reared its ugly head. Did they care who they hired as long as they had enough testosterone? She’d basically run the camp for the past several years, while Robert dealt with not only his wife’s chronic illnesses but the onset of a few of his own. He was a wonderful man, kind, and the kids adored him, but he’d not been acting as director. And she’d been too concerned about his feelings to tell anyone.
Probably served her right the Rivieras had decided not only to promote someone else to the difficult and low-paying job of running the summer camp for inner city kids, but had asked her to help him learn his job.
Suddenly, her dreary little cubicle of an office seemed to run out of air. Leaving the soggy carpet unblotted, she grabbed her backpack and flung open the door. Curses held behind pressed lips, Professor Karen Barrow shoved through the crowd in the hallway. She didn’t have a destination in mind. Just a vague and ridiculous desire to get away from the email that ruined her summer before it even began.
To: Drake Connell
From: Argyle Riviera
I would like to take this opportunity to thank you once again for agreeing to step in as director of Dolphin Paradise. Since its inception, the project has been ruled a success. All but a few of the participants have gone on to finish high school with a higher-than-normal percentage entering college, as well, and most in the sciences. Our scholarship program draws from the pool of students who attend our summer camps, as you know, and as director you will have the opportunity to contribute directly to their higher quality of life. Who knows? Maybe one of them will find the cure for a disease or a way to clean the oceans of pollution.
Karen Barrow will ably assist you in your endeavors. She’s been assistant director since the first year and knows the program better than anyone. The former director swore he couldn’t do his job without her.
If you need anything, let us know, but I’m sure you’ll find all you require on the island.
Have a great summer!
Drake closed the lid on his laptop and stuffed the device in its bag. If he’d had any doubts about taking on the summer job rather than staying in town to work on his book, the name of his assistant director solidified his decision.
Karen Barrow. His office neighbor.
The beautiful, curvy, copper-haired professor whose jade-green eyes never settled on him long enough to acknowledge he was alive. Perhaps a little time on an island where the only other adult was the elderly cook would get her to notice him.
The schedule called for the director and assistant to arrive a week before the campers, the teen counselors, and the cook. A romantic getaway with a little work, and writing, thrown in. If he couldn’t make an impression on a crowded campus, perhaps the atmosphere at Dolphin Paradise would make the difference. Either that or he was going to be taking a lot of cold showers. Every time she strolled past his office, his cock hardened and he had to turn around and adjust himself. No other woman caused him to lose so much control. Not to mention during the course of his first year at Oleander College, he’d gradually ceased dating anyone at all. Somehow, the pretty secretaries and junior professors no longer held his attention. The playboy professor of his previous institution who’d rolled into town and dated half a dozen Oleander faculty faded by November. His focus narrowed.
Professor Barrow was not only beautiful, she was popular with her students, her classes filled to capacity, and her work with the less fortunate in the community had earned her the respect of the dean and even a special award from the president of the school. She was everything he’d never wanted.
You didn’t go out with a Karen Barrow unless you had the best of intentions, and, so far, his had always been less than long-term. His dates knew that…he never pretended to want more than a fun evening. He paid for dinner or whatever the activity was, opened car doors, listened when they spoke, and they seemed to find him attractive. Most evenings ended up in the woman in question’s bedroom. Never his. And he never stayed overnight.
Shortly before winter break, he’d given in to an impulse to see her in action. Slipping into one of her lectures, he’d sat in the back and shared her students’ transfixed attention as she discussed an algae bloom in the Atlantic, the possible causes of the event, and its effect on marine mammals. Material even he might have found dry under other circumstances, yet her melodious voice carried her words to the seats at the very back of the auditorium—as if she spoke directly to him—and made him want to know more.
He’d even approached her after the class and suggested they have coffee and discuss the algae bloom, but she’d brushed him aside with a lame excuse. Which he accepted with no little relief. He did not need a keeper. So why could he not forget her and move on?
Or take no for an answer? She’d also rejected dinner, movies, and a lecture on the effects of climate change on plankton in the Pacific Northwest. She’d attended. He’d seen her across the room. But not with him.
And now they would be spending the summer together…the first week alone together. Stepping outside his office, Drake closed the door and locked it. No more Oleander College for a few months.
Professor Barrow’s door was closed; a small hand-lettered sign hanging there announcing office hours would begin again in late August and giving an email for anyone who needed to reach her sooner. His door bore a similar notice, printed out rather than handwritten. His chicken scratch, unlike her graceful cursive, would have only confused those who attempted to read it. School was truly out for summer, and tomorrow at this time, they’d both be on the island and he’d be getting started on operation Karen.
He paused outside her door long enough to question his motives. How much of the attraction was based on the fact she had zero interest in him? He didn’t kid himself. He was an attractive man who was used to women responding to his charm. And he liked a little kink from time to time which he would be willing to bet she’d never go for.
He closed his eyes, picturing her generous curves naked, bound with the silken rope he favored while he tormented her into orgasm after orgasm. His cock hardened, as it always did when he fantasized about his office neighbor. Sometimes, he pictured her bound to his desk while he graded papers on her naked belly, a vibrator keeping her busy until he was ready to take her…
“Professor Connell? Can I talk to you about my grade?”
With every bit of self-control he possessed, Drake focused on the gangly nineteen-year-old frat rat in front of him. “The semester is over, Rodney. Grades have been turned in.”
“But I failed your class. My dad is going to kill me.”
“Perhaps you should have considered that fact before you missed half the classes and didn’t turn in your papers.” Ready to continue on his way, he took in the woebegone expression and changed his plans. Suppressing a sigh, he fished his keys out of his pocket. “I can’t do anything about your grade, but if you’d like to talk, I have a few minutes.”
The boy’s father, a prominent local attorney, would not kill him, but Rodney would not likely have a great summer. He could spare him a half hour or so. Maybe guide him into planning a more responsible next semester.
But no sooner did he send the boy on his way than another student knocked, then another. Not all had failed his class. Some just wanted to wish him a good summer or let him know they’d be taking one of his classes in the fall. They liked his company, enjoyed chatting with him.
What the heck was wrong with Professor Karen Barrow?
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