Don't Tell (10 page)

He’d turned their heads all right, he thought, disgust washing through him. He’d turned Caroline’s head, too, completely around as she headed for the door. She’d waited for him to finish trading meaningless small talk with the young things, her expressive eyes growing more and more hurt by the moment until finally she’d turned and left the room. And he’d let her go without a word. He shook his head, angry with himself. David was right. I really am a self-pitying sonofabitch, he thought as me door to the outer department office finally came into view. Puffing a bit from the exertion, he pulled the outer office door open, words of apology on his lips.

Her desk was empty.

She wasn’t there. Wasn’t waiting for him. His mind finished the thought, mocking him. He’d expected her to be eagerly waiting for his glorious return. God, I’m such a pompous dick, he thought, self-disgust rising another notch. Caroline’s life didn’t revolve around him, even if his thoughts had revolved around her since the moment he’d walked into this office twenty-four hours before.

And therein lay the rub. He wanted a woman, the right woman, to revolve her life around him, or at least he wanted to be the center of her thoughts. Of her heart. He’d wanted to be the center of a woman’s heart for a long time. It was no deeply hidden secret, at least from himself. He wanted someone to care for him, to listen to him. To look at him with unmitigated desire in her eyes. Even after she’d seen his cane.

And his scars.

Max took the few steps from the outer door to Caroline’s desk and absently picked up her pen. Her scent lingered here, light and… female. Pretty. She’d seen his cane and it hadn’t bothered her. He could tell that right away. Instinctively he knew a woman like Caroline wouldn’t shy away from imperfection. At least he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe it very much.

He gently put Caroline’s pen back on her desk, glancing at her neat piles and to-do lists.

With a list that long, she couldn’t afford to be away from her desk for very long. She’d be back soon enough and he’d apologize to her straightaway. For now, he had his own work to do.

He put thoughts of his apology out of his head, filling it instead with plans for his afternoon class. Constitutional Monarchy had gone well this morning, the graduate students attentive and interactive. But this afternoon he’d have a group of freshmen that took his class because the college required an elective. Most would be gum-snapping kids, still buying pimple cream by the case. Most would be bored out of their skulls. It would be a challenge to hold their attention. He loved a challenge. He loved it when kids focused in on his story and he knew he had them in full thrall. The afternoon course was devoted to the American Civil War. The challenge was to come up with a tale that rivaled the blood and gore of Hollywood. He had the perfect one.

Max opened the door to his office. And stopped. Abruptly.

All thoughts of gruesome battlefield amputations, hacksaws, biting sticks and bottles of cheap whiskey vaporized in an instant.

His eyes widened.

His mouth went dry.

His throat closed.

His heart exploded.

Oh my God. The words formed soundlessly on lips that felt like limp rubber.

Caroline knelt on the floor, looking into a box. Her rear end pointed straight up at him, rounded and perfect. Perfectly shaped, the perfect size for his hands to cover. He closed his hands into fists against the rush of lust that roared through his body. There on her knees… Every sweaty fantasy from the night before flashed before his eyes. Every little whimper, every little moan she’d made in his dreams filled his ears.

He shouldn’t be looking. Shouldn’t be staring. Shouldn’t be fantasizing about her sprawled naked in his bed, looking up at him with blue eyes glazed over with passion, begging… Oh, God. The things she’d begged for in his dreams…

He swallowed hard, trying to hydrate his mouth that was drier than the Mohabi desert. She shifted as she sorted deeper in the box, her shoulders going one way, her round rear the other, straining that sexy black dress across her curves. He swallowed again. A decent man would avert his eyes, he thought. Apparently he wasn’t a decent man. No, not a decent man at all. He was so hard he hurt. Wincing, he took a single step forward, his feet piloted by the brain that now throbbed in his pants.

Her body tensed slightly, her dark head lifting as she sensed his presence.

Caroline was startled out of her woolgathering when she heard the slight sound, a shuffle across the carpet just as the scent of his cologne reached her nose. She looked over her shoulder to see the shiny black surface of Max Hunter’s shoes directly behind her.

She drew a tight breath. He was back. The room felt smaller just knowing he was in it.

„You’re back,“ she said quietly, not looking any higher than his shoes. „Your supplies are here. If you can give me a few minutes I’ll set up your supply drawer.“ Just go away, she thought, anger beginning to simmer inside. Don’t make me see that I’m nothing special.

The shiny shoes didn’t move an inch.

Caroline sighed, letting her shoulders sag. What did it matter anyway? Don’t even think about it, she chided herself. Don’t even think about picket fences and black-haired babies and „honey, I’m home.“ Just…just don’t. Those things weren’t for her. „I made some coffee out by my desk. Help yourself.“

He said nothing, made no attempt to answer. But she could feel him. An energy that sensitized her skin, made the little hairs on her arms stand on end. Using the corners of the box as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet, turning to face him in one movement.

And stopped. Abruptly. He stood close, staring at her, his face hard and dark, a muscle twitching spasmodically in his cheek, one hand fisted at his side. The hand that clutched his cane was fisted so tightly his knuckles were bright white. Her eyes dropped to his hands as they opened, stretched taut for an instant, then pulled back into fists.

He had big hands.

Big fists.

She felt a familiar panic insert itself inside her, deep down where she couldn’t fight it, couldn’t quell it, couldn’t make it go away. She tried to draw air into her lungs, but the air was too thick. Her feet were leaden, the carpet molasses. Even as her mind told her this wasn’t Rob, that this was Max Hunter, her boss, even as she knew she was no longer in North Carolina but in Chicago, safe from Rob’s fists, even as she knew she was no longer timid, frightened, mousy Mary Grace, her feet moved back a step. By sheer force of will, she dragged her eyes from Max’s fists to his face. His eyes were hard, glittering. He was angry, unspeakably so.

Silently she racked her mind for the reason for his sudden anger, what she could have possibly done to have brought it on, trying to think of the right words to say to make his face soften, to make his fists relax. To make him go away.

But she couldn’t think of the words to say, so she helplessly watched him, her heart beating in her breast like the wings of a trapped sparrow. He didn’t go away. Instead, he took a giant step forward and then, as if in slow motion, his free hand opened from its fist and rose to her face.

She flinched, wrenching away so hard she stumbled backward, stifling an alarmed cry as the sharp edge of the box dug into her calf and her feet lost purchase with the carpeted floor. And just that fast his hands were on her, hard around her upper arms, lifting her back to her feet, letting go when she was steady again.

She opened her eyes, only vaguely surprised she’d clenched them shut. He was too close, the shiny tips of his shoes less than an inch from hers. His cane lay on the carpet at an angle where he’d dropped it to keep her from falling. For a brief moment she saw herself grabbing it, using it to protect herself.

But then he spoke, his voice sharp with concern. „Caroline, are you all right?“

She lifted her eyes, slowly, praying the anger would be gone. Her breath caught in her throat. The anger was indeed gone, replaced by a gentleness that was unexpected.

„I’m sorry.“ His voice was softer now. His hands were poised at her shoulders, a fraction of an inch from touching her. But he didn’t touch. He didn’t grab. Didn’t bruise. „I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?“

She nodded, unable to force the words past the residual lump of fear in her throat.

His brows snapped together, giving him a look of instant authority. „Then say something. You’re scaring me.“

Caroline cleared her throat. It hurt, her throat. Her body hurt, especially her back, from tensing her muscles. Becoming too tense always gave her backaches, courtesy of her injury so many years before. Nine years, to be exact.

Nine years. She lifted her chin, willing the fear to recede, willing her muscles to relax. Nine years had passed since he’d pushed her down the stairs. Seven years since she’d made her escape. Seven years of being afraid, of looking over her shoulder. Of taking a step back every time someone reached to touch.

How long would she allow him to affect her life? Him. She made herself think his name. Rob Winters. An evil sonofabitch that got his kicks from terrorizing those weaker than himself. Years of Dana’s coaching came flooding into her mind and something, some nugget of wisdom finally clicked. He – No, Caroline ordered herself, say his name. Rob Winters. Rob Winters can’t hurt you anymore. Rob was gone. Mary Grace was gone. Caroline was here. I’m here to stay, she thought.

So stay, Caroline. Stop running away.

She was still running away. Not from places anymore, but from people. How long would she allow Rob Winters to keep her isolated from other human beings?

It had to stop. Today.

Now.

She could make it stop. Herself. Today. There was power in that knowledge. Power and a sudden surge of elation, dizzying in its intensity. It was thrilling, electrifying. It was –

Reality invaded her thoughts, jerking her back when Max snapped his fingers in front of her face. „Caroline, say something now or I’m calling the school nurse. You’re as white as a sheet.“

Caroline inwardly cringed, embarrassment rushing in to push aside the thrill of being the master of her own destiny. Reality loomed before her, six-and-a-half feet of gorgeous male sex appeal who was currently looking at her as if she’d lost every crayon in the box.

„I’m all right,“ she managed, then drew a deep breath. „I’m fine.“ And she would be. Later. Taking a mental stand didn’t mean she instantly became Wonder Woman or Dr. Laura, she realized. She needed to be alone, someplace where she could process the events of the last ten minutes and let the after-shock trembles come in private. „I’m sorry. I don’t usually do things like that.“ She sidestepped the supply box on the floor. „I’ll just get out of your way.“

„Caroline, wait. Sit down.“

She opened her mouth to protest as he pushed her into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

„Just be still for a minute.“ He slowly went down on one knee, reaching sideways to grab his cane then pushed himself to his feet to stand by her chair, the look of concern still on his face. He touched his hand lightly to her forehead.

„Are you feeling all right? You’re so pale. If you’re sick, you should be home in bed.“

She wanted to sink through the floor. „I’m fine.“

He pursed his lips. „Yeah, right.“ He sounded wholly unconvinced. „Your color’s just now coming back. Is there somebody I should call?“

She shook her head. „No. Really, I just need some air.“ And a hole to crawl into, she thought.

„Then come with me. We’ll take a walk outside.“ He held out his arm, his expression still worried.

„I’m really – “

„Fine. I heard you. I just don’t believe you.“ His mouth bent down in a mild frown. „Stand up if you can.“

Temper rolled in, displacing the embarrassment. She blew out an annoyed sigh. „Dr. Hunter, please. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.“

He took a step back and shrugged. „Fine. Suit yourself. I was just trying to help.“

Caroline stood, testing her balance. It had never been quite the same since her accident. The room tilted, then righted itself. „And I appreciate it. Truly.“ She looked up to find his jaw hardened and his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he half-sat on the edge of his desk.

His eyes were focused full on her face, his mouth still frowning. „You’re dizzy.“

Caroline forced a smile. „And I’m not even a blonde.“ Thanks to Clairol, that much was true.

„This isn’t funny, Caroline.“ Max stepped forward and took her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up. „Your pupils look okay.“

She swallowed audibly. Just his hand on her face was sending little shivers down her body. „Are you a doctor of medicine now, Dr. Hunter?“

One side of his mouth quirked up. „No, just spent enough time in hospitals to know the drill.“ His mouth went serious again. His eyes were still on her face, still searching. Caroline felt as if she were being inspected. Then, as he continued his silent perusal, she felt suspended in mid-air, on the edge of something new. Her chest tightened. Her breasts tingled. His eyes were becoming increasingly more intense, just as he’d looked when he first came into the room. When he’d been angry. But he wasn’t angry now. Had he been angry then? Now she wasn’t so sure.

He was still staring, his fingers still holding her chin.

„What?“ She’d intended it to come out sassy and sarcastic. Instead, the single word emerged sounding husky. Breathy. Sexy? God. She didn’t know her voice could do that. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, thoughtfully. His grip on her face loosened, but his hand stayed where it was, his forefinger curving under to cradle her chin.

„You have incredible eyes,“ he murmured.

Her eyes widened. His remained locked on hers. Lord. No, he hadn’t been angry before. It was all quite clear now. The hard expression, the flashing eyes, the clenched fists. No, that wasn’t anger. It was a sudden escalation of those heated looks from the day before.

She swallowed audibly again, feeling herself slipping down a dangerous slope. She wasn’t afraid of him now. No, definitely not afraid. But there was a big difference between not being afraid of him and succumbing to the look in those gray eyes. That was a line she shouldn’t cross. Really shouldn’t cross. A line she’d be truly unwise to even approach.