Living in Shadow (Living In…) (3 page)

In the student café, where she went sometimes to get coffee, he’d be there in a group of students, either talking with them or reading. He seemed to be pretty popular—understandably—and there always seemed to be a woman or five hanging around him. In the library when she went to pick up a book, she’d find him sitting at a desk with some headphones on, doing something on his laptop. Or walking down a corridor, he’d be there in deep discussion with another member of the faculty or another student.

It annoyed her. She wasn’t consciously looking for him, it was only that somehow her brain had decided he was a person of interest and so kept an eye out for him.

And whenever it did, she found she couldn’t help looking at him, almost as if she was seeking out that disturbing black gaze. Which was insane. He was a student and that was all he ever should be.

As for him, only once did he acknowledge her and that was in the student café, as she and a colleague were getting coffee. She was on her way out and he was sitting at the table he’d been at the week before, by the doors, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched arrogantly in front him, hands linked behind his head. There was a woman beside him, leaning close in, obviously telling him something. And he appeared to be paying attention. Until he lifted his head as Eleanor passed and his eyes met hers, hot and dark.

And the same thrill passed through her as it had that previous week. The one she’d told herself she didn’t feel. She only smiled coolly back and walked on, not bothering to speak to him, ignoring both the flicker of heat that settled in her gut and the annoyance that the flicker of heat was even there in the first place.

Jesus, what did he think she was? Sixteen? She was thirty-eight and long past the stage of getting hot and bothered just because some outrageously good-looking young man kept staring at her.

“Eleanor?” James Devon was at her elbow and she realized she’d stopped short of the café doors. Luc wasn’t even looking at her now, the blonde sitting next to him had her hand on his thigh and he’d turned his head toward her, smiling.

Her irritation deepened. Fuck’s sake. What was the matter with her?

She pushed through the café doors and out into the corridor, clutching her latte, letting the hot liquid burn through the paper cup and into her palm. So much better to concentrate on that small pain than on the other, far more dangerous heat down low inside her.

“You okay?” James, who taught international law and was one of the few people in the faculty who wasn’t a fuckwit, looked at her curiously. “Or were you stunned by the magnificence of Lucien North?”

Of course James would notice that. He’d always had an eye for handsome men.

Eleanor gave him a filthy look. “Are you kidding me?”

James shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first. You should see Carly.”

Carly was one of the criminal law professors and a sucker for a good-looking student, though, since she was nearly sixty-five and married, with her it was purely a visual-appreciation thing.

“She’s like that with everyone.”

“Luc is a little different, though.”

He had that right. Eleanor didn’t say anything for a moment as they strolled down the corridor toward her office. Then, when a decent-enough amount of time had passed, she said, “Is he in any of your classes?”

“Yeah. International law is his thing.” James grinned. “I’m not complaining. Whenever he comes to one of my lectures, everyone else shows up too. Especially the girls.”

“Popular then.”

“Extremely. And a brilliant student too. Wrote me the most fabulous essay on—”

“Thanks, James,” she interrupted gracelessly as they stopped outside her office. “Got a mountain of assignments to mark.”

She wasn’t curious about Lucien North. She wasn’t.

Yet when Thursday rolled around and she stepped into the lecture theatre for her legal history class, her gaze went straight to the desk where he normally sat, in the front row, right in the center. And found his seat empty.

The sharp point of an emotion she refused to call disappointment needled at her.

Shit. What the hell was her problem?

She’d kept away from men for a long time after her divorce from Piers. For years the thought of another relationship—hell, even just sex—was too much to contemplate and though she’d broken through that little block with a couple of guys since, in the end she’d found being single easier. Her career at the law school was much less complicated, even with the usual university/faculty politics that sometimes drove her round the bend. She liked teaching, enjoyed the interactions she had with her students and found the intellectual challenge of law stimulating. That was all she needed. That and an excellent vibrator.

Lucien North was nice eye candy, but that’s all he’d ever be.

Eleanor gave the lecture, irritated with the way her attention kept going to the place where Lucien normally sat and catching the eye of the young woman who was sitting there instead. Which probably weirded her out as much as it did Eleanor.

After the lecture was over and the usual crowd of students and their questions had vanished out of the door, Eleanor was sliding her laptop into its bag when she noticed someone standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

Lucien.

The irritation and annoyance gathered in a small, hard knot in the center of her chest.

He had one arm against the doorframe, the posture drawing attention to the sharply defined lines of his biceps, left bare by the black T-shirt he was wearing. It was…distracting.

“I’m sorry I missed the class today,” he said. “I had an appointment.”

Eleanor looked away from him, fussing around with the laptop cords. “That’s okay. You didn’t miss much. I’ll be putting the notes up on the class web page anyway.”

“Well, that’s good.”

A small silence fell. Then his voice, much softer and much closer this time. “Did you even notice I wasn’t there?” He’d come into the lecture theatre proper, was now standing not far away from her, hands thrust casually in the pockets of his jeans.

She glanced at him but all he did was stare back, a strange, intense glint in his eyes.

Christ, what did he want from her? If he thought she was going to admit to the fact that, yes, she had noticed, he needed to think again. Something told her that admitting any kind of weakness around this man would be a mistake.

Feeling threatened, Eleanor turned away, resuming tucking the cords away into her laptop bag as if nothing were bothering her in the slightest. “That’s an odd question to ask.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And no, I didn’t notice, but thanks for letting me know.”

There was a weirdly taut silence.

She continued to fuss with the cords, feeling the weight of his stare on the back of her neck like the touch of a hand. Jesus, he really needed to go the hell away.

“You’re one hell of a good liar, Professor May,” he said softly.

Ah Christ. This was ridiculous. Of course she knew what he wanted from her. She’d known it the moment his gaze met hers. And she was too old for teenage, flirty games. Actually, shit, what did that have to do with age? Even when she’d been younger she hadn’t had the patience for it. Whatever she’d done to deserve his attention, one thing was clear. It had to stop.

Slowly she closed her laptop bag then straightened and turned to face him. He stared back at her, his beautifully cut mouth unsmiling. The uncompromising look on his face, hard and stern, made something hot clench inside her. Something she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

This is how it started with Piers…

Forcing away the thought, she said bluntly, “I’m thirty-eight.”

His straight, black brows arrowed down. “So?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

Twenty-five. Christ. Older than the average student, but still. “I think thirteen years’ age difference speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

“Does your age bother you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because it doesn’t bother me either.”

“Well it should.” She twisted to pick up her laptop bag and briefcase. And when she turned back he was standing right in front of her. Not too close but enough that the sexual awareness she’d been telling herself for days she didn’t feel gathered tighter inside her.

“I don’t give a shit about your age,” he said. “So if you’re trying to warn me away you need to think of something else.”

She took a slow breath. “Ah, so we’re going to have this conversation, are we?”

“What conversation?”

“The one where you tell me you’re attracted to me and I tell you that this kind of conversation is inappropriate. That I’m your professor and liaisons between staff and students are prohibited.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, standing there with his hands in his pockets, motionless. “You sound like you’ve had it before,” he said eventually.

“More than once.” With a couple of younger guys looking for a mother figure and settling on her. Those occasions had been easy ones to nip in the bud, the kids embarrassed and easily deflected once she’d spoken to them.

And you didn’t want them.

She didn’t want Lucien either. No. Definitely not. She pasted on her usual smile, ignoring the unease that sat in her gut. “So? Are we going to have that conversation or not?”

“I think you’re under a misapprehension about what I want, Professor.”

Her fingers curled hard on her briefcase handle. Oh fuck. Had she read him entirely wrong then? It was possible. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any interest in her. “Am I? You’d better tell me then, hadn’t you?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Stop playing games with me, Mr. North. I don’t have either the time or the patience.”

He didn’t move, but it felt as if the room were suddenly too small to contain both of them and oxygen as well. “Okay then, so no more games. I’m not going to tell you I’m attracted to you, Professor, no. What I’d like to do is take you home and fuck you senseless.”

The words hung in the silence of the lecture theatre like profanities in a church.

She’d thought she’d long gotten past the stage of being shocked. She was wrong. And what made it even worse was the way those provocative words struck home, flaming arrows that set a part of her alight. And other parts dry mouthed with fear…

“Hmmm. I can see we might have to have a little chat with the dean about that.” Her voice was perfectly calm, perfectly level. Masking her shock so he wouldn’t see. So he wouldn’t know. “In fact, even saying those words could get you suspended.”

“I realize that. But you asked me what I wanted. So I told you.”

She could get him suspended if she wanted to, she knew that. But she also knew she wasn’t going to. He hadn’t
done
anything, after all, only been inappropriate. Besides, going straight to the dean would only prove that she couldn’t handle this on her own and she damn well could. He was only a student and she’d dealt with inappropriate students before.

Eleanor forced herself to hold her briefcase by her side instead of in front her like a shield. Relaxed her fingers on the handle. “So, you want to fuck me,” she said easily. “Well, honey, I have to say, you wouldn’t be the first and you probably won’t be the last. But I don’t screw students. I never have and I’m not about to start with you, understand? Besides, I prefer men to boys. Now…” she met his gaze, ice cool, “…is there anything else I can help you with?”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change, but the dark glitter in his eyes became a little more intense. “So I guess there’s no point asking if you feel the same?”

“No.” The word was as firm and as flat as she could make it. “None.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, “you’re a terrible liar, Professor.” He began to turn back toward the doors. “But hey, I guess we can’t all be honest about our feelings.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to tell him that she
was
being honest, but he held up a hand and for some reason the words died in her throat like he’d commanded them to. “When you’re ready to admit you want me too, let me know. I’ll be around.”

Then he turned and strode through the doors.

“Fuck,” Eleanor muttered to the empty room.

She didn’t want him. She didn’t want to do anything with him. All the places this kind of thing led to were bad ones and she didn’t want to go there. Not again.

For the past few years her life had been an intellectual one and she’d been happy with that. Hadn’t wanted more. She knew the consequences of desire, of passion, an experience she never wanted to repeat. But Lucien’s presence had made her aware of the parts of herself she’d been ignoring for too long.

Perhaps that had nothing to do with him, though. He was an attractive man. He’d make any woman aware of certain parts of themselves they’d been neglecting. It didn’t mean anything.

Anyway, she had a vibrator and an imagination. She didn’t need an actual cock attached to an actual man. Been there, done that. Had the bruises from her ex-husband to show for it.

Piers, who’d seduced then manipulated and abused her. The man who’d started out as her professor…

Eleanor forced the memories out of her head. No, that had been years ago and she was so much stronger now. Armored. So she wouldn’t be letting good looks and sexual attraction blind her. Not these days. And most especially not with Lucien North.

Chapter Three

“You know what I think?” Kahu said, leaning his hip against the bar.

Eleanor had a suspicion she knew already. She’d had fifteen years of hearing Kahu Winter’s thoughts on various subjects and she was pretty familiar with his opinions. “Don’t tell me. I know already.”

Kahu didn’t even pause. “I think you should fuck him. I mean, he’s young. He’s hot. He wants you. Why the hell not?”

The Ivy Room of the Auckland Club, the old gentlemen’s club that Kahu had bought a couple of years ago and now ran himself, was full of lunchtime drinkers. Members only, of course. Membership was highly sought after in various circles of Auckland society—mostly the rich tosser circles, as Kahu liked to call them—and ridiculously hard to come by. No one quite knew what made Kahu grant one person a membership card and not another.