Professor Shane Bancroft looked at his watch. Closing time. He should head home. Except… His eyes strayed to her for the millionth time that night. Danielle Gerome. She’d been in his class all of one semester almost four years ago and he still remembered her name. It was not a good thing. For him at any rate.
She sat with her chin resting on her fist, her long dark hair falling around her like a cloak, while she wrote in her notebook. Though he suspected it was more along the lines of doodling because after watching her all evening, he didn’t think she was up to much more. Had she heard the announcement it was time to leave? She was making no move to do it. If he was smart, he’d get out of the campus library before he did something stupid. But she was obviously upset and he couldn’t leave her there alone. He’d hoped all evening that someone would show up to keep her company, take her mind off her troubles, whatever they may be, but no one even said as much as a hello. Now it was midnight. Bad things happened to college girls out alone late at night. If something happened to her, he couldn’t live with himself.
He collected up his papers and other paraphernalia, put it all in his brown leather messenger bag and stood up, then picked up the bag off the table and draped it across his chest. He shoved his hands in his pockets and didn’t move. Maybe if he took his time, she’d head out before him and he could follow, make sure she got to her car okay. Taking his attraction to her out of the mix, he knew something wasn’t right in her world. Most likely something along the lines of breaking up with her boyfriend. In which case, she probably didn’t want anything to do with men at the moment. Regardless of who they were.
So much for logic. He walked over to her and years of self-denial was shot to hell.
“Ms. Gerome, I don’t mean to intrude, but are you alright?”
He was right about the doodling and she didn’t lift her head to look at him.
“Thanks for asking. I’m fine. Just trying to get some work done. If you don’t mind.”
The sound of her voice made his muscles tighten. Deeper than the average woman’s, with a trace of a French accent. It was the first time he’d heard it and it made him think of sex. Hot, steamy, all night sex. He would’ve been better off never knowing that and he cursed himself for coming over to her instead of silently following her to make sure she made it to her car okay. Now all he could think about was hearing her speak again. He tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. For safety. His feet already betrayed him by walking over to her, he didn’t trust his hands not to reach out and rub her back in a gesture of comfort, to push her hair behind her ears so he could see her face better. Or worse yet, pull her into his arms to give her a comforting hug. She was a student. Off limits. Tenure, remember? Toe the line until you get tenure Bancroft.
“Forgive me, but the library’s closing. Would you mind if I walked you to your car? Or gave you a ride home or to the bus station. It’s late and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
Swiping a hand down his face he sighed. He should’ve left as soon as she showed up. He didn’t trust the work he’d done this evening, so most likely he’d be going over the papers he’d graded again. His students’ work deserved his full attention and it certainly didn’t get it tonight. Not when Danielle Gerome hadn’t seemed herself from the minute she walked in. Though he wasn’t really familiar with what that was, she was obviously upset and he ached to make her feel better. More fool him.
Then she looked at him and his breath caught in his chest. How many times had he tried to capture the color of her eyes on canvas since he first saw her in his art history class? He knew it was the dark, iridescent blue of a peacock’s feathers with the merest hint of green. What he didn’t know was the impact of them close up. He could get lost in those eyes and the depth of pain he saw in them pierced his heart. This was why he wasn’t able to leave her. Earlier in the evening as well as now.
“Oh no! Already?”
She jumped to her feet and flipped her note book shut, then grabbed her purse from the back of the chair and shoved her pencil in it before those eyes focused on him again. If she kept doing it he’d suffocate. He couldn’t breathe every time he looked in them.
“I didn’t mean to stay so late.”
She muttered something under her breath which was most likely a swear word and the corner of his mouth tilted upward.
“Well, it appears you have. I insist you take me up on my offer. I’m not leaving you by yourself this time of night.”
Her brows pulled together and she pushed some hair off her shoulder. “Your offer?”
“To walk you to your car.”
“Oh. Um. Thanks, but no. I don’t have a car. Well, I guess I do now.” She shook her head at herself. “I mean, I rode the bus.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Which I was supposed to catch at 11:05. There won’t be another one until morning. I’m an idiot. Too busy studying for finals, I guess.”
“Well, I won’t agree with you being an idiot, but I’m guessing you’ll be taking me up on the offer of a ride home then?”
His question brought her fully out of whatever world she’d inhabited all evening. She looked at him. Really looked at him. It made him want to tuck in his paisley dress shirt and make sure his blond hair was neatly smoothed back in his ponytail. Good God he wanted to pass muster. He was the idiot. Good thing his hands were still in his back pockets. Not because it made it easier for her to admire his broad chest. Really. It was so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to touch her. Which grew stronger now he had her full attention.
“I—well, I’d like to get something to eat actually. I missed dinner. I appreciate the offer of a ride, Professor Bancroft. Maybe you could take me to Illegal Pete’s? I can get some food and I’m sure I’ll run into a friend who can give me a ride home from there later.”
She gripped the strap of her purse so hard her knuckles were white. He didn’t like the idea of dropping her at a college bar alone, after midnight on a Friday night, and that grip convinced him it was a bad idea. She was still upset. Upset people made stupid decisions. Infatuated people did too, but he wasn’t going there. His brain was stuck on the fact she knew who he was.
“Why don’t we figure it out on the way to my car before they kick us out or we get locked in?”
She nodded. “Yes, we should leave.”
She picked up her notebook, turned and started walking towards the exit. He took her by the arm, just above the elbow because his thinking faculties completely abandoned him and he needed to touch her. The wrong part of his body was in charge and he no longer cared. The battle was lost the minute he saw her crying.
They were the last ones to leave the building and the campus was pretty deserted. Once they were outside, he let go of her arm. Reluctantly, but he was glad he was able to force himself do it when he was aching to touch more of her, not less. Then he swore under his breath.
Heat washed through him at the sound of her voice drifting through the darkness. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced. He mentally shook his head at himself in disgust. He’d been without a woman too long.
“What’s wrong? Is it going to be a problem to take me there? I don’t mind walking, it’s not far.”
“Sorry, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I need to get some things from my office to take home for the weekend. I have a lot of grading to do. Don’t worry about it, it’s not a problem. I can come back after dropping you off.”
“Well, now I’m being a pain in the ass. If you’re going to insist on giving me a ride, the least I can do is make a stop at your office before we leave.”
“Thanks.”
Not. But he didn’t want to make a bigger deal of it than it was. So they made their way across campus to his office.
When they reached the door, he shoved the key into the lock. He focused on that as he told her, “It’ll only take a minute. I won’t keep you waiting long.”
“What? Students aren’t allowed in your inner sanctum?”
/> He chuckled in an effort to cover his unease. He didn’t want the picture of her in his office tormenting him every time he had to work there. His jaw clenched as he turned the key in the lock.
“No, that’s not it.” He shrugged. “Never mind. Come in if you like. I’ll be quick.” He pushed the door open, flicked the light switch then held the door open for her. Damn she had a fine ass. Shown off to perfection in those worn jeans. He’d never had such a good view of it before.
It’s just a physical thing, Bancroft. You’ll get over it soon enough. You don’t even know the woman. It’s just because she looks like everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
He closed the door behind him out of habit as he put his keys in his pocket, then wished he hadn’t. He could trust himself more with the door open. Even if there was no one around this time of night to catch them. Opening it at this point, though, would make a big deal of something else which wasn’t a big deal. Really.
He walked over to his oak desk and dropped his bag on it. It wasn’t a very large desk. Not like some of the ones his colleagues had. But it was his father’s. It had personal value because it was gifted to him when the university gave him his own office.
“Have a seat. It won’t take me long. Before I went to the library this evening I forgot to get the assignments a few of my art history students turned in at the last minute.”
He gestured to a long leather couch sitting at the far end of the room. It took up most of the office, but he liked the option of having a place to sleep here when he worked late and didn’t feel like going home.
Absently he searched his cluttered desk for the folder, but his eyes kept straying to Danielle. She didn’t sit, but instead started looking at the art hanging on the walls. Thank God he didn’t have any paintings he’d done of her here. Not that he was stupid enough to do that. Actually, he didn’t have any of his own art here. Some in his class room as a teaching aid, but that was it. He wasn’t an egomaniac. He paused his search when he remembered the sketchbook in his bag which had a drawing of her in it, before logic took over. No reason in the world she’d get a glimpse of that. Which had him wondering again, what it was about her that inspired him so? From the minute he first spotted her in his class years ago, his fingers itched to capture her every nuance on canvas. Or paper. A sculpture even. Something about her was so intriguing he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head.
Where was that stupid file, anyway? He needed to get her home so he could think about something else.
“Is this pencil drawing really a Matisse? It looks like his stuff, but the frame is covering part of the signature and I can’t really tell.”
He froze and his stomach did a little flip. She was standing in front of it on her tiptoes, her nose scrunched up like it would help her see the signature better. It was damn cute. And she was the only one to have figured out it was a Matisse. Not that he had all that many people going through his office looking at the pictures on his walls.
He clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to stand behind her. She really was a tiny little thing. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. He reached around her, pulled the eight-by-ten picture off the wall, moved a few paces away and opened up the back of it. Taking the frame off the front, leaving it pressed between the glass and the backing, he tilted it towards her so she could see the entire drawing.
“Sacre bleu, it is,” she breathed. “Aren’t you afraid it’ll get stolen? You must’ve paid a fortune for it. Why isn’t it in a museum?”
His breathing quickened. Two of his most favorite things right here in front of him. He put the picture back in the frame and hung it on the wall. She was facing him now. There wasn’t even a foot of space between them. He put his hands in his back pockets to force them to behave and gestured with his head towards the couch. “Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you about it?” He shook his head at himself. “Never mind. It’s late, you need to get home.”
She sat on the couch and patted the seat next to her. “Trust me, I’m in no hurry to get home. Tell me the story. I want to hear it.”
He was done fighting. With her on the verge of graduating, what was the harm of spending a little time with her talking about something no one else had appreciated? Certainly he deserved it? It wasn’t like she was interested in him the way he was interested in her. It wouldn’t amount to anything more than a momentary meeting of the minds. Besides, she’d aroused his curiosity. How did she know it was a Matisse? She wasn’t an art student. Biology was her thing. Science and art were two very different pursuits.
Chapter Two
The Professor's Secret Page 2