Oh. My. God. She was actually in Professor Hunk’s inner sanctum. Rumor was, no woman ever entered there. Not that she was really in the loop as far as gossip was concerned. Her entire time at the University of Colorado was spent studying in order to pass her classes with nothing less than an A. She wasn’t part of a sorority. She avoided most of the social events and sporting activities which tended to draw students. But since the first day she walked into his Art History class, she automatically tuned in to any conversation which included his name. Like she had some sort of second sense when it came to him. She was annoyed with herself about it at first, but eventually just accepted it, hoping it would go away once she graduated and was out of his orbit. Then there was that humiliating semester after she dropped his class. Not going there.
She hated quitting art history after only a semester, but it was the practical thing to do. She planned to use her college degree to secure a lucrative job, something hard to come by with a degree in Fine Arts. And she wasn’t going to start out her career with her, or her parents, in debt to pay for it. So she worked her butt off to keep her scholarship, while her friends enjoyed college life and lived in the moment.
Now she was mere weeks away from her degree, no more scholarship on the line if she slacked off. Surely, for a little while, she could enjoy the company of the man who’d caught her interest the moment she laid eyes on him? Do something just because it felt good? And right now she was desperately in need of feeling good. And forgetting. God how she wanted to forget right now.
He reclined in the far corner of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His arm rested along the back of the couch, and his sage green eyes looked at her enigmatically, giving her no clue what he was thinking. Did he want to be here or was he merely being polite? Had he noticed how upset she was tonight and felt sorry for her? Her eyes strayed to his lips and she was overwhelmed by the desire to feel them on hers. Boy, was her head screwed up right now. She should not be thinking things like that about a teacher.
“So tell me Professor, how did you end up with a Matisse?”
“I found it at a second hand shop while I was in college. Stumbled on it actually.”
“Get. Out. Really? I’m going to be spending more time in second hand shops, I think. Did you have it appraised? Insured? How come you didn’t sell it?”
He laughed. “I’m an art professor and you’re asking me why I didn’t sell it? Yes, it’s been appraised and insured, and before you ask, I’m not telling you how much it’s worth.”
She turned towards him more fully and put her arm along the back of the couch, her fingers less than an inch from where his rested. The desire to touch his hand overwhelmed her for a moment and she couldn’t think straight.
“I’d have a heart attack if I ran across something like that. Were you shaking with excitement when you paid for it? How much did you pay for it?”
“Well, considering what it is, what I paid was a bargain, but at the time, it was every cent I had. I wasn’t in the store to buy. I was killing time while my buddy looked for some things to furnish his new apartment. The frame it’s in is a nice one and it’s vintage, so the store had an idea it was valuable, just not how valuable.” He looked at his hand as he rubbed it over his knee, then looked back at her. “I paid ten dollars. My food budget for the week. Every cent I had. Actually, more than I had, because I needed to take a couple pennies from the Give a Penny Take a Penny jar on the counter to cover the tax.”
“Did you really starve for a week? Couldn’t you get money for food from your parents or something?”
His expression turned decidedly neutral. “My parents weren’t very supportive of my career choice. They told me if I wanted to major in Fine Arts, I was on my own. I have literally lived the life of a starving artist. Now that I’m a university professor, they’ve since come around.”
“I wish I had that kind of guts. I love art. I took your class the first semester I was here, though I’m sure you don’t remember me, since it was years ago now.”
“Oh, I remember you, Danielle Gerome,” he said softly and cleared his throat. “That explains why you were able to recognize a Matisse. You have to love it to know something like that.”
She looked in his eyes and couldn’t look anywhere else. The fire in them took her breath away. Her heart stopped for a moment when she thought it might be for her. It started again when she realized it was more than likely because of the Matisse. “I do,” she managed to say through a tight throat. “I’m no artist though. Which made majoring in art even more foolhardy. So, biology it is. And I don’t regret it. I thoroughly enjoy the subject.”
“And what are your plans for the degree you’ll be holding in your hot little hands in less than a month?”
“I’m hoping to get something in toxicology. Either medical or forensic.”
“Any possibilities yet?”
Damn. Her eyes flooded with tears and she looked down at her lap, blinking them away and hoping none escaped to slide down her cheeks. How embarrassing to break down in front of Professor Hunk.
His finger brushed her cheek. Just for a moment, but it was more than enough to make her entire cheek tingle. Her stomach did a flip too. But it was for more than what his touch felt like. It was his concern for her. She’d sensed it at the library and felt it in his touch just now. The way he’d held her arm as they left the library. Like he wanted to take care of her. Make her pain go away.
“Danielle —”
She looked up at him and the concern she’d sensed was mirrored on his face. It brought more tears to her eyes. He hardly knew her, yet he cared about her feelings. “Please, call me Dani. It’s weird to hear someone call me Danielle when it’s not my mother scolding me.”
“Dani it is. But you’ll have to call me Shane, then. Professor Bancroft makes me feel old.” He shifted in his seat, like he regretted his words, then swiped a hand down his face. “You’ve been upset all evening. Would you like to talk about it?”
Most people, when it was obvious a person was upset, usually said such things because they felt it was the right thing to say. It wasn’t that way with the professor. He actually cared and wanted to help. It was enough to make her cry for a different reason. It was also a bit humiliating that the first real encounter she had with him was because she was crying in public.
“This is so embarrassing. Not only am I breaking down in Professor Hunk’s inner sanctum, you saw me crying in the library too.”
“My God, you did not just call me Professor Hunk.”
He said out loud what she was silently screaming at herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She was a mess.
“Merde!” she swore under her breath. Brazen it out, that’s all you need to do Dani. It’s not the end of the world. “I—that’s what all the girls on campus call you.”
“Ah, hell. I thought they stopped doing that years ago. I still haven’t grown out of it, it seems.”
“You have seen what the male faculty look like around here, haven’t you? You do look in the mirror from time to time, right? And the fact you’re an art professor screams romantic.”
He stood up, walked a few paces away and leaned against the wall, then crossed his arms, his brows pulling down over his eyes as he looked at her. “There are better things for the female students to do than analyze the physical attributes of the university staff, surely?”
“I’m guessing your demeanor right now is the reason you have no clue about your effect on the female population. You’re very imposing at the moment. If I was in one of your classes and you did that, I wouldn’t make a peep about what a hunk you are, much less try to catch your attention.”
“It doesn’t appear to be having much of an effect on you.” He pushed himself away from the wall and sat back down, though not quite as relaxed as before. “I think we’ve gotten a little off track here. Why are you so upset? And just so you know, I have no intention of dropping you at a college bar t
his time of night when something’s bothering you so much you spend the evening crying in the library and don’t realize you missed your bus.”
The room spun once before it righted itself and she covered her face with her hands. It can’t be true. It just can’t. Oh god… “I don’t think I can face going home right now,” she whispered. “Even though I have to.”
She heard him slide along the couch, felt his heat when he got near. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder was such a comfort the words came pouring out before she could consider the prudence of telling him anything. But she was desperate to tell someone. “My parents were killed in a car accident yesterday. I don’t want to go to my house and be alone knowing Maman and Papa are never coming home. I can’t.” She swallowed and fought tears for the hundredth time that night. “I don’t know where to go, or what to do. I’m all alone now.”
“My God. Dani…” He gathered her in his arms, held her close, pressing her head against his chest with his hand. “I am so sorry. You don’t have any friends you can stay with?”
She shook her head once. How embarrassing to admit that. Which was apparently her M.O. for the evening. “Not anyone I feel comfortable with or want to be around when I feel like this.”
She lost it then. She hadn’t seriously lost it since she received the news. She’d cried, of course, unable to keep the tears completely at bay, but she fought it because there were classes she needed to attend. She wasn’t about to let her tragedy destroy four years of hard work. But she hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and she didn’t have the strength to fight it any longer. As humiliating as it was to lose control of herself in the arms of a man she’d admired from afar for years, being in those arms felt so perfect. As though it was the only place she belonged. She felt safe. Protected. She could wallow in her misery without fear of being judged or pitied.
“Let it all out, Baby. You need to cry. For as long as it takes. You’re not alone now. I’m here.”
His voice rumbled in the ear pressed against his chest, and his words should’ve felt like a platitude, but they didn’t. She sensed with every cell of her being that he meant every one of them. The tension drained out of her and the tears eventually dried up. She listened to the comforting beat of his heart and it soothed her into the deep sleep her body was desperate for.
Chapter Three
The Professor's Secret Page 3