Living in Shadow (Living In…)

by Jackie Ashenden

God, she should never have thrown that honesty back in his face. Shouldn’t have let her anger and—yes, go on, admit it—her fear get the better of her. She was normally so much better at handling those situations, and she couldn’t think why she’d lost it with Luc.

  Keep telling yourself you don’t know.

  Eleanor ignored the snide voice as she walked down the corridor to her office. She wasn’t going to think about the feel of his hand around her ankle. Or the way he’d taken her chin in his hand. Those feelings weren’t ones she wanted anymore and she needed to stop thinking about them.

  And then, ahead of her, near her office door, she saw Luc standing with his head slightly bent, deep in conversation with James. Instantly her heartbeat accelerated, her palms sweaty.

  Fuck, this teenage-girl bullshit was getting old.

  Eleanor tightened her grip on her coffee, concentrating on the burn of the hot liquid through the cup and not the tight ache that sat down low in her gut.

  She could apologize to him now, couldn’t she? And hell, perhaps if she did, she’d stop all this thinking-about-him nonsense. Kahu would be so proud.

  You want to see him…

  Telling her head to shut the hell up, Eleanor slowed down as she approached the two men, her gaze riveted to the starkly beautiful lines of Luc’s face.

  “Eleanor,” James greeted her, smiling. “Morning. Are we in the way?”

  “Since my door is right there, yes.” She shifted her gaze to Luc’s, her pulse beating unnaturally fast. “Good morning, Mr. North.”

  The smile he gave her was completely impersonal. “Same to you, Professor May.”

  No heat in his gaze now, none of that intense focus. His expression was neutral, as if she were a stranger he’d only just met and not a woman he’d wanted.

  He stood there, tall and lean in a plain, dark-red T-shirt and jeans, one hand casually gripping the strap of his backpack. And she found her gaze drawn to that hand. To his long fingers and the strange black tattoos covering the backs of them. The thick fabric cuff that circled his wrist. That was the hand that had taken her chin, forcing her gaze to his.

  God, he’d been so angry and she’d…melted.

  There was a silence and she realized it was because of her. Because she was staring. At Lucien. Fuck.

  She took a silent breath and twisted her mouth into what she hoped was a cool smile. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’re still in my way.”

  “And I have a lecture to give in five minutes.” James grinned at Luc. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” His attention switched to her. “Lunch?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great.” He glanced at his watch before striding off down the corridor toward the lecture theatres.

  Luc adjusted his grip on his backpack, shifting on his feet, ready to leave too.

  Now. She needed to speak now. “Can I have a word, Mr. North?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He didn’t look at her, glancing off down the hallway. “Besides, I have a tutorial in ten minutes.”

  “It won’t take long. I just need to…tell you something.” She didn’t want to do it out here, where anyone might hear.

  Finally his gaze met hers, his expression unreadable. “I told you I’d back off. I meant it.”

  “Yes. I understand that but—”

  “But what?”

  Shit, he wasn’t going to make this easy for her, was he? “Can we do this in my office, please? I don’t want to apologize in the hall.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Apologize?”

  Down one end of the corridor a couple of staff members were chatting as they walked, followed by a small group of students.

  Eleanor dug her office key out of her bag and moved to the door before she could second-guess herself. “Come in here. It’s quieter.” And she pushed the door open for him.

  Again a brief pause and that level, assessing gaze watching her. Then he moved past her into the office without another word.

  A certain amount of relief filtered through her, along with a healthy dose of some other emotion she didn’t want to acknowledge. Something that felt horribly like excitement.

  Ignoring that, she came into the office after him, deliberately leaving the door open, rounding her desk and dumping her briefcase and handbag beside it. Then she placed her latte on the desktop.

  Luc stared at her, the force of his gaze pinning her to the spot. “You said you wanted to apologize. For what?”

  Voices drifted down the hallway, getting louder as the two staff members she’d seen earlier passed by the open doorway. That and the weight of his stare made her feel stupidly self-conscious.

  With an effort, she forced herself to calm the hell down, letting her fingertips rest on the cool wood of the desk. “For the way I spoke to you last week. When you…ah…told me how you felt and I said—”

  “That I should try English instead of law? That I was telling you what I thought you wanted to hear?” His voice was cold.

  He was still angry, then. Well, fair enough. “Yes,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

  He remained silent a couple of seconds, staring fiercely at her. “Damn straight you shouldn’t have said them.”

  She swallowed. “I didn’t handle it very well, I acknowledge that. I…don’t get very many students coming to me with that level of honesty.”

  “What? You’ve never had a man tell you he wants to fuck you?”

  The words hit hard, like blows. The kind that used to give her pleasure before Piers changed everything. And the thin thread of fear, the fear she’d convinced herself for years wasn’t real until Luc appeared, pulled tight.

  “Don’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “Don’t keep saying those things to me.”

  Anger was sharp and hot in his eyes. “Why not? You like it, I know you do.”

  “You think I won’t go to the dean?”

  “You think you don’t want me to come over there, bend you over that desk, pull up your skirt and fuck you so hard the whole law school will hear you scream when you come?”

  A wave of heat gripped her, so strong she couldn’t move. She could feel it, the need rising up inside her. The craving for those strong fingers on her, holding her down, ripping her clothes away, pushing inside her, taking her hard, so she couldn’t think of fear or betrayal. Or anguish. So there was only pleasure.

  It’s been so long…

  In the hallway there were more voices, the group of students passing by her office.

  She had no idea what she’d do if they came in because the sexual tension in the room was so thick it was almost visible.

  But they didn’t come in, moving past the doorway, talking.

  “Did you think this week was easy?” Luc went on, that fierce thread of anger running through his voice. “Did you think I dismissed you like you were nothing?”

  She was shaking and she couldn’t deny the fear now. It glowed inside her like a hot coal. “Of course I did,” she said hoarsely, fighting the emotion, trying to hold it together. “You looked through me as if I barely existed.”

  “I told you I would. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Intensity burned in him, his anger filling her small office like the heat from a roaring fire. “Tell me, what did I do, Eleanor? What line did I cross?”

  And she saw it then, behind the anger in his eyes. Pain. She had hurt him. Jesus.

  She pressed her fingertips hard against her desktop, bracing herself on it. “What line?” she repeated. “Do I really need to remind you that you’re a student and—”

  “I don’t mean that line. I mean, when I touched you. Did I hurt you? What?” His expression hardened. “Or is this some kind of test? You push me into the truth purely for the pleasure of telling me to fuck off and seeing if I’m as good as my word.”

  “No of course not,” she said sharply, unable to stop herself. Because she couldn’t let him believe that. She didn’t manipulate people. It was too mu
ch like the games Piers had played with her. Such as telling her about hard limits and asking her what hers were, only to break every one of them.

  “Then why?” He took a step forward, closer toward the desk. “Why did you tell me no?”

  He was so tall and broad, filling the room with his presence, with his anger and with that strange kind of pain she didn’t understand. And some lost part of her wanted to go to him and kneel at his feet. Calm whatever it was that was hurting him.

  “Why?” Her voice sounded strange. “Because I…I want you. And I can’t, Lucien. I just can’t.”

  He looked at her, standing straight and poised behind her desk. Today she wore a tailored silk blouse in a soft blue, her light-gray skirt following her figure exactly, right down to the kick pleat near her calf. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Simple, elegant. Beautiful.

  And he knew he should feel satisfied that finally she’d given him the truth. But he didn’t. He was too fucking angry.

  She would never know how difficult this week had been. How hard it was to pretend that nothing had happened between them. That he hadn’t felt the soft, smooth skin of her jaw beneath his fingertips. That he hadn’t seen her become motionless as he’d gripped her chin, seen the flare of desire in her eyes, bright and unmistakable. He’d been afraid he’d gone too far and yet he’d been so fucking angry at her assumptions he hadn’t been able to help himself.

  He’d always told himself he wouldn’t cross that line again and hurt someone, impose his will on them, yet the part of him that hadn’t left the army behind, that was used to being in charge, had taken over.

  And so it hadn’t come as any great surprise she’d told him no. He’d fucked it up. Lost his head and forgotten what he should never forget—keep yourself detached.

  That didn’t mean the anger went away, though. He’d done a lot of running that week and punching the bag he’d strung up in his apartment. And he’d thought he had it handled.

  Until she’d called him in here to fucking apologize. And not only that.

  To finally give him the truth he’d been wanting a whole week now.

  More anger flared, and along with it, frustration. “You’re telling me this now?” he demanded. “After denying it?”

  She was motionless, fingertips resting on the edge of the desk, her color high. “I shouldn’t have said it at all.”

  “So why did you?”

  “Because you were honest with me and I feel…bad about what I said to you. I was only…trying to protect myself.”

  Of course she was. He’d seen that the moment he’d told her what he wanted from her and recognized the fear in her eyes. A fear he didn’t want. A fear that shouldn’t be in the eyes of such a strong, passionate woman.

  Someone had put fear there. Which meant someone needed to take it away.

  Him.

  “Why?” he demanded, trying to detach himself from his anger and frustration. “What are you protecting yourself from? Is wanting me so fucking bad?”

  Her jaw went tight. “Of course it’s bad. It’s wrong on every level. Jesus, even having this conversation puts my job at risk, not to mention your degree.”

  Shit no. She wasn’t going to bring it back to that again. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Professor. It’s not about the job. Or at least it’s more than that. You’re afraid of me and I want to know why.”

  She straightened, folding her arms. “We’ve already had this conversation, Lucien.”

  “Then give me a straight answer.”

  Anger flashed in her gaze. “Why the hell should I? I’ve already given a piece of myself to you. Why should I give you anything more?”

  And just like that, his frustration overflowed. “You really want to know? How about because of this.” He dropped his backpack on the floor with a thump, kicked the door of her office shut. Then he came around the desk, intent, yet giving her a chance to move away if she wanted. A chance to say something. A chance to stop him.

  She didn’t do any of those things, standing completely still, her eyes widening as he came closer. Reached for her. Curled his fingers around the back of her head, silky blonde hair against his skin. Her pupils dilated, gray deepening into charcoal. She was wearing a light-pink gloss and he’d never seen anything so delicious in all his life.

  He didn’t hesitate, bending and covering that delectable mouth with his own.

  The kiss was a hammer blow, exploding through every single one of his senses. She tasted of coffee, the faint mint of toothpaste, and something hot and deeply sensual, like sun shining on bare skin. His fingers twisted in her hair as he deepened the kiss, wanting more. Chasing that heat, only to find something far more intense—her response. She opened her mouth beneath his and desire, explosive and all-consuming, roared through his veins like a match to dry tinder.

  He cradled her head in his hands, tilting it back, angling her so he could kiss her harder, taste deeper. Stroking his tongue over hers, exploring further. Her hands came to rest against his chest, palms pressing against him, but there was no force pushing him away, only her mouth as hungry as his. Only that small-boned, elegant body of hers millimeters away, the faint, sensual scent of her driving him crazy.

  The taste of her was everything he’d been fantasizing about. Everything he’d been dreaming about. Dimly, in some forgotten recess of his brain, he knew he was trying to prove something, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

  She made him forget every single fucking thing.

  He put his hands on her hips, pushing her against the desk.

  For the first time in years he felt warm and he wanted more, wanted her heat all over his skin. Wanted to draw her around him like a blanket and bury himself inside. Let pleasure cancel out the numbness that gripped the heart of him, melt the ice that surrounded his soul.

  Her fingers stiffened on his chest, a subtle pressure. “No,” she gasped against his mouth. “Stop, Lucien. Stop.”

  Luc went still, dizzy with need, lust surging through his veins. He hadn’t felt this out of control, this hungry before. Dangerous, so dangerous. There was a reason he had to detach himself, why he had to stay numb. He needed it.

  Eleanor’s hands pressed harder, the pressure not so subtle now, her voice thick with fear. “Stop!”

  Fuck. He sucked in a breath, grappling with his self-control. Then he pushed himself away from her.

  Eleanor straightened, her face flushed, eyes dark. Her mouth looked swollen, full and red from the kiss. She looked away, hiding her expression. With a precise motion she put her hands on the edge of the desk, appearing casual, but he could see the slight tremor in her fingers. She was steadying herself.

  Jesus Christ. What the hell had he done? He’d heard the fear in her voice. He knew he’d frightened her. And yet she’d responded too, her mouth opening under his. Kissing him back.

  There were so many fucking contradictions to her. She was like a puzzle that kept getting more and more complicated the further into solving it you got. And he wanted to solve it. He wanted to solve her.

  “I’m not sorry,” he said roughly, before she could say a word.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy it.” Her throat moved. “Can you stand on the other side of the desk, please?”

  He didn’t move. “One night, Eleanor.” It was all he could think of to offer. The only thing she might want.

  She kept her gaze down on her desktop, unspeaking.

  “One night. You and me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Lucien, please. Stand on the other side of the desk. I can’t…think with you standing there.”

  He didn’t know what instinct it was that made him move. Perhaps it was the instinct of the soldier, the commander. The one that told him what his men needed in order to reassure them. He’d tried to suppress that urge as much as he could since he’d escaped the army, because having the power of life or death over people changed a man, and not for the g
ood.

  But he didn’t suppress it now. Something in her voice was desperate and he wanted to give her that reassurance, so he went with it, raising his hand and gripping the back of her neck. Not hard, but so she knew he was there.

  She went utterly still, like a cat gripped by the scruff of its neck, all the tension in her shoulders bleeding out. Almost as if she was relaxing into his hold.

  He leaned forward, so his mouth was near the perfect shell of her ear. “Perhaps not thinking is what you need, Professor.”

  A shiver went through her, but she answered without hesitation, her voice a mere whisper of sound. “Yes.” And there was no trace of fear in the word at all.

  Her skin was silky beneath his fingers, wisps of golden hair brushing against his hand. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this time if he pushed her down, with his hand on the back of her neck, she’d let him. That she wouldn’t protest if he wanted to fuck her right here on her desk, the way he’d told her he would.

  But he wasn’t going to. Because now he had a new mission.

  Someone, somewhere had betrayed her trust. And he was going to give it back to her.

  “There’s a bar downtown, the Reading Room,” he said quietly. “I’ll be there tonight at eight. We’ll talk. And afterwards you can go home by yourself if that’s your choice. But know this right now: I want a night. And I’m not going to make it easy for you to walk away.”

  He removed his hand, letting his fingers brush over her skin a little.

  She didn’t move as he stepped away, standing there bracing herself on the desk, her head bent. Neither did she speak.

  But that was okay. He didn’t need a response.

  She’d be there or she wouldn’t. The choice was up to her, always.

  Chapter Six

  Eleanor stared at the door to the bar. She’d been standing on the pavement outside for at least five minutes already, palms sweaty, heartbeat out of control, unable to make herself go in and yet unable to walk away.

  She didn’t even know why she was here, considering she’d spent the whole day telling herself she wouldn’t be.

  You know why you’re here.