It made him wonder where Casey lived. What her house looked like. And why she hadn’t invited him over to see it yet. Every once in a while it seemed like she was either hiding something, or on the brink of confessing something. Then the momentary pause or frozen expression passed, and he figured he’d imagined the whole thing. But women were nesters. House proud. Usually in a heck of a hurry to show off their personal surroundings. Zane wanted that glimpse into her unguarded, private life.
Not to mention that it was pretty difficult to grab alone time at Mayhew Manor. This was the height of tourist season, and the place was jam packed with hikers, wedding parties and group after group of winery tours. They usually managed to snatch all of five minutes alone before somebody walked by. Staff, guests, or one of the unending string of people who knew Casey and were curious about him. The more they gawked at him with the same casual surprise usually aimed at zoo animals, the more Zane was tempted to hang a placard around his neck. Homo Erectus, PhD.
The signature click of high heels drew his gaze to the side street just as Casey rounded the corner. At least, it was a woman who looked sort of like Casey. If Casey worked in Manhattan as a runway model. Her hair was in a poufy knot at the back of her head that looked sexily tousled, but Zane knew far better than to even think about touching it. It showed off her long neck down to the expanse of her creamy shoulders. Two thin straps held up a white dress with huge, water-colored pink flowers running across it. The skirt hit at the same spot her uniform shorts did. But her legs looked completely different and ten miles longer spearing out of the shimmery gold sandals. God, he wanted to start licking at her pink toenails and go all the way up those smooth, long legs and just not stop.
“You’re staring,” Casey said. She moved her hands restlessly along the length of pale pink draped over her arms. “Did I wear the wrong thing? I borrowed it from Ella, and she’s much, well, girlier than I am, so I wasn’t sure about all these flowers. Or if it was even okay to wear a sleeveless dress, which is why Piper loaned me her pashmina, although she laughed at me and said I was going to a party, not a church service, and—”
Zane lifted one finger to cut her off. “Stop.”
“Sorry. I babble when I’m nervous. And I’m really, really nervous. I don’t want to embarrass you. Or accidentally insult someone.”
“Casey, I stared because you look exquisite. You take my breath away.”
He reached out, hauled her off her feet into a tight hug and kissed her. Kissed those glossy, luscious pink lips until she moaned and opened them beneath his persistent pressure. They didn’t have time, and this sure as hell wasn’t the place. Still, Zane slid his tongue inside in an already familiar caress. Her hand clutched the shirt at the back of his neck. Ordinarily, he would’ve loved this display of her passion. But tonight, with a navy tie already noosed around him, Zane could barely breathe. He wrenched out of the lip-lock.
“Can’t breathe,” he gasped.
Casey clapped her hands to her mouth and giggled. Then giggled some more. “Well, you said I took your breath away.”
“Very funny.” Zane smoothed his tie. “As long as my near-strangulation was for a good cause. Are you still nervous?”
“Not really. But now I have to fix my lipstick before we go inside.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not a bit. Your kisses are worth dozens of reswipes of lipstick.” She snapped open a gold purse not much bigger than his smart phone and pulled out a silver tube. To his surprise, Casey swiped it across her lips without a mirror. Women were miraculous that way. Zane couldn’t even put sunscreen on his face without leaving white streaks behind.
“You really do look beautiful tonight. So much so that I want to keep you all to myself.” Zane indulged in one more kiss, just below her ear. And caught the scent of summery flowers on her neck that gave him a visual of lying with her in a blooming field. On a blanket, under a warm sun, a crisp Chardonnay chilling next to them... Yeah, they wouldn’t be staying at this party a moment longer than absolutely necessary. “If you’re ready, though, we should head inside.”
Throwing back her shoulders, Casey said, “Let’s get this over with. Oh, but first, you look great, too. Very handsome. Like you’re ready to attend the Kentucky Derby in that seersucker suit.”
“As though it should come with a jockey and a giant wreath of roses, right?” He shook his head. Looked down at his pants with disgust. This thing was more costume than outfit. “That’s the same thing I told my stylist.”
“You’re so famous you can’t get dressed yourself?”
“Not by a long shot. That’s just what the guy at the store who sold it to me called himself. I only had two hours before my plane left Phoenix, and realized I needed something to wear to this shindig. He swore the navy stripes as opposed to pale blue made it modern.”
“Don’t get worked up.” Casey gave his elbow a squeeze. “You might be out of your comfort zone, but you really do look terrific and should feel good about it.”
“Pot. Kettle.”
She snorted. “Whatever. The takeaway is that you look so darn good I want to get that tie off of you and get back to kissing.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Zane clasped her hand, drew her up the steps and through the big white door. The president, a swarthy man in his late fifties, rushed forward on the thickly swirled Oriental runner.
“If it isn’t the man of the hour. Dr. Buchanan, we’re just tickled pink you could join us tonight.” An earnest, two-handed shake ensued, as if he was already trying to close the deal on Zane staying on at Hobart for the whole academic year. The enthusiastic arm-pumping rippled the eyeball-searing orange and royal purple stripes on the president’s tie. Pride in the school was great, but nobody said you had to wear the official colors together.
They’d made it a whopping two steps into the foyer. Heads were swiveling his way from the groups in the living room, the hallway, and even a couple coming down the stairs froze to gawk. The only people moving were the catering staff in Hobart-logoed button-down shirts and black pants. Zane hoped the girl with the tray of bacon-wrapped shrimp moved in his direction.
“I’m honored that you’ve gone to all this trouble on my behalf.” A sweeping arc of his arm indicated the good-sized crowd, bar setup, the vases of flowers and hundreds of votives on every flat surface. It wasn’t just an aimless platitude. Zane really did appreciate that people gave up their free time to come meet a total stranger. Open bar notwithstanding.
“It’s nothing. Just a token of how happy we are that you’re here.” The handshake somehow morphed into a good-old-boy arm clap on his shoulders. If the guy made any more moves on him, Zane would have to announce that he didn’t put out on a first date. “I’m sure it doesn’t begin to live up to what you experienced in Hollywood.”
Why was that always the first place people went in conversations with him? He’d spent a grand total of six months cooling his heels out there while a team of writers glued a couple of scripts together from three of his books. It had been painful to watch. Worse yet, he’d gotten almost no work done. The whole movie-making business had been interesting. But Zane never needed to repeat it. And would far rather talk about the time he’d spent in New Guinea last year studying members of the cargo cult of John Frum. Or even—shock of shocks—not talk about work at all. Be a real person. Chat about sports and movies and the freaking weather. Fame was fleeting. Life moved on, pretty damn fast.
Couldn’t fault President Carrajo for being curious, though. Luckily, Zane had a built-in change of topic on his right side. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a date. Casey Hobbes, this is Manuel Carrajo, president of Hobart and William Smith Colleges.”
“The more the merrier.” Another two-handed shake so vigorous it almost made Casey’s shawl slip to the ground. “Are you a fellow educator, Miss Hobbes?”
/> “At times. In a manner of speaking.” Just as Zane started to worry she’d gotten nervous again, Casey licked her lips and continued. “I’m a forest ranger.”
“Down at Watkins Glen State Park?”
“Yes. And when people are interested, I try to pump them full of flora and fauna knowledge.”
“A novel and enviable approach. If our teachers waited for students to be interested before they spoke, we’d have to shut our doors!” He boomed out a hearty laugh. “Well, much as I’d like, I can’t monopolize you two all evening. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of my guests. You see, I’ve been singing your praises for weeks, Dr. Buchanan. Everyone’s fired up to meet you.”
Great. Because in the uber-competitive petri dish that was a college, giant heapings of compliments were such a great icebreaker. “Hope I live up to the hype.”
“Don’t worry. If you don’t captivate them, your lovely date is sure to do so.” With another laugh, Carrajo walked away, making it all of four steps before throwing his arms around the next oh-so-lucky couple.
Shooting a sideways glance at the aforementioned date, Zane asked, “Still scared?”
Casey winced. “Only that he’ll laugh again. Super friendly guy, your potential new boss, but he’s got to dial back the laugh track.”
“It’s got to be tough, doing the grab and gab thing all night. Would you like a drink?”
A fast nod. “Definitely.”
“Dr. Buchanan! I’ve been trying to track you down for a week.” The tall guy who’d driven him to Mayhew Manor that first day hustled across the room toward them.
“Guess my locator chip fell off when we hiked the falls last Wednesday,” Zane said under his breath to Casey.
“Well, we did spend a good twenty minutes pawing at each other in the honeysuckle bushes at the top of the trail,” she whispered back. “Probably dislodged when you were trying to get your hands up my shirt.”
“Which counts as two wins from that afternoon.” Plastering a smile on his face, he spread his arms wide, palms facing front. “Sorry we missed each other, Gordon. I haven’t been on campus much. But you’ve got me now.”
“That I do. And who is this lovely morsel with you?”
“Casey Hobbes.” She eyed his bushy red beard. Uh oh. Zane saw the minute her eyes sparked with recognition. And annoyance. “Are you the one who sent Zane off on the wild goose chase to find the submarine? The entirely imaginary submarine?”
“Gordon MacClain. And yes, I am.” Eyes bugging out, he stepped in closer to Zane. Then he tugged at his beard. “Oh, gosh. Did you really go looking for it?”
“Yep. Your story was too good not to follow up on the first chance I got.”
Another tug on his beard. “Did you find anything?” he asked in a hushed, reverent near-whisper.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Casey snapped. “All he found was how cold Seneca Lake is. You should be ashamed of yourself for spreading wild stories like that to newcomers. Zane almost froze out there hunting for nothing.”
“Just because it’s an unproven theory doesn’t make it a wild story. It simply means nobody’s found anything yet.”
“Oh, you guys are two unrealistically optimistic peas in a pod. I can tell you’re going to be best friends.” Frowning, she made a big show of wiping her hands off. “The first rescue was free. If I have to do another, I’ll start charging.”
Whenever she switched into her official ranger persona, it turned Zane on. Big time. “I’ll bet I could negotiate my way to a satisfactory payment plan.” Carefully lifting her soft knot of hair, he dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck. Her sigh was full of exasperation. But her fingers sought out his, and laced through them.
Gordon cleared his throat. “I’d, uh, be willing to get in on that payment plan, too.”
“Sorry.” Casey bit her lip, but still couldn’t completely contain her gurgle of laughter. “It’s on a case by case basis only. And Zane is a very special case. What do you do here at Hobart, Gordon?”
“My PhD is in Sociocultural Anthropology.” Gordon puffed out his chest a little. “I’m the assistant chair of the department. Right now I’m working full time at fending off those sharks in the Psychology Department, who want to steal your man here. Some rubbish about getting him to teach a class in experimental social psychology.”
“He can’t straddle both departments? For the good of the college?”
“I don’t like to share.”
Enough was enough. “Neither do I.” Zane didn’t like the gleam in the other man’s eye as he sparred with Casey. Or the way he was checking out the way her dress displayed her truly excellent breasts. Or even the way Casey talked about straddling anything with another man. “You know, we just walked in the door. How about we catch up with you after the two of us hit the bar and scrounge for some food?”
“Sure. Of course. The bacon-wrapped shrimp are great. Our dining service is famous for its smoked whitefish dip. Of course, I see Professor Merkle holding court over there by it, and—” Gordon let out a hearty, forced laugh as he jerked his chin to indicate a woman using a breadstick as a pointer, “—you don’t want to get sucked into that world of crazy. She fancies herself a dream interpreter. As if that’s a real science.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Zane tugged at Casey’s hand to get her to break away. MacClain was clearly the type who liked to hunker down for a long chat.
“So people aren’t just wooing you to stay here full time. They’re fighting to see which department gets to keep you?”
“That’s an overdramatization. Nobody’s pulling out their nunchucks to claim me.”
“Still, I’m impressed. It must feel good to be so wanted.”
“Yes and no. Obviously I’m flattered. But I don’t want the fawning attention. I don’t want any attention. I just want to teach my classes. Wallow in ideas and the fervent discussions that spring up from kids discovering what they’re truly passionate about. Write a little on the side. Let this whole phase of being famous die a natural death, sooner rather than later.”
“You want a quiet life.”
“Sure do.” That’s exactly what Zane had been fantasizing about for the past few months. It’s why he wanted to cut back his field research time to almost nothing and plant himself somewhere for the long haul. Connect with students, not flight attendants. Stop going on research trips that required him to carry a pistol for protection.
But a quiet life wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t all action-figure manly. And it had a good chance of scaring off his date. That wasn’t the sort of thing you admitted. It was the sort of thing you fell into quietly and hoped nobody noticed how comfortable it was—like broken-in slippers, or a recliner couch. The kind with a mini-fridge tucked under the armrest.
“Uh oh. I just turned into the most boring man in the world, didn’t I?”
Casey gave him a long, appraising look. Somewhere between judging a prize heifer at the state fair and the searching, intense stare a psychiatrist used. “Actually, Zane, you kind of turned into my perfect man. You couldn’t have said anything better.”
“The quiet life is underrated. I’ve heard Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe just wanted a quiet life together.”
“Look how they ended up. Divorced and dead. Either suicide or murdered by the Kennedy faction.” A tall guy with almost curly hair stood next to Casey. Right next to her. The kind of close that loudly broadcast the fact that he’d been much closer with way fewer clothes on at least once before with her.
Rolling her eyes, Casey said, “Pierce, you don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to knocking the quiet life. Dentists are pretty much excitement free.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. Hygienists are the dull ones. I’ve got people screaming in my chair all the time.” Then the guy gave Zane a once over. Zane was startin
g to think he should’ve printed out a card with his stats on the back to hand out at this party. Single, 6’1”, 175 lbs, black belt in karate, and, oh, yeah, can shoot the eraser off a pencil at fifty paces. Take that, too-close guy.
“Not the best advertising slogan I’ve ever heard for a dental practice,” Zane deadpanned.
“I wasn’t necessarily referring to what occurs during office hours. Right, Case?” And then he tweaked Casey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Cocky bastard. He’d done everything but pee on her to stake his territory.
Zane contemplated his options. Knocking the guy out, while tempting, probably wouldn’t go over too well with the various faculty members in the room. Backing off? Well, that wasn’t an option at all. The only person who could push him away was Casey herself. And she’d twisted her head out of the stranger’s grip with an annoyed thinning of her lips. That settled it. The best way to counter was to keep standing with his hand tightly laced through Casey’s. Simple. Non-confrontational. And it got the message—mine—across louder than if he’d borrowed a megaphone from the Hobart cheerleading squad.
Pointing to each in turn, Casey said, “Dr. Zane Buchanan, this is Dr. Pierce Rensselaer.” They both did the brisk shake, sharp head nod combo. The nod enabled them to get away with not saying “pleasure to meet you” or any other such obvious lie. “Pierce is my...ah...” She looked back and forth between them. Casey must’ve finally dialed in to the surging testosterone and caveman instincts that had taken over.
“Dentist?” Zane snapped out. But he knew that wouldn’t be the final answer, even if she had started out as his patient. Nobody tap-danced around an introduction for this long unless there was more to it.
“Friend.”
A slow, smug smile slunk across Pierce’s face. “Friend? Really? Rather like calling a diamond just a hunk of carbon. Or a 1920 Duesenberg just another car.”
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