“Good. Glad we cleared that up then.”
A silence fell, the full weight of his intense, focused gaze falling on her, zeroing in on her in a way that forced the air from her lungs.
Say something, fool.
“See you next Thursday, Professor May,” he said abruptly.
Thursday. What was Thursday again? Day after Wednesday usually…
Thursday was the next legal history lecture. Shit, this guy was seriously messing with her head. “Yes, indeed,” she said coolly, irritated with herself. “Thursday.”
He took a step toward her and put out his hand. “I’m Lucien, by the way. Lucien North.”
She was holding her laptop but that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want to take that lean, brown, tattooed hand in her manicured white one. An instinct she hadn’t known was still alive inside her told her that to touch him would be A. Very. Bad. Idea. But how could she refuse? She had no reason to and it would be rude to ignore him. Keeping on her professor smile, Eleanor put the laptop down and took his hand. Shit, it was just a handshake. What could possibly happen with a handshake?
Heat stole up her arm. Flickering like a fire and just as hungry. Stealing through the cracks in the armor she wore. Armor she wore for very specific reasons. To avoid situations like this. “Pleased to meet you, Lucien,” she said. No, she wouldn’t pull away. Perhaps if she ignored it, the heat would vanish and she’d feel nothing.
The corner of his long mouth suddenly lifted in a hint of a smile, as if he’d seen her response somehow. As if he knew. And liked it. “Call me Luc.” His grip remained, holding her prisoner for a second longer, then it loosened and she was free.
Instinctively her fingers tried to curl into a fist, but she forced them straight, not wanting to give herself away any further. “Thank you, I will. And you can call me Professor May.”
He didn’t say anything to that, but that almost smile deepened a fraction, making something warm and liquid coil way down low in her abdomen.
“I’ll catch you Thursday, Professor.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the lecture theatre.
Goddamn.
Eleanor shook her head and went back to putting her laptop away.
And tried to put Lucien North from her mind.
Chapter Two
Luc sat in the student café with his back to the wall, which he preferred. Another habit the army had bred into him. Even though he knew no one was going to suddenly get out a knife or a gun and shoot him in the back here, he couldn’t quite break himself of the habit.
The only exceptions being Eleanor’s classes. For her he’d sit with his back to the rest of the class, so he could be down in the front and look at her.
He turned his head a little, watching the group on the other side of the café without seeming like he was staring. Another old habit.
Eleanor sat there with some of the other faculty members, talking about something that was clearly very interesting because she was leaning forward with her elbows on the table, making small, elegant movements with her hands as she spoke. Her face was alight with interest and intensity, as if she was trying to get a very important point across.
I look at people who aren’t paying attention…
A bullshit lie, offered with a cool, impersonal smile. And yet when she’d taken his hand, he’d seen the telltale stain of color on her cheekbones. She’d hidden it well, but he’d had a lot of practice watching for people’s reactions. Seeing below the surface of a person. It had been a skill he’d had to develop in order to survive Inza’s army and it was one that continued to be useful.
He had the feeling that he could look all day at Eleanor May and he still wouldn’t be able to see the woman she was underneath. A pain in the ass since that thought only made him want to find out even more.
Christ, he shouldn’t have approached her yesterday after the lecture. He should have walked out with all the others, and yet he hadn’t. What had he been thinking? He’d been obsessed by that split-second reaction he’d seen in her eyes. And now the feeling of her cool fingers in his had only wound that obsession tighter.
Beside him, Maddy was saying something. She had one hand on his thigh, a proprietary gesture he didn’t much like. They’d been sleeping together on and off—a casual thing, they’d both agreed. But that didn’t mean he was hers, like she wasn’t his.
He shifted his leg subtly and her hand fell away.
Across the room, Eleanor laughed her amazing laugh. Dirty and low. He could hear it even in the hum of the café, the sound in stark contrast to that cool, sophisticated image of hers. She wore another of her pencil skirts today, light charcoal. One knee was crossed over the other under the table, leaving the heel of one of her stilettos dangling off her toes.