by Joanne Rock
Cal followed her up a step. "Research?" He touched her arm lightly for all of a second. Madeline felt the stab of hunger straight down to her toes.
Clearing his throat, he folded his arms resolutely over his chest. "What are you working on?"
The question caught her by surprise, but not half as much as Cal's seeming reluctance to let her go. "I'm following your suggestion, actually, and going back to the drawing board on my dissertation proposal. I thought I'd gather some more source material before the library closes."
A group of students brushed past them on their way up the stairs, and Madeline found herself gently protected by Cal's hand curved around her elbow.
She backed up another step, and out of his reach, unwilling to subject herself to the temptation of his touch.
Cal didn't seem to notice. He grinned at her instead. "You're not going to find a man to parade around campus?"
His grin was infectious, and she could already feel an answering smile twitch at her lips.
"No."
His eyes narrowed. "And you're not going to paint the town in red silk and stilettos anymore?"
She shook her head. "Not too often, anyway."
He took two steps up the stairs, putting them at eye level. "You're actually going to hang on to your pristine reputation and follow my advice?"
Madeline could feel the heat of his nearness, smell the clean scent of his laundry detergent. In a flash of vivid memory, she thought of them entwined at his car wash, slick with water and soap, sliding against each other in a hungry search for completion.
Nodding, she gripped his shoulders and edged him backward to insert some space between them. "Yes, Cal, it was good advice, and maybe I should have listened to you all along. But I can't say I regret what happened between us." She shoved her hands into her pockets to keep her from doing something foolish like touching him again.
His tawny eyebrows lifted in unison. "You don't?"
She thought about herself in her skyscraper heels. She'd almost broken her neck a few times, of course. And she'd never made such a spectacle of herself as she had in her black leather skirt. But there could be no denying.
She'd loved every minute of her adventure.
"Not a chance."
He reached for her hand and pulled her down the stairs, past the reference section, to the back of the library.
Madeline walked double time to keep up. Steering her to a pair of chairs in the corner, he sat in one and tugged her down into the other. When they were safe from any nearby ears, he leaned close and whispered. "Then why are you running away?"
Her heart jumped in reaction to his proximity. She wanted nothing more than to lean into him, to toss her book bag on the floor and slide onto his lap. But she couldn't.
"You know why … bad timing, a guardianship hearing, my father in town … shall I go on?"
"In another week, all that disappears. What then?"
She hadn't really wanted to confront that particular issue. But she knew the answer. "Then you have Allison to focus on while I have a doctorate to pursue and a dissertation to write."
"No place for a mechanic in the life of a Ph.D. candidate?" The edge in his voice no doubt came from the rude way her father had treated him.
She shook her head. "That's not it and you know it."
"Then explain it to me." His hazel eyes probed hers with an intensity that unsettled her. "What's to stop us from exploring this thing between us once Allison's future is secure? What if we can figure out a way to protect her from any … repercussions … of our relationship?"
Madeline shook her head. "Allison's too smart to be kept in the dark for long, and you wouldn't want to shut her out like that, anyway." She knew how much Cal loved his sister, how much he wanted to protect her from an unstable home life. Madeline had the impression his marriage had been one hell of a rocky ride, even though he didn't like to talk about it. "Besides, the university doesn't approve of relationships between grad students and teachers." They both needed to remember that.
She'd been prepared for a quick fling with Cal—one that would capture attention and be over with it before it really began. But the administration could give them grief if they started seeing each other on a regular basis.
"What can they say, Maddy? You're closer to being faculty than I am. And our roots go deeper than U of L. We've known each other four years and two months, remember?"
She remembered, all right. She remembered so well that she'd committed the reasons she couldn't be with him to memory.
"Then there's the lack of time," she continued. "The doctoral program is all-consuming, especially with me teaching, too," she said. "And I don't want to just skate through to get a Ph.D. I want to do research that is publishable, and to make a significant contribution to the field. I can't do that and do justice to a relationship, too."
"So you're just willing to give up on us without even trying?"
"I did try, Cal! And I ended up hurting you because I have sociology on the brain and said something stupid."
He grinned. "I think you were just nervous because the earth moved."
She silently thanked him for the levity. She hated for there to be tension between them. "Maybe so. I hope that means I'm forgiven."
Cal waved an impatient hand through the air. "I realize it was selfish of me to get my nose out of joint about something so insignificant when you had just committed something precious to me."
He couldn't have touched her heart more if he had just handed her a Hallmark card. Little happy tears itched the backs of her eyes. She wouldn't dare shed one right now, not when she needed to convince Cal things wouldn't work between them.
He would demand so much more of her—deserve so much more of her—than she could afford to give during the next few years. She couldn't bear to hurt him the same way her father had unwittingly alienated her mother.
The hushed quiet of the library seemed suddenly intimate instead of comforting. The silence magnified the clicking of computer keys across the room.
She nodded, her motions feeling jerky and uncoordinated. "I considered that night an equal exchange. Your gift to me was pretty, um, good, too."
Cal's gaze dipped below her face to slide over her body for the briefest of instants.
Madeline ignored the urge to follow suit.
He sucked in a deep breath. "We'd better change the subject before—"
"By all means." The mere thought of that night wreaked havoc on her vital signs, and she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to accomplish her study mission here tonight. "So do you think we can go back to the sort of friendship we used to have?"
Cal blinked. "Go back?"
Isn't that what they'd been talking about? Hadn't Madeline made it clear she would only disappoint him if she tried to give him anything more? She nodded. "To being friends."
Cal wondered if his head reeled because he'd been inhaling too deeply in the quest for a whiff of Maddy's raspberry scent, or if it was because she'd truly just offered him the very thing he'd thought he wanted.
Just friendship.
"Platonic friends?" Her father would turn cartwheels at the idea. But it didn't sound like quite enough anymore.
She smiled that patient teacher smile that made him feel like the smartest kid in class. Too bad he knew otherwise.
Platonic friendship suddenly sounded like a prison sentence. As much as he had thought that would be better for her, now he didn't know if he could be satisfied with something so tame. "I don't know if we can ever really go back to the way we were, Maddy."
He was sorry he'd said it when her shoulders slumped. Even her book bag strap fell off one arm.
Damn.
He plowed forward, needing to explain himself, hoping she'd understand. "I just don't see how it would work when I'm fighting myself to not touch you right now."
She stood abruptly, almost knocking the library chair over in her wake. "Then we'd better go back to my initial plan for today,
Cal. We avoid each other." She didn't sound mad exactly, but Cal noticed her hands shook just a little.
A few heads turned in their direction.
Cal glanced around them and lowered his voice another notch. "Because you don't have time for me?"
Madeline lifted her pointed chin, tilting the precariously balanced knot of her hair to one side of her head. "No." She paused. "Maybe. But it sounds so awful when you say it like that. It's more that we both can't afford a relationship right now. And we definitely can't afford to make a scene for the next week, though we seem destined to create one."
Cal rose, but she'd already backed away.
"I'm just going to head upstairs now and do my work." She pointed over her shoulder, her voice wobbling with whatever emotions she fought to hide. "Why don't you go back to reading your book and being friends with other, less theatrical females?" She turned and hurried away, taking the stairs two at a time until she disappeared from sight.
What the hell was that all about?
Cal raked a hand through his hair and wondered how other men managed to understand women.
She was mad at him for wanting more? She had tested him to the limits of his endurance with her provocative outfits, her warm honey kisses and her entreaties to teach her something of the mating ritual, yet she had the nerve to rail at him for needing her?
Cal hadn't wanted to need her. He'd told her father just this afternoon that he thought he could help her in her career goals and stay away from her.
And he'd tried. When he'd seen her tonight, he hadn't wanted to call to her. In fact, his feet had walked over to her on their own volition.
But she'd stirred a longing in him that hadn't come close to being quenched.
Oh, no. Madeline Watson couldn't blithely return to the safety of their platonic friendship after offering him a glimpse of her uninhibited self. And, lucky for him, she had taught him exactly how to seduce the object of his desire.
How would the Lady Scholar feel when the tables were turned? When he was the one teasing her to a frenzy, tempting her with what she wanted more than her damn Ph.D.?
Would she be so quick to say she didn't have time for him then?
Cal intended to find out. Because as long as they weren't flaunting an affair in public, there wasn't anything wrong with him pursuing Madeline Watson.
No matter what she said about the administration's disapproval, Cal knew he was too small a fish for the university to worry about. He wasn't a faculty member, and Madeline wasn't his student. Even her father couldn't object as long as they were discreet and Maddy put enough time into her studies.
Cal wasn't about to wait another week to find out if she was serious about returning to a platonic relationship. He would begin his sensual onslaught as soon as Maddy's father left town.
Thanks to his long visit with Dr. Watson over the hood of the Chevy, Cal knew the professor flew out at nine in the morning. Which meant he'd be ringing Madeline's doorbell with brunch by eleven.
Smiling as he considered the erotic possibilities of pancake syrup, Cal knew he'd found the perfect middle ground with Maddy. They could be together as long as they kept things simple … and discreet.
* * *
After one last wave to her father's departing taxi, Madeline wandered back into the house and collapsed on the overstuffed sofa, sending a surge of throw pillows to the floor. She'd enjoyed seeing him, but she was exhausted from the emotional drain of the weekend. Between worrying about her dissertation, her father showing up unexpectedly, and Cal…
Well, she wouldn't think about Cal. But if she had been thinking about him, she'd surely be exhausted from wondering how to treat their strange new relationship.
What did he expect to happen now? He'd squashed her hope that they could go back to being friends. And she knew he didn't want a serious relationship in his life any more than she did. At least, she didn't think so.
She knew very little about his divorce, but she knew it had hurt him enough that he didn't want to tread down the aisle again anytime soon. And, in the four years that she'd known him, he'd never had a serious girlfriend.
So where did that leave her? He didn't want to be just friends, and they were both too gun-shy for a committed relationship. Did he plan to just walk away? Pretend their good rapport and scintillating sex had never happened?
She considered calling him to inform him how ridiculous that was, but she needed to get busy on her research work today. Hauling herself off the couch, she vowed she would stick to her ritual of making Sundays serious reading days.
Rose Marie had left a message on Friday to say she might have some good news pertaining to Madeline's dissertation review by today, but Madeline wasn't going to count on that. As much as she hoped Rose Marie would have something valuable to offer, Madeline knew she was ultimately responsible for her own work. And that meant burying herself in periodicals today.
As she pulled out a new stack of bound magazines from under the dining room table, Madeline's doorbell rang.
Why did she only get visitors when her house was a wreck? Walking to the door, she caught a glimpse of a white Chevy in her front driveway. Allison's car.
But the way her pulse pounded her flesh, she had a premonition—or was it wishful thinking?—that it wouldn't be Allison on her doorstep.
She peered through the peephole, but all she could see were grocery bags.
"Hey, gorgeous, it's me." The supermarket sacks muffled the voice, but that sexy low rumble could only belong to one man.
Madeline wished she weren't wearing an old T-shirt and pajama bottoms, but she refused to let her limited vanity come between her and curiosity. She opened the door wide and stood out of the way.
Cal swayed with his mountain of packages, then crossed the threshold to her dining room table, trailing the scent of fresh fruit and crisp morning air behind him.
Rubbing her arms to warm herself, she shivered—a reaction not entirely due to the chill breeze. She shut the door and followed him, all the while admonishing herself to stop being so ridiculously happy to see him. He didn't want anything to do with her anymore, did he?
Her belly growled in hungry approval of the citrus scents. "Mmm. Is that pineapple I smell?"
He grinned as he dropped the armload of food on the table. "Good morning to you, too."
The words reminded her of a simple intimacy she wouldn't be able to share with this man. She'd never wake up to see his face beside her on a pillow.
She cleared her throat to frame a response. "Good morning."
How had her greeting ended up sounding as sultry as a come-on line?
Flustered, she pointed to the bags on the table. "What's all this?"
"Breakfast in bed."
She experienced that "falling off the monkey bars" sensation again, a shinned breathlessness that only Cal Turner seemed to produce in her.
Once she could breathe again, she folded her arms across her chest. "Presumptuous of you, don't you think? I mean, yesterday you didn't think we could be so much as friends and today you think you can wheedle your way into my bed?"
He canted closer. "Who said anything about me being in your bed?" The gentle warmth of his voice belied his statement.
Madeline closed her eyes for a moment and saw Cal between her sheets, feeding her pineapple pieces with his teeth.
Had she been cold only a minute ago? Heat flooded her veins, suffused her flesh.
"At least," his voice drawled over her, "I wouldn't be in your bed without an explicit invitation. I'm just going to feed you."
Madeline's eyes fluttered open, and she realized he'd come closer, his body inches from hers.
She wanted to tip her head back and kiss him. She longed to press herself against his chest to see if he felt as heart-achingly good as she remembered.
Instead, she forced her gaze back down at the table. "That looks like way too much breakfast for one person."
A slow smile spread over his face. "Darling, that sounds
like an invitation if ever I've heard one."
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Madeline absorbed his words until they finally slid into place in her head.
Cal Turner wanted her.
Her mouth went dry, her jaw went slack, and her glasses started a slow slide down the bridge of her nose. She pushed them back into place, staving off an impulse to charge down the hall and tear through the closets for her sheath dress. She'd felt in control when dressed for seduction, when she was the one making the advances.
Without the armor of her temptress trappings, she felt more vulnerable to the deeper tug of attraction between them … the one that wasn't based just on physical attraction, but on soul-deep need.
Cal loomed next to her. His hands fell softly on her arms. "So what do you say, Maddy? Was that an invitation, or just my wishful thinking?"
The unspoken implication of spending the day burning up the sheets with him hung heavy in the air between them.
Could she ever let him go if she gave in to a day so intimate?
"I don't know, Cal. Maybe I'd better not—"
He stepped back from her immediately and held up his hand in mock surrender. "You'd rather have breakfast on the couch. Not a problem." He hustled over to the shopping bags and started hauling them into the kitchen. "You just make yourself at home, honey, and I'll treat you to the best omelet you've ever eaten."
Speechless at how fast the man could change direction, she watched him spread the makings for a feast on her counter.
No more than fifteen minutes later, the heady scent of ham and cheese wafted from the kitchen, while Elvis crooned from Cal's CD in her living room. Madeline sat with her feet propped on an ottoman, leafing through the copy of the Courier Journal Cal had brought along with him.
Her house had never seemed so homey and Madeline knew she was fast sinking into deep, deep trouble. If this kept up, she'd be falling head over heels for Cal, and then she'd never be satisfied with only his friendship. She had to put a stop to this.
Tossing the newspaper aside, she stood. "Cal?"
"No need to get up. I've got everything." He balanced two plates on his arms while carrying two glasses of orange juice. Utensils wrapped in napkins stuck out of his shirt pocket.
