The Professor (19 page)

The cold thing inside her stomach twisted. She kept insisting she didn’t want a relationship with him, so what difference did it make?

In a private corner of her mind, a very small voice admitted his opinion mattered.

A lot.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was gentle. She felt tears prick her eyes. Her jaw tightened and she swallowed, trying to blink the tears away. She fought to keep her voice level. “Nothing.”

“Talk to me. Let me in.”

She sat with her head bowed.
Stop being perfect. Stop being everything I can’t have.

Mick stood up. “Come on, beautiful. We have places to go, things to see.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She gaped at him, trying to catch up to another of his mercurial mood changes. “I’ll give you a hint,” he said. “Your surprise is outdoors.”

Mick clasped Meg’s hand as they strolled down the sidewalk. She’d slipped her fingers through his—a sign he interpreted as progress.

“I haven’t been to the zoo since I was six,” Meg said. “I didn’t know Greenville
had one.”

Mick glanced at her, briefly admired her shining curls and smiling lips. “It’s not as big as the one in Columbia. Let’s cut through here.” He pulled her toward the flagstone path leading into the Reedy River Park. “This is faster than going around.”

“It has a waterfall,” she said, delighted. “Right here in the middle of town.”

She wiggled her fingers free and stepped onto the platform overlooking the river. He followed at a slower pace, enjoying her obvious happiness. It had been a great day. Meg’s imitations of the animals had made him roll with laughter. She’d been fun and relaxed, even if she didn’t say much. It was strange to be the one doing most of the talking. Every other woman he’d dated could carry on both sides of any given conversation. Eventually, he ended up half-tuning them out. That was usually the point he’d realized that particular relationship wasn’t working.

Flagstones stepped down the hillside and ended in a meadow still lush with grass and fall wildflowers. Trees along the bank blazed with fall color, drawing them deeper into the park. The sun sparkled across the surface of the river. The water splashed musically as it tumbled around granite boulders. Meg climbed on the largest one and waved to him. “Come on.”

He shook his head.

“Chicken.”

“You’re going to fall in.”

“Not me.” She leapt from rock to rock, sure-footed.

He kept pace from the shore. The streamside trail was littered with leaves that crunched underfoot. “I should’ve worn my hiking boots instead of these loafers. I’d be on my butt if I tried that in these shoes.”

She smiled and jumped over a wide gap in the rocks. “I can’t see you being clumsy.”

He watched her scramble over another boulder. “I bet you were a tomboy when you were little.”

Meg laughed. “I tried. You’d never have known it by looking at me though.”

“Oh?”

She hopped to the ground, joining him. The path veered away from the bank as the river curved under a footbridge. They climbed the slope to the bridge. Sturdy stonework spanned the stream, creating a wide ledge that invited lingering. Meg sat on the wall, pulled up her feet and propped her chin on her knees. “I looked like a little priss when I was a kid. These curls.” She made a disparaging face. “Imagine a kid having to sit still for that.”

He wrapped a lock of hair around his finger. The silky soft strand clung and he longed to run his hands through the entire mass.

“Mother made my sister and me wear these dresses. Looking back, they were lovely, but at the time, I thought they were a colossal pain. Inevitably, I’d tear mine or get it dirty. Mother’d get so angry. She had it down to a science. First, there was the disappointed sigh.” She heaved dramatically. “Then, ‘Margaret, how could you? Just look at yourself. You’re disgusting, absolutely filthy.’”

Her gaze turned inward. “Me,” she added softly. “Not the dress.”

He moved in front of her. “You know you weren’t.” He dropped his hands onto her legs, wanting to hug and reassure her.

She looked up, startled. “Worthless? Yeah, now. Intellectually. That’s a pretty sophisticated concept for a five-year-old who just wants her mommy to love her.”

She said the words casually, but her eyes were bright.

“Who puts a dress on a five-year-old and tells them to go play? What did she expect?”

Meg’s smile quivered. “I was supposed to play
nicely
. Have tea parties or something.” She blinked and looked away. “The dresses
were
beautiful. I remember a few. They were hand-smocked with tons of soft, fine cloth.”

Her smile was easier now, blurred with memory. “They stood out around me when I twirled—like a bell. One had pencils embroidered like a marching band across the yoke. A line came from the point of the first one.” Her finger traced it in the air. “It spelled my name like a banner. I wore that dress the very first day of school.”

He put his reactions to her parents aside and concentrated on Meg.

“My teacher was wonderful. She had an old-fashioned bathtub—the kind with the claw feet—filled with pillows. If you finished your work, you could get a book, climb in, and escape into a story.”

Escape
.
When you’re six
. “What kind of stories?”

Meg’s face had changed, clouded over again. “Hmm? Oh, the
Boxcar Children
. Fairy tales.” The words emerged offhand, as if her thoughts were somewhere else.

She remained silent a long time. Finally, he asked, “What is it?”

She blinked, refocusing.

“Something made you sad. Want to tell me about it?”
C’mon, Meg. Get it out so you can get past it.

She stood and walked across the stone railing of the bridge. At the far end, she stood poised like a diver, looking down into the water. Or like someone peering over the edge of a scary cliff. He stood beside her, ready to grab her if she misstepped.

“Those damn dresses did me in.”

She’d been quiet so long, her voice startled him. It took a moment for the words to register. “Your teacher saw something.”

Meg’s tone emerged completely flat. “Bruises. Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

His hands tightened into fists. The signs were all there. He’d missed them. He forced his hands open and kept his voice level. “She reported it.”

“My father tried to get her fired. They moved me to another school. And my punishment changed. It didn’t leave bruises…”

Her words trailed off.
Not bruises you could see
. He reached up and rested his hands on her waist. She tensed, but turned under his gentle pressure. He tugged her forward and she jumped lightly from the railing, landing directly in front of him. Her gaze dropped to somewhere around his navel.

“Meg.” He lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. “You were a child. None if it— the clothes, the beatings, your teacher—none of it was your fault. What your parents did was wrong.”

She turned her head, still silent. Her gaze restlessly roamed the landscape beyond him.

“It’s part of who you are. It brought out good things in you too.”

Her body went completely still.

“You have an iron will. Maybe that’s what I picked up that first night—the strength
of your character. Your innate sense of responsibility, of right and wrong. I think you’ve been standing on your own two feet for a long time. And doing very well.”

He raised her chin. Her eyes lifted on their own. “Not everyone who says they love you is going to hurt you. Something tells me it’ll take time for you to trust me, but I think you’re worth sticking around for.”

He saw the little girl in her face, now. The one who wanted so desperately to be loved, but was so afraid of being hurt. He wanted to kiss her, but feared it would immediately explode into passion rather than offer reassurance.

A small smile curled her lips. “Lisa said everyone isn’t as persistent as she is.”

“I can be just as stubborn as you are. Of course, mine is tenacity.”

“Whereas I’m just stubborn.” Her tone was lighter and life was reanimating her body.

“You wasted a perfectly good week when I was so conveniently right there in town.”

“Clearly you wasted too much time before prying into my deep, dark secrets and discovering my magnificent character.”

How many of her secrets had she shared? “Oh?”

“Yep.”

To his surprise, she reached up and kissed him. It was more of a promise than an invitation. He would’ve responded if she hadn’t immediately leaned back. He kept his hands on her waist, waiting to see what she’d do next. With the smallest encouragement, he’d take her home with him. Given the opportunity, he’d show her exactly how much he cared.

“We have to leave now. I have to get back to Clinton,” she said.

That wasn’t what he expected, but he understood. It was as far as she could go today.

“Okay.”

He took her hand and headed back to the car. The simmering sexuality remained, but it had taken on a new depth. Meg had taken the first tentative step out of her emotional shell. With the right encouragement, the damaged child would grow up to match the rest of the confident woman.

The woman he suspected he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Mick accelerated onto Interstate 385, the wind slipstreaming over the car. He ran through the gears, reveling in the smooth power of the convertible. From the corner of his eye, he saw Meg twist her hair into a knot. “Do you want me to put the top up?”

“No. I love it. I should’ve known you’d have a cute sports car.”

“A BMW Z4 isn’t ‘cute’. It’s a finely tuned piece of precision machinery.”

Meg laughed. “It’s a chick magnet.”

“Is it working?”

“Yep, that’s it. I only went out with you for the car.”

“You didn’t even know I had a car until today.”

“I knew you’d have a hot car,” she said. “I should be a detective. I have these vast powers of deduction.”

He laughed.
Oh, God, she remembered that
. “Why is it I’m taking you home?”

“I have to work tonight.”

He threw her a startled look. “You teach a class on Saturday night?”

“I work two jobs.”

“Why? Grad school and a day job aren’t enough of a challenge?”

“I enjoy eating.” She closed her arms defensively. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No, of course not. I just didn’t know… Where do you work?”

“At a restaurant on the Strip.”

“Near where we went for coffee?” He briefly wondered if she already regretted telling him about her childhood.

She shook her head. The wind caught her hair and whipped it around her face. “Farther up Cumberland,” she said as she recaptured the strands.

Mick glanced at his watch. “What time are you supposed to be there?”

“Five. I have to help set up.”

“We’re going to cut it close. What me to drop you at your apartment or near your car?”

She loosened her arms, relaxing her posture. It looked deliberate to him. “My apartment, please. I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get to work?”

She gave him the “well, duh” look. “I walk.”

“I can wait while you change and drop you off.”

He watched her silent debate. “Meg, it’s not that big a deal. Put on whatever you wear to work. I’ll give you a ride, so you aren’t late.”

She flashed a brilliant smile, and he was captivated all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I can be terribly independent.”

He dropped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in her direction. “I can live with that.”

All too soon, he made the turn onto campus, drove past the street lined with Greek housing and pulled into the driveway beside Meg’s building. “My superior driving means you have eight minutes to change and comb the knots out of your hair.”

He turned off the ignition and leaned toward her, wanting to kiss her. She reached for the door handle, then stopped. She looked at him shyly. “I had a really good time today.”

“I did too.”

He raised his hand to her neck and caressed the smooth skin. Ever so gently, he pulled her forward, until her mouth met his. Just a goodbye kiss, he told himself.

Her lips were warm. A thousand nerve endings bypassed his brain and delivered their message straight to his libido.

Everything vanished except Meg: the softness of her skin, her taste, her scent. His fingers threaded into her hair. He caressed the curls, her neck.

She gave a quiet moan. He pulled her closer and felt the barrier of the central console. Damn. He was too old to make out in a car. Reluctantly lifting his lips from hers, his fingers remained tangled in her luxuriant hair. Her face, mere inches from his, was flushed. Her eyes and mouth were soft and welcoming. “Do you really have to work tonight?” he whispered.

She visibly retreated. He’d have bitten back the words if he could.

“Don’t…”

“Question retracted. You better hurry.”

As soon as the building’s door closed behind her, he mentally kicked himself.

Twice.

As a distraction, he slid his phone from his pocket, and checked the missed call list. Eighteen numbers, multiple calls from several of them. He didn’t want to think about how many voice mails awaited him. He hesitated, eyeing the front door, and decided he had time for one quick call. The dance clubs were their best lead, and Andersen had called repeatedly.

Andersen answered on the second ring. “About time you called me back.”

“I had some other stuff going on.”

“We covered over half the bars last night. Baldwin and her girlfriends hit a couple of them, but never hooked up. Nobody’s biting on either version of our asshole, though.”

“Keep looking. We don’t know where he’s meeting them, but he’s picking women up at these bars.”

“You sound awfully sure about that.”

“It’s my gut feel. We need the evidence to back it up.”

“God forbid your gut makes a mistake.”

“Come on, Andersen, you never use instinct?”

“Only with women.” And he was gone.

Meg returned in less than five minutes, wearing standard waitress garb—slim black slacks and a fitted white shirt. Her hair was drawn into a twist, an elegant style that emphasized her beautiful green eyes and slender neck. Mick’s eyes caught on her mouth. Her lips looked delicious, soft and full. With a mental shake, he turned over the ignition. “We can still get you there on time.”

He pulled out of the drive and headed toward Cumberland.

“Thanks. I appreciate the lift.”

“How are you getting home?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes I catch a ride. Otherwise I walk.”

He gave her a stunned look. “Meg, the restaurant must close around midnight. Between the Professor and your average, garden-variety degenerate, you have absolutely no business walking home that late by yourself.”

“This is Clinton, not New York. It’s not that big a deal. I’ve been doing it for years.” She held up a hand to stop his next comment. “I’m not an idiot. Someone will
give me a ride home.”

Mick slammed the car into third and slid through a yellow light, gritting his teeth. “I’m staying. I’ll be here when you finish.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted. “I want to.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

“Tough.”

“You’d be wasting your time.”

“I’ll decide about that.”

She was getting angry. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Good. Then you’ll make it easy for me.” He glanced at her. Her jaw muscles were bunched stubbornly. She stared straight ahead. “Look, I have to make about a million phone calls. I have to eat. I can do that just as easily here as I can in Greenville. Better, since I won’t be worrying about you the whole time.”

She didn’t move.

“Indulge me?”

She sighed, but didn’t move her head. “You’re going to do what you want to, anyway. Just don’t eat at Chez Pierre’s, okay? That would be too weird.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you when we’re done.”

Mick pulled to the curb in front of Chez Pierre’s. She opened the car door and paused. “You really don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She gave him a sad, sweet smile. “I’m glad you care, but don’t ever try to tell me what to do.”