Monday night she debated with herself about attending Grant’s class the next day or dropping it as she had threatened to do a week ago. The reasons for dropping it were obvious. Yet she found herself com

ing up with reasons for staying in the class.

First, she didn’t want to give Chancellor Martin the satisfaction of having cowed her. Not that he would ever know one way or another, but she couldn’t tolerate the thought of giving in so easily.

Secondly, she didn’t want Grant to think her a coward. He had called her that once and he wasn’t far from wrong, but she didn’t want him to think her cowardly. She had boasted that she had put her life in order, that she was independent, self-sufficient. If she knuckled under at the first sign of trouble and retreated without dignity, he would think her an utter fool, immature and not worthy of the attention he’d already given her. That stung. She couldn’t abide that.

On Tuesday, with eyes red from crying, and grim resolution engraved on her delicate features, she went into the classroom. Grant was standing, bending over his desk perusing his notes. The muscle spasm in his jaw was a dead giveaway that he knew she had come in, but he didn’t deign to look up.

That set the pattern for the next two weeks. He never looked at her as if truly seeing her. On several occasions, she was tempted to contribute to the heated discussions he encouraged in the class, but she refrained. She could maintain this vigil of silence as long as he.

One afternoon when she purposely arrived early in an attempt to force Grant to speak to her, she caught him in the company of Miss Zimmerman.

The younger girl was perched on the corner of his desk in a most seductive and not at all subtle way. He was laughing up at her as he sat tilting his chair back on two legs, his feet propped on the corner of the desk close to her hip. Shelley gnashed her teeth in an effort to quell the temptation to kick the legs of his chair out from under him and to slap Miss Zimmerman resoundingly on her overrouged cheek.

Thoroughly enraged with him and disgusted with herself for caring, she didn’t take one note during his lecture. The view out the window absorbed her total attention as she sat fuming at her desk. At the conclusion of the class, she yanked up her books and flounced past him on her way to the door.

“Mrs. Robins?”

Her feet came to an abrupt halt, causing the student immediately behind her to bump into her. She toyed with the idea of ignoring the summons, but the other students had heard Grant address her. Besides, she didn’t want to provide him with more fuel to ridicule her. Stiffening her spine and straightening her shoulders, she turned to meet his gray-green eyes.

“Yes?” she said as coldly as she could, though her blood had begun to heat the moment he spoke her name.

“I need a research assistant and grader. Would you be interested in the job … Mrs. Robins?”

CHAPTER 6

The stream of students leaving the classroom eddied around her as she stood stock-still and stared at him. What did he think she was, a puppet that danced when he pulled the right string? He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks and now he was asking her to be his assistant.

“I … I don’t think so, Mr. Chapman,” she said frostily.

Before she turned away, he hurriedly added, “At least let me detail the job for you, then if you’re not interested I’ll ask someone else.”

On the surface their conversation appeared quite ordinary. But the polite words hid suppressed sexual awareness and antagonism. Shelley wanted to lash out at him for ignoring her the last few weeks, and at the same time to fling herself into his arms, begging to be held.

She despised that weakness in herself but was mature and honest enough to admit that it was there. Refusing to betray her emotions, she kept her face impassive, objective. Her posture was militarily straight.

When the last student had left and the door had closed, Grant said calmly, “Sit down, Mrs. Robins.”

“I’m in a hurry, Mr. Chapman. I prefer to stand. I’m not interested in becoming your assistant.”

He shook his head and ran a hand around the back of his neck in irritation. She was reminded of his description of a professor and wanted to laugh. He looked like anything but that. His slacks were tailored to perfection, fitting his narrow hips like a glove. A dark plaid cotton shirt in muted shades of gray, green and rust stretched over the sleek muscles of his chest and shoulders. She tore her eyes away from the wedge of dark hair in the “V” of his collar and raised her gaze to his.

Meeting his eyes proved to be a reckless mistake. They were looking at her with far too soft an expression. The hunger she read there mirrored her own.

“I need someone to do research for me, Mrs… . damn … Shelley. It would involve extra reading on your part with reports back to me. Oral reports, not written. We have an exam next week and I need help in grading. I have five classes of forty or more students each.”

She studied the toe of her boot. It wasn’t nearly as interesting as his male form, but it was safer. When she was looking at him, sound judgment deserted her. She forced a hard finality into her voice. “I can’t help you.”

He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “You’re an excellent student. I know your class schedule is heavy this semester, but I doubt your grade average is less than a two-point-five now. You don’t work and have no family obligations. And I need you.”

Her eyes flew to his face. Those words were an echo of what she’d heard before. The deprivation on his face made her suspect a double entendre. But his choice of words had served his purpose. She felt the last fine threads of resistance snapping.

“I’m sure you could find someone else,” she said a trifle shakily.

“I’m sure I could, too. But I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

The stiff posture she had imposed on herself gradually relaxed until her shoulders took on their normal feminine softness. Avoiding his moss-colored eyes, she looked out the window at the gray, blustery day.

Tags: Sandra Brown Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net