“ — was not going to work.”
He reddened slightly. “Never mind about that now. Except…” His eyes wandered to her clothes, resting perhaps a little too long on the curves of her lovely br**sts.
Julia lowered her gaze. “I could change.”
“That would be best. See that you dress appropriately.”
She looked up at him with a very hurt expression. “I may be poor, but I have a few nice things. None of them are immodest, if you’re worried I might embarrass you by looking cheap.”
The Professor reddened again as he kicked himself, inwardly. “I just meant…appropriate for a restaurant where I will have to wear a jacket and tie.” He hazarded a small smile as a means of apology.
Julia’s eyes traveled over his button down and sweater, perhaps linger-ing a little too long on the planes of his lovely pectorals. “I’ll agree on one condition.”
“You’re really not in a position to argue.”
“Then good-bye, Professor.”
“Wait.” He stuck his expensive Italian shoe in between the door and the doorjamb, wedging it open. And he didn’t even worry about the scuffs that would result. “Let’s hear it.”
She cocked her head to one side and regarded him mutely before she spoke. “Tell me why, after everything you’ve said to me, I should join you for dinner.”
He looked at her blankly. Then he blushed to the roots of his hair and began to stammer. “I — um…that is, I think…you could say that we…
or you…”
Julia lifted a single eyebrow and slowly began to close the door on his foot.
“Wait.” His hand shot out to hold the door and to provide some relief for his now injured right foot. “Because what Paul wrote was correct: Emerson is an ass. But at least now he knows it.”
In that instant she smiled up at him, and he found himself smiling back in spite of himself. She really was very pretty when she smiled. He would have to see to it that she smiled more often, purely for aesthetic reasons.
“I’ll wait for you here.” Not wishing to give her a chance to demur, he reached out and pulled her apartment door closed.
Inside her apartment, Julia closed her eyes and groaned.
Chapter 5
Professor Emerson paced the hallway for a few minutes, then leaned up against a wall and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He did not know how he got there or what had propelled him to behave in such a way, but he was about to be caught in a clusterfuck of epic proportions. He’d been unprofessional to Miss Mitchell in his office, perilously close to harassing her verbally. He’d picked her up in his car, without a chaperone, and entered her apartment. All of these behaviors were highly irregular.
If it had been Miss Peterson who he’d picked up, she probably would have leaned over and undone his zipper with her teeth while he was driving. The Professor shuddered at the thought. Now he was about to take Miss Mitchell to dinner, for steak, no less. If that didn’t violate the non-fraternization policy set up by the university, he didn’t know what would.
He took a long and cleansing breath. Miss Mitchell was a Calamity Jane, a vortex of vexation. She’d had a remarkable string of misadventures, starting with her inability to go to Harvard, and things seemed to fall apart in her wake — including his calm and collected disposition. Although he was sorry she was living in deplorable circumstances, he was not going to risk his career to help her. She would be well within her rights to go to the chairman of his department tomorrow and file a harassment complaint against him. He could not let that happen.
He crossed the hall in two long strides and raised his hand to knock on her door. He was going to offer some feeble excuse, which would be better than just disappearing. But he stopped as soon as he heard footsteps from inside.
Miss Mitchell opened her door and stood, eyes downcast, in a simple but elegant V-necked black dress that fell to her knees. The Professor’s eyes raked over her gentle curves and down to her surprisingly long and very shapely legs. And her shoes…she couldn’t have known this, but Professor Sylvain Reynard
Emerson had a thing for women in exquisite high-heeled shoes. He swallowed noisily as he took in her breathtaking and obviously designer black stilettos. The Professor wanted to touch them…
“Ahem.” Julia coughed slightly, and he reluctantly dragged his eyes up from her shoes to her face. She was staring at him with an amused expression.
She had pinned her hair up, but several of the curls had escaped and were falling delicately around her face. She wore a little makeup, her porcelain skin pale but luminous, with two delicious swathes of pink on her cheeks.
And her eyelashes seemed even darker and longer than he remembered.
Miss Julianne Mitchell was attractive.
She shrugged into a navy blue trench coat and quickly locked her apartment door. The Professor gestured to her to lead the way and followed her mutely through the hall. Once outside the front door, he opened his umbrella and stood somewhat awkwardly.
Julia looked up at him, puzzled.
“It would be easier for me to cover both of us if you took my arm.”
He offered her the crook of his left arm, which was holding the umbrella.
“If you don’t mind,” he added.
Julia took his arm and looked up at him with a soft expression.
They drove in silence down to the harbor front, a place that Julia had heard of but not yet explored. Before The Professor gave his keys to the restaurant’s valet, he asked Julia to hand him his tie from the glove compartment. She obliged, smiling to herself at the fact that he kept a boxed and immaculate silk tie in his car.