Replacing the receiver, he dropped his feet and gave me a dazzling smile. “Do you have a treasure for me?”
“I believe so,” I answered and handed him the query, an absurd rush of jealousy flooding through me. Who was his beautiful flower? I shook my head, trying to chase off such unprofessional thoughts. It was gratifying to watch Jude place the paper on his desk blotter, smooth it flat, and begin to read the contents without delay. When he was done, he rubbed his sensuous lips with a fingertip and gazed at some point in the middle distance. He remained in this pose for several seconds and then touched the letter.
“It has promise,” he said. “The author makes you want to read more. That’s the real challenge of a query. If you don’t make the reader yearn for more, you’ve failed. Let’s hope that this guy’s first three chapters are as strong as this paragraph.” Grinning, he gestured for me to come closer to his desk. “Want to see one of my dirty little secrets.”
It was impossible not to respond to those dimples. I edged closer as he whipped his bottom drawer open. Peering inside, I saw that it was filled with an assortment of candy bars.
“Does your dentist know?” I asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
He scooted his chair toward me and cupped his hands as though he wanted to whisper the answer in my ear. I pivoted my head, inviting him to move even closer, and forgot to breathe.
When Jude didn’t speak, I turned my face back to him and found that my mouth was inches away from his. Without thinking, because if I had been thinking, I would have remembered that Jude might be Marlette’s killer, I parted my lips and closed my eyes, waiting for him to make his move.
And he did. Oh my, his kiss obliterated my ability to have a single rational thought. All I knew were his lips, brushing against mine as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly wing, and the warm wetness of his mouth when he kissed me again, harder and longer this time. Then, to my body’s delight, his fingers dug into the flesh at the nape of my neck and moved tantalizingly down my spine. I put my arm around his back, wanting nothing more than to rip off the buttons on his shirt and touch his naked skin.
Suddenly, his phone rang and we broke apart, grinning foolishly, our lips swollen from kissing. Jude’s cheeks were flushed, and he looked unbelievably sexy. As he reached for his phone, I smoothed my hair and let out a nervous little laugh that sounded more like a hiccup.
“Stay,” Jude murmured huskily, his eyes shining with desire.
I swallowed. “I can’t. There’s this lecture tonight…” I edged away from him, trying not to be swayed by the sweep of his dark eyelashes or the feel of his mouth on mine. What was I doing? He was a potential womanizer, murder suspect, and my coworker!
“At least take a Butterfinger then,” he said with a wink. I grabbed one and hurried out of his office, marveling at how normal his voice sounded when he answered his phone. His calmness unsettled me, and I knew that I’d just made a mistake. No matter how good kissing Jude had felt, I would not be repeating the experience.
Back in my office, I shut down my computer and collected the book I’d bought at the Secret Garden. I pulled a compact from my purse and examined my face.
“You’ve got to stay focused, Lila,” I scolded my reflection. “You have a murderer to catch.”
ENTERING THE LECTURE hall filled me with an excitement for which I was unprepared. The atmosphere created by the chattering groups of students carrying books and laptops sent me right back to my own college days. I remembered those four years fondly, cherishing the sense of fun, freedom, and endless possibility. I breathed in deeply, trying to soak in the feeling. Would Trey have this experience, too? For his sake, I certainly hoped so.
My mother nudged my arm. “Let’s take those two seats at the end of the row. That way we can scoot out early if this is about as thrillin’ as watchin’ grass grow.”
“We won’t be leaving early, Mama,” I warned her as we sat down. “I need to talk to Professor Walters after the lecture.” I pulled up the writing tablet from the side of the chair and placed my bag on it, suddenly remembering how awkward it was to take notes on the right-side tablet. When I was in college, we left-handed students would covet the limited number of left-side desks in the lecture halls.
“I wonder what he’s gonna say about Shakespeare’s Soothsayers,” my mother mused. “While ole Willie Boy gave us our due respect, people in these fancy schools tend to look down their noses at our kind.”