“I know.”
I glanced at him, arrested by the warmth of his gaze, my blush deepening. A streamer of pleasure mixed with trepidation wound through me.
He nodded toward the menu. “Are you hungry?”
“Very. The grapes I ate at the reception weren’t exactly filling.”
We both ordered spice-crusted salmon with wild rice, and the waiter sent over a sommelier to discuss the wine choices. Dean seemed to know what he was talking about, and they eventually decided that some certain vintage of pinot noir would go well with our meals.
“Where are you from?” I asked when our food arrived.
“Originally California. San Jose area. My parents and sister still live out there.”
“You have one sister?”
“And a brother.” He speared a slice of fish with his fork, his mouth tightening. “I don’t know where he is.” He shook his head as if to dismiss the thought. “You?”
“No brothers or sisters.”
“Where did you grow up?”
I hated that question. I reached for my wineglass in an attempt to stall my answer. “Oh, all over,” I finally said. “We traveled a lot.”
“Was your dad in the military?”
“No. My parents split up when I was seven.” I concentrated on forking up a portion of rice, not wanting to know if he was looking at me with pity.
“And what brought you to Madison?” he asked, almost as if he sensed I didn’t want to go down the path of my childhood.
“I’d been wanting to attend the university,” I explained, “but couldn’t afford the full tuition. My aunt lives up in Pepin County, so I moved to a nearby town and went to a community college while saving my money. Then I got a part-scholarship so I could go to the UW. If everything goes as planned, I should graduate in two years.”
He looked at me, something indefinable passing across his expression. “That’s very admirable.”
I smiled wryly. “It’s why I’m an old undergrad. I didn’t enroll in community college until I was twenty-one, then I took classes part-time for a few years because I had to work.”
“You’re not old.”
“You probably had a master’s degree by the time you were twenty-four.” I reached for my wine again. “Took me a while to get here.”
“But you did.”
“I did.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, casting occasional glances at each other, the air sparking with heat whenever our eyes met. I liked the way he ate, his movements sharp and precise. I watched the muscles of his throat as he swallowed, the way his hand curled around his fork. The sight of his mouth closing around the rim of his glass sent a rush of arousal through me.
I’d never felt this way before. About anyone.
“So what exactly is it you teach, Professor West?” I asked.
“Mostly medieval archeology and architecture, though that ties into other things. Town planning, political structures, religion. I’m going to France over winter break to do some work on the architecture of Sainte-Chapelle.”
I should have been intimidated by the illustriousness of his work, but he was so matter-of-fact about it that any potential breach between us—a renowned professor and a girl struggling to get a bachelor’s degree—faded into insignificance. And I loved listening to him talk, his smooth baritone voice thudding right up against the walls of my heart.
After dinner, we had coffee and shared a sinfully rich chocolate torte. He took a couple of bites, then sat back and watched me. Warm tension tightened my belly. I swiped a dollop of chocolate from my lower lip.
“You, ah… you look at me a lot,” I remarked.
“You’re very pretty.”
I didn’t know about that, but the compliment poured through me like honey. “I like the way you look too.”
That was an understatement. One glance at him and I went all hot and fluttery inside.
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. Curiosity and heat simmered in his expression.
“What is it about you, Olivia?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you so sweet and determined and guarded all at once?”
“I didn’t know I was all those things.”
“You are. Why?”
I shrugged and sank my fork into the torte again. If I was eating, I couldn’t talk much.
I ate another bite and spoke around the mouthful. “This is really good.”
Dean’s mouth twitched with a smile, but his eyes were still curious as he sat back again. He continued watching me as I polished off the torte and scraped the plate clean.
By the time he paid the bill and retrieved our coats, I’d realized the danger of Professor Dean West. If I let him, he would slide right past all my defenses. No one had ever done that before.
We went outside into the cold. He didn’t touch me. This time, though, I wanted him to. I nudged his elbow. He looked at me, then extended his arm and waited. I moved closer, falling into step beside him as we walked back to State Street.