Liv nods and goes into the bedroom. I wait for her to finish getting ready before going in after her.
She looks pretty and autumn-like in a russet wool skirt and blue sweater with little pearl buttons marching up the front. As I watch her brush her hair, I have a sudden image of unfastening those dainty buttons one by one to expose the creamy swells of her breasts. I want her to look at me with heat brewing in those brown eyes. I want to taste her.
“I’ll see you tonight, then.” Liv drops the brush back onto the dresser and peers at herself in the mirror.
My heart is beating too fast. Tonight sounds like an eternity.
“You have time for coffee later?” I ask.
“Sure. My shift at the Historical Museum ends at twelve-thirty, but I have to be at the bookstore by two.”
“I’ll meet you downtown, then.”
As she passes me in the doorway, I grab her around the waist and pull her against me. I lower my head to kiss her hard. A gasp stops in her throat. My blood heats. I increase the pressure of my mouth until she opens for me. Her body arches, her hand spreading over my chest.
You’re mine, Liv. Remember that.
Before jealousy can burn me again, I ease away from her and rub my thumb over her lips. “I’ll call you around one.”
“Okay. Love you.” She slides her hand against my chest again before she leaves. A few seconds later, the front door closes.
I go take a cold shower and change into a suit and tie, then head to the university. The town’s awake, people easing into their days. Students traipse across the frost layering the quad, huddled into coats and hats, grasping paper cups of coffee.
I stop at the main office of the history department. Exchange a greeting with Grace, the administrative assistant, and a few comments about the weather. After collecting the papers and mail from my box, I head to my office.
Halfway down the hall, I see Maggie Hamilton coming toward me. Tension and anger fill my veins. We both stop.
“Professor West.” She gives me an uncertain smile. “I was just coming to see if you were in your office.”
For a second, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want her in my office. I also don’t want to do this in the corridor.
I step toward my office and push on the door, wedging it wide open. “Come in.”
She follows me in. I move behind the desk to put it between us. I remain standing and cross my arms. My spine is stiff enough to break.
“I heard you approached my wife recently.” I dig my fingers into my biceps. Try to keep my voice low. “That was entirely inappropriate.”
She nods, looking contrite. “I know. I was just… desperate, you know? Nothing I do seems to be good enough for you.”
“No excuse. I could write a letter to Dr. Hunter as department chairperson about this, but I won’t as long as you change advisors.”
Maggie stares at me. “I can’t change advisors. You know that. It’ll delay my degree even more.”
“You should have thought of that before you…” …lied about my integrity.
I have a sick feeling that will open another can of worms, so I leave it alone. And all I need is to remember that my wife didn’t know whether or not to believe those implications.
My chest tightens.
“… before you chose your topic,” I finish. “It’s no secret how you got into the program, Maggie. If I’d been the Medieval Studies professor at the time, I’d never have approved your admission.”
Angry tears spring to her eyes. “Look, I know I wasn’t the best student, okay? But I’m here because I have to get good grades and a master’s so I can get into law school. If I don’t, I’m totally screwed. I’m going to stay with my parents so I can—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Go talk to the registrar about changing advisors. That’s all I can tell you.”
There’s a movement at the open door behind her, and one of the other grad students peers in.
“Jessica.” Relief eases my tension. “Come in.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.” Jessica glances warily from Maggie to me.
“It’s okay.” I give Maggie a pointed look. “We’re done.”
Maggie swipes at her eyes, glowers at Jessica, then stalks out of the office. An awkward hush descends. I move a few books off the desk so Jessica can put her backpack down.
“Sorry about that.” I wait for her to take a seat before I sit down in my office chair.
“Sorry you got stuck with her,” Jessica replies wryly as she unzips her backpack. “I know she’s under pressure from her father, but… well, anyway, I wanted to check in with you about my paper before Thanksgiving break.”
“Sure. What’ve you got?”
She pulls out some notes, and we spend the next hour discussing Foucault, dedicatory prologues of medieval illuminations, and cosmic imagery. It’s a welcome respite, and by the time Jessica leaves, my jagged thoughts have eased.