Paul smiled and casually flexed his substantial arms. “I was trying to be a human shield. I thought if he shouted at me and got it out of his system, he’d have nothing left for you.” He studied her expression thoughtfully. “But it didn’t work, did it?”
She looked at him in gratitude. “No one has ever done something like that for me before. I really owe you one.”
“Don’t mention it. I only wish he’d taken his anger out on me. What did he say to you?”
She focused all of her attention on her coffee and acted as if she hadn’t heard the question.
“That bad, huh?” Paul rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, it must have blown over because he was polite to you in the last seminar.”
Julia snickered. “Sure. But he wouldn’t let me answer any questions, even when I put my hand up. He was too busy letting Christa Peterson do all the talking.”
Paul observed her sudden flash of indignation with amusement. “Don’t worry about her. She’s in for some trouble with Emerson over her dissertation proposal. He doesn’t like the direction she’s taking. He told me.”
“That’s terrible. Does she know?”
He shrugged. “She should be able to figure it out. But who knows? She’s so focused on seducing him that she’s letting her work slide. It’s embarrassing.”
Julia noted all of this and tucked it into her memory for future reference. She sat back in her chair, relaxed, and enjoyed the rest of her afternoon with Paul, who was charming and thoughtful and made her glad she was in Toronto. At five o’clock, her stomach rumbled, and she clutched at it awkwardly.
Paul laughed and smiled in order to ease her embarrassment. She was so cute about everything, including the way her stomach growled. “Do you like Thai food?”
“I do. There was a great place in Philadelphia I used to go to with…” She caught herself before she said his name out loud. That restaurant had been the place she’d always gone with him. She silently wondered if they were going there now, eating at her table, laughing at the menu, mocking her…
Paul cleared his throat to gently bring her back to him.
“Sorry.” She ducked her head and rummaged in her knapsack for nothing in particular.
“There’s a great Thai place down the street. It’s a few blocks away, so it would be a bit of a walk. But the food is really good. If you don’t have plans, let me take you to dinner.”
His nervousness was telegraphed only in the slow and subtle tapping of his right foot, which Julia detected out of the corner of her eye, just visible over the edge of the coffee table. She looked up into his warm, dark eyes and thought briefly about how kindness was worth so much more in the world than passion, and she said yes before she could even contemplate saying no.
He smiled as if her acceptance gave him more than a secret delight, and picked up her knapsack, effortlessly swinging it to his shoulder. “This is too heavy a burden for you.” He said, gazing into her eyes, choosing every word carefully. “Let me carry it for a while.”
Julia smiled at her toes and followed him outside.
***
Professor Emerson was walking home from work. It was a short walk, although on inclement days and days on which he had evening engagements, he drove.
While he traveled, he thought about the lecture that he was going to deliver at the university, on lust in Dante. Lust was a sin that he found himself thinking of often and with much enjoyment. In fact, the thought of lust and its myriad satisfactions was so tantalizing, Professor Emerson found himself pulling his trench coat closed so the slightly spectacular sight of the front of his trousers would not attract untoward attention.
That’s when he saw her. He stopped, staring across the street at the attractive brunette.
Calamity Julianne.
Except she was not alone. Paul was holding her abomination of a book bag and walking with her. They were chatting easily and laughing and strolling dangerously close to one another.
Carrying her books now, are we? How very adolescent of you, Paul.
Professor Emerson watched as the couple’s hands brushed against each other, drawing a small but warm smile from Miss Mitchell. A growl rumbled low in Emerson’s throat, and his lips curled back from his teeth.
What the hell was that? he thought.
Professor Emerson took a moment to collect himself, and as he leaned against the window of the Louis Vuitton boutique, he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. He was a rational agent. He wore clothes to cover his nakedness, he drove a car, and he ate with a knife and a fork and a linen napkin. He was gainfully employed in a job that required intellectual ability and acuity. He controlled his sexual urges through various civilized means and would never take a woman against her will.
Nevertheless, as he stared at Miss Mitchell and Paul, he realized that he was an animal. Something primitive. Something feral. And something made him want to go over there and rip Paul’s hands from his body and carry Miss Mitchell off. To kiss her senseless, move his lips to her neck, and claim her.