“It all works, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he assuredher.
This time her gasp was audible. She glanced up and down the hallway, ensuring it was empty. “Your…your works are none of mybusiness.”
“I know,” he said, taking a step closer. His voice dropped to a deliciously husky murmur. “I was hoping we could changethat.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked in her teacher-to-bad-student voice. She had this tone perfected. It worked on male students who tried to tell her dirty jokes, swore, or made lewd comments within her hearing. There was a matching look that went with the tone. She would pull up through the neck and retract her head so she could look down her nose at theculprit.
It made swaggering sophomores cringe everytime.
All it did with Luke was deepen the amusement crinkling his eyes. “There’s something I want to ask you. It concerns the othernight.”
Halfway down the corridor a door started to open. It was the garrulous and nosy Mr. Forrester. If he caught her in the hallway with Luke she’d never hear the end ofit.
Shoving her key in the lock, she opened the door, and all but shoved Luke inside. “Let’s talk in here,” she said. “Better without anaudience.”
“Sure. Thanks.” He walked down the small hallway, right into the living area. “It’s nice.” He gestured to the mishmash of furniture she’d collected from thrift stores and off the street and prettied up with paint and elbow grease, embroidered cushions and colorful throws. “Exactly like mine, onlyclassier.”
“Thank you. Would you like to sit down?”What was she doing?She should have put up with nosy Mr. Forrester and kept Luke in the hallway. Inviting him in was only encouraging him. Plus, it made her feel as though she were entertaining and had to bepolite.
“Yes.” He sat in the overstuffed floral-chintz sofa and she chose the oppositechair.
Luke glanced at her and then at the mail in his hands as though he’d forgotten it was there. He put his letters down on the coffee table then leaned back, legs slightly parted, hands on thighs. Relaxed, confident. Too gorgeous for her peace ofmind.
Even though sheknew his secret, her body didn’t seem to have caught on to it. She felt the same potent pull of attraction, the same melting desire. It wasn’t fair. Probably her inappropriate lust was just a symptom that she’d been without a boyfriend toolong.
She tossed her own mail down, where it made a messy fan. A couple of bills and a creamy vellum envelope that had wedding invitation written all over it. She cringed inside. The flu wasn’t as contagious as the wedding bug that had bitten so many of her approaching-thirtyfriends.
It wasn’t that she grudged anyone happiness, but she was starting to wonder if she’d be attending their silver and golden wedding anniversaries—stillalone.
Given the appalling way she’d been misjudging men lately, it seemed very possible that she’d be spending her whole lifesingle.
She squinted at the return address on the invitation and felt herselfpale.
“Oh, no,” she moanedaloud.
“What’s thematter?”
“B.J. McLaren’s gettingmarried.”
“I see. My condolences.” She caught the amusement again, crinkling the edges of his eyes. It made her want to smile back, except she was too mad atB.J.
“She was one of my best friends, then she stole my boyfriend in college.” The hurt pride, which had never entirely healed, throbbed again as she saw the two of them smooching in the library. “Walt Whitman introducedthem.”
“From the greatbeyond?”
She shook her head. “They took a unit of American poetry together and claim they fell in love duringLeaves ofGrass.”
“Where wereyou?”
“Milton.Paradise Lost.I haven’t seen B.J. in…it must be three or four years. Now she’s marrying him and wants to shove my nose in it one moretime.”
“What abitch.”
She chuckled. “My sentiments exactly.” She opened the expensive envelope and withdrew the card. “‘Request the honor of your presence…blah, blah, blah. Oh, and here’s a handwritten note at the bottom. ‘Please bring your significant other. Randy and I would love to see youboth.’”
“Sounds like she’s trying to mendfences.”
“Sounds like she found out I’m single and wants to make me feel like the last unattached loser in America.” As if Shari needed the reminder. Maybe the marriage flu bug had caught her, too, because she was ready to settle down. She had a great career, loved living in Seattle, her ovaries were young and efficient. She was a woman in her prime mating and child-bearing years. All she needed was the right man. Where the hell washe?
