spite of the fact that he demanded a lot of his students, he didn’t enjoy it when they failed—he finished his lecture with an assignment. “Read the first two chapters before Wednesday,” he said as the bell rang. “Oh, and Ms. Bailey, can you stay for a moment? I need to talk to you, if you have a minute.”
He wasn’t surprised when she hesitated. He’d flirted outrageously with her when he’d stopped to change her flat for her. He obviously had some fences to repair.
Silence fell like a stone when the last student filed out of the classroom, leaving the two of them alone. She still stood at her desk, facing him from halfway across the room. “I hope you realize I was only teasing earlier,” he said. “At first I didn’t realize you were one of my students. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. That certainly wasn’t my intention.”
Heat climbed into her cheeks, but she met his gaze squarely. “You really should have told me who you were.”
He couldn’t argue with that. The second she’d told him she was late for his class, he should have identified himself. And he certainly shouldn’t have asked her out. That was a temporary loss of judgment. Aside from the fact that he didn’t date his students, just last week, he’d sworn he was through with women. Everyone he’d dated in the past six months was looking for a husband, and he wasn’t going there. Not after watching his father walk down the aisle, then into divorce court, more times than he could remember. From what he had seen, marriage only ruined the romance and made people who had once loved each other despise each other. He wanted no part of it.
So why was he so drawn to her? he wondered. He only had to remember the way she’d tried to give him the brush-off when he’d stopped to help her. He’d always liked smart, independent women who could take care of themselves. And even though he knew nothing about her except that she knew how to change a flat—once the lug nuts were out of the way—he didn’t doubt for a moment that Natalie Bailey didn’t need a man to lean on to get through life. That was the only reason he needed to avoid her like the plague.
“You were already upset about being late for class,” he told her, dragging his attention back to the conversation. “I didn’t want to upset you further by telling you who I was. I was afraid you’d be embarrassed.”
That sounded good, but Natalie was the mother of twin boys and she knew a line of bull when she heard one. Her lips threatened to curl into a smile. “That sounds like something my sons would say.”
So she had sons. He grinned. “You’re not buying it, huh?”
“What do you think?”
“Damn. And I thought I was being so clever.” His smile fading, he walked across the room and held out his hand to her. “Let’s start over. I’m Maxwell Sullivan. It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy the class.”
The simple gesture—and the sincerity in his direct blue gaze—charmed her as nothing else could, and the smile that she’d been trying to hold back tugged free. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She placed her hand in his, only to frown in confusion when his fingers closed around hers. There was something so right about the feel of her hand in his. Almost as if he’d touched her a thousand times before, she thought, shaken. But how could that be? She’d never laid eyes on him before today. What was going on?
The thunder of her heartbeat loud in her ears, she eased her hand free and stubbornly, quietly, reminded herself why she was there. “I’ve waited a long time to go to college,” she said huskily. “I just hope I can handle it.”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he replied. “Don’t take this wrong, but you’re obviously older than the rest of the class. How long has it been since you’ve been in school?”
She wasn’t ashamed of her age. “Eighteen years,” she said with a wry smile. “Better late than never.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle,” he assured her. “You may be a little shaky at first, but it won’t take you long to get back into the swing of things.”
“I’m worried about the term paper,” she admitted. “I don’t even remember how to write a footnote.”
“You’re not alone,” he said. “If you asked the rest of the class, they’d probably say the same thing, and they just graduated from high school last year. Don’t worry—I’ve got a whole list of books that will help you with your paper. I’ll bring it to class on Wednesday. If you need any other help, just let me know. Okay?”
His blue eyes were direct and sincere, and there was no sign of the flirtatious biker who’d asked her out when he’d stopped and changed her flat for her. Relieved, she appreciated his professionalism. But a few minutes later, as she thanked him and turned to leave, she couldn’t forget the way her heart had jumped when his hand had closed around hers.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she hurried to her next class. “He’s still a baby. So what if he looks like Lancelot on a motorcycle? Hello? He’s your teacher! And you’ve got enough on your plate with school and the boys and your job—you don’t need a man!”
Deliberately pushing the memory of Max Sullivan’s twinkling eyes from her head, she was determined not to give the man a second thought the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as easily dismissed from her mind. As she headed to her next class, she found herself comparing him to every man she passed on the street. They all came up short.
Chapter 2
Staring at his computer screen, Max read the only line he’d written in the past hour, then swore softly. It was stiff and awkward and hardly the work of a writer who’d made the New York Times’ Bestseller List with his first two books. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t think of a single way to improve what he’d written. He didn’t mind admitting he was worried.
Starting the fall term was always stressful, he reminded himself. There were meetings, university functions he was required to attend, and this year the administration had added two more classes to his workload. And he had no one to blame but himself. Because of the success of his books and his rapport with the students, his classes were in hot demand. Normally he would have been flattered by all the attention, but he was on a short deadline with his next book and getting nowhere fast. He’d be okay once everything settled down.
“Yeah, right,” he muttered to himself as he leaned back in his chair in disgust. “And if you believe that one, you might as well write a letter to Santa and ask him to give you a finished manuscript. At this rate that’s the only way you’re going to make your deadline.”
The phone rang, and he welcomed the reprieve. Snatching it up, he growled, “Sullivan.”
“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re having a good day,” his father said dryly. “What’s got your shorts in a knot? One of your girlfriends giving you trouble?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad.”
“Ah, so that’s the problem. You should have told me. I could have made some calls for you.”
Max swallowed a groan at the thought. He didn’t doubt that there were any number of women his father could call—he’d been married eight damn times and had, no doubt, probably dated every woman in town over the age of thirty-five! Which was exactly
