Chapter Twenty
Nick paced the floor of his borrowed office on the University of Oregon campus. He had no right to be this upset. Clara had been fair; had told him she was dating another guy. He should be too mature for jealousy, but the sight of her embracing the other man stabbed him with a sharp blade of primitive emotion. That bald beanpole had probably been sniffing around her for a while now, and he was a local. All Nick could offer Clara was a long-distance courtship, and she deserved more.
But that didn’t stop the throbbing behind his eyes, didn’t stop his shoulder muscles from clenching like fists. Keeping his cool tonight was going to be difficult, but crucial.
In his pocket, his phone trilled: his department chair.
“Enid, what’s up?”
“Nick, dear boy, I have news.” All the usual warmth had drained from her voice, now shaky and thin. “George is in the hospital. That bastard cancer is back, and it’s spread to his liver. I was hoping to delay my retirement until next June, but I may not have the option now.”
In a moment, his petty jealous was forgotten. Poor Enid, facing a battle for her husband’s life. He knew all too well how hard that would be. And in the end, she’d lose. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Thank you, dear. There’s nothing to do now but wait.” She cleared her throat. “Listen, you have a publisher lined up for your book project, right?”
“Barston Press has accepted my proposal, but…”
“You should finish sooner rather than later. Your students adore you, Nick, and so do I. I wish all our instructors were as lively as you.” She sighed noisily into the receiver. “The next department chair may not look so favorably on your work.”
“Won’t it be Carlos?”
Dr. Carlos Hernandez, a well-respected and well-connected anthropology professor, had expressed admiration for Nick’s research.
“He’s my recommendation, but Nancy has a lot of clout with the administration.”
“Oh.” The drummer pounding away behind Nick’s eyes turned up the volume.
Nancy Lewington was a tight-lipped, stick-spined specialist in dead languages, and no fan of Nick’s. She’d complained at department meetings about the “pornographic slides” he showed in class. Even worse, the way she curled her lip when she passed in the halls told him she believed the rumors.
“Anyway, I wanted to let you know. If I retire, I won’t be able to protect you. Your best chance is to publish your book.”
“Okay. Thank you. And please give my best to George.”
He slumped into a chair. So much for spending his summer in Oregon, courting Clara. If he wanted to save his job, he’d have to devote all his free time to this project.
A rap on the door brought his head up. Leo stood there, a steaming mug of coffee in each hand and a rakish grin on his fuzzy face.
“What’s wrong? All those sexy pictures depressing you?”
Nick reached for the proffered mug and sipped gratefully. “Just got bad news.” He quickly related the gist of Enid’s call.
“So, the race is on, eh? Nick versus the tenure committee. Why does this Nancy woman hate you, anyway?”
He hadn’t shared all the details of the scandal that nearly took him down the previous year. In fact, keeping it quiet was his only chance of hanging onto his job. “Just a bitter woman who hates sex, I guess.”
“In Berkeley? Too bad.” Leo leaned his wide ass on the edge of Nick’s desk and slurped his coffee. “You wouldn’t have that problem here, you know.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Clara said Oregon’s a sexy state.”
“Ah, the fair Clara. Any developments?”
The mention of her name finally brought a smile to his lips. “We’re going out tonight, the Amphora. Brazilian jazz.”
Leo whistled. “Very sexy. And then, back to your place for a little—research?”
“If the gods are kind. I’m not pushing it, though. This one’s worth waiting for.”
“If you say so.” Leo drummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t know why you put up with this Berkeley bullshit. Take the job up here. Just think.” He dropped his big hand onto Nick’s shoulder. “You and me, teaching side by side, rowing after work, lighting up the town at night…”
“Leo, it’s just a part-time gig, and I’d be starting the tenure race all over again.”
“You’ll find something else to fill your empty hours. Working in a bookstore, perhaps?” Leo clapped him on the back. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your dirty pictures. Text me after your date. I want details, man. I’m living vicariously through you now.”
With a groan, Nick turned back to his notes. He’d found some excellent material in the U of O library, and now had to piece it into his outline. But his thoughts kept drifting back to Leo’s suggestion: If he were to apply for the job opening up here in Oregon…
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered aloud. “I have to think long-term. I can’t uproot my life based on a crush.”
He sipped his scalding coffee and bent to his task. No time for distractions. The clock was ticking.
****
After her shower, Clara found it hard to look at her reflection as she stroked peach-scented lotion onto her skin. A gift from her sister, it had no associations with Jared. Still, even the slightest chance of a new man inhaling this scent while taking what her body so desperately wanted to give—the knowledge needled her with guilt.
But she couldn’t apply makeup without looking at herself, so she pulled back her damp hair with one hand and squinted at the mirror. “It’s just a glass of wine, a little music.” She added another coat of mascara. “Just some conversation with an interesting man. No big deal.”
Right, an interesting man whose touch left tingling trails on her skin. Whose kisses disturbed her dreams. Whose scent spoke to something primitive and hungry deep inside her.
“No big deal,” she muttered as she applied just a hint of sparkle across her cheekbones, lined her eyes with dark-brown kohl, and thickened her lashes with mascara. “Just a date.” She tackled her unruly curls with potions and appliances until they lay in smooth waves around her face and throat. “Just a glass of wine.” She slicked on dusky rose lipstick, wondering whether she’d smear it off before the night was through—and how. On a wineglass? On Nick’s cheek? His neck? Would she leave a rosy trail down his firm belly, following a trail of silky dark hairs?
“No big deal.” She slid into a lacy peach-toned bra and panty set, one she’d bought herself a few months ago—safer than the many silky underthings Jared bought for her.
She opened the window to check the weather. The sun hung low in the sky, and the air was cooling, so she decided on a newish pair of jeans that hugged her curves nicely, but not too explicitly. She added her last clean silk blouse, a single pearl on a gold chain, and a pair of strappy sandals.
Very nice. Too nice. Crap.
Just a year ago, she’d relished the chance to primp and polish herself for a special evening with Jared. She’d hum to herself, dancing through the room, picking out the most flattering colors, the softest textures, the most alluring scents.
But now, there was no avoiding the gravity of what she was doing—fixing herself up to please another man, possibly to seduce him. Did this mean she was forgetting Jared?
She stumbled to the bedside table, her vision blurred by tears, and clutched Jared’s framed photo to her heart. “Babe, what am I doing? I miss you so much.”
A breeze from the open window lifted her hair. She turned to see the gauzy curtains floating on the wind. A message? She walked to the window, searched the sky. The horizon blushed pink as the sun lowered.
“Jared, it’s been so long. Will you forgive me if I…?” Her lips refused to form the words. A tear slid down her cheek.
The curtains lifted again, brushed against her shoulder, her arm. Her tense shoulders relaxed, her forehead smoothed. Though wordless, Jared’s answer was clear—it would be okay. She could go to Nick, enjoy his company, even sleep with him if it felt right. Jared’s love was always with her, and hers with him.
“Thank you, my love.” She closed the window.