Chapter Twenty-Five
He swam up from a warm, hazy, soothing place. He wanted to linger there, but insistent pins and needles in his arm pulled him back to the surface. Clara had shifted in her sleep, pinning him against the back of the couch. She lay half atop him, her cloud of hair silky beneath his chin. He inhaled its floral scent, stroked the satin skin of her back, traced her ribs, so prominent beneath her delicate ivory skin.
He slid out from beneath her and rested beside her for a long moment, his face inches from hers. His hands itched to caress her, but that would wake her. Her closed lids fluttered, dreaming? Her soft breath tickled his lips. Then she shifted, snored softly, and her stomach grumbled. With a pang of guilt, he realized she’d come straight from work. He’d ravished her without feeding her. He unfolded the soft wool blanket from the back of the couch and, after one last look at her nude body, so soft and unguarded in sleep, gently covered her.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Don’t go.”
Those two words tugged so hard on his insides, stealing his breath in a wave of emotion, like a warm tide, primitive and compelling. He wanted, needed to take care of her, protect her.
Her cheek flat against the sofa cushion, she blinked at him. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine. Are you hungry?”
“Um…” She pushed up on her elbow. “Yes, I think so.”
“Do you like Thai food? There’s a place just up the street.”
“Ohhh…” She rolled lazily onto her back, stretched. “I’m so comfortable here.” She reached for him, trailed her fingers over his bare arm.
“Then stay.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll go get us something. Sleep. I’ll be right back.”
She was asleep again before he finished dressing. He closed the door softly behind him, then his phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling an incoming text message.
Enid’s number. If it’s not too late, call me. Bad news.
And, just like that, his rosy haze evaporated.
He waited to place his order at the takeout counter of the Thai restaurant before returning her call.
“Okay, twenty minutes. You want to sit?”
“No thanks,” he told the tiny grandmother behind the counter. “I’ll be back.”
He paced on the sidewalk, nearly oblivious to the groups of college students who parted to let him pass.
“Nick, dear boy.” Enid’s voice shook, paper-thin. “It’s all gone to shit.”
His shoulders tensed. It was unlike his mentor to curse.
“Tell me.”
“It’s George. He’s not responding to radiation. They’re going to try a new treatment on him.”
Nick let out a whoosh of air. He was fond of Enid’s husband, a retired chemistry professor with a dry sense of humor and a raspy voice. Theirs was a late-in-life romance, and the playful way they teased and flirted together gave him hope. If Enid and George could be so happy after their divorces, maybe he’d find someone too, someone to share his later years, build a home, maybe even a family.
And now, Enid faced the loss of her great love.
“The thing is, this treatment’s only available at the Mayo Clinic.”
“In Minnesota?”
“Yes. I’m going with him. We leave tomorrow, Nick. I know you’re visiting friends up there, but can you come back? I can postpone the meeting until Tuesday, but no later.”
“Meeting?”
“I’m retiring, effective immediately. The whole department will reshuffle. It will go better for you if you’re here, Nick.”
A deep weariness slumped his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
He ended the call, then blew out a long breath and resumed his pacing. He should just call back, tell her to forget it, tell her he was taking the job at the University of Oregon.
A voice called from inside the restaurant. “Order for Nick.”
No, better to wait. Leo’s boss had given him a week to decide. Better to see how things fell out in Berkeley first. He’d learned the hard way—hasty decisions led to regret.
He clenched the paper bag and hurried back to Clara. He’d hoped for another week together. Would tonight be enough to persuade her to wait for him?
****
Clara dozed on the saggy couch, her bare skin warmed by the fuzzy blanket and the memory of their lovemaking. Sex with Nick had relaxed all the tension from her body and mind and revived her appetite.
The doorbell rang. Odd, had he forgotten his key? She combed her fingers through her matted hair and wrapped the blanket around her naked body. What fun to greet Nick by flashing him. No doubt, the act would ignite another round of ferocious sex.
She flung open the door and was about to fling open the blanket when she froze. Nick’s assistant Darcy stood there, holding a bottle of Chianti and a pizza box. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Clara wrapped up like a burrito—obviously not the menu she had in mind. She jutted out her hip and shook back her long jet-black hair.
“Where’s Nick?”
“He, um, went to get some dinner.”
“Left you here?”
“He’ll be right back.”
“Uh-huh.” She slithered around Clara and into the cottage.
What had happened to ‘Don’t wait up’?
Darcy deposited the pizza and wine on the coffee table and kicked Clara’s crumpled jeans and panties away with the toe of her motorcycle boots. She plopped onto the couch, then slid her gaze up and down Clara’s body and cocked her pierced eyebrow.
“Had a good time, did ya’?” She crossed her long legs, shifted her weight, and from the back pocket of her slashed jeans she pulled a little zippie bag full of something dark. From the lace bra peeping through her T-shirt’s gaping neckline she pulled a packet of rolling papers.
She opened the pizza box, laid out her supplies, and deftly fashioned a fat, tight joint. Firing it with an engraved silver lighter, she took a deep drag, then held it up to Clara. “Have some. Makes the crappy pizza taste better.” When Clara just gaped at her, she added, “Makes bad news easier to take, too.”
Clara waved her offer away and bent to retrieve her clothes.
“Nick’s bringing dinner,” she told the younger woman. “He didn’t mention you’d be joining us.”
“Oh, I’m always around.” She took another drag, held it for an impressively long time, then blew out a stream of skunky-smelling smoke. “Now, where’s the corkscrew?”
While she rummaged through the kitchen drawers, Clara retreated to the bedroom to get dressed. She wiped away the sticky mess between her legs, unsnarled her hair, and repaired her smudged mascara. A bit more composed and confident, she rejoined Darcy in the living room. She found her stretched out on the couch, one hand behind her head, devouring a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza.
She waved her slice. “Sure you don’t want some?”
“No thanks. Really.” She stepped toward the end of the couch, but Darcy didn’t move her feet, so she perched instead on the rickety chair beside the fireplace, feeling very much like an intruder.
“Have some wine at least. 7-11’s finest.” Without waiting for her reply, she poured some into the extra jelly glass waiting on the coffee table.
Why not? It might steady her nerves.
“Good girl. Take your medicine.” Darcy nodded. “So, what you going to do with yourself once Nick leaves?”
“What do you mean?” Darcy’s condescending tone rubbed her nerves like sandpaper.
“We’re outta here tomorrow,” she said. “Gotta get back to his classes. Can’t keep all those hot little grad students waiting.” She looked Clara up and down, smirked, then gulped her wine.
Clara flushed and fiddled with her glass. Nick hadn’t mentioned when his job offer here started. Of course, he had classes to teach in Berkeley. Still, Darcy’s smarmy tone stung her pride. “Maybe Nick’s not ready to leave.”
Darcy’s dark eyes bored into her, made her want to squirm.
“Oh, honey, you didn’t fall for slick Nick, did you?” She took another bite of her pizza and continued talking while she chewed. On most people, it would look disgusting. On Darcy, it was earthy and sultry. Damn it.
“Look, you seem like a nice lady. But Nick got what he wanted from you, a big pile of books and a quick lay. He’s gone. Might as well face it.” She gulped more wine, burped, and giggled.
Clara straightened her spine. How dare she? “That’s not what Nick told me,” she said in her haughtiest grown-up voice.
Darcy just giggled. “Seriously?” She sat up, squinted. “I mean, you’re cute and all. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.” She relit her joint and propped her booted feet beside the pizza box. “But seriously, you think you can compete with all those twenty-year-olds throwing themselves at Nick?”
Clara opened her mouth, but no quick, witty retort leapt out. Embarrassment and resentment glued her to her chair, but also a growing dread. Nick was about her age, with just a sprinkling of gray at his temples. Would he really engage in flings with his students? Couldn’t that get him fired? Or maybe it was Darcy who wanted him; maybe she was just trying to scare her off. She sucked in a deep breath, then straightened her spine. “What about Margot? Don’t you want to see her again?”
Darcy snorted. “What for? I’m not sentimental. I got what I wanted from her.” She crossed her arms, making her ample cleavage puff up and out. “Besides, Berkeley is my home. It’s cruel to build up false hopes, like what Nick is doing to you.”
She sat facing Clara, her back to the door, and didn’t seem to notice when Nick quietly turned the knob, pushed it open, and glowered there, listening to her tirade. She continued, waving her wine glass. “Why would Nick want an old widow like you when he could have any young chick he wants? He does it all the time.”
Nick slammed the door. Darcy jumped, squealed, and spilled red wine down her cleavage.
“Darcy.” His face was set in grim lines, his lips tight, his eyes narrow. His fist clutched a take-out bag.
“Nick, I, uh…shit.” She sank onto the couch, her head in her hands.
He gestured at her dinner mess. “Take your things with you.”
“But I—”
“Just go.”
Her face crumpled into a fierce scowl bordering on tears. She slammed her pizza box shut, jammed the cork back into the wine, and stomped toward the door. As she passed Clara, she hissed, “It’s true, you know.”
When she was gone, Nick shut the door firmly behind her, then leaned his forehead against the door frame. She wanted to go to him, stroke his shoulder, ease the tense moment, but her feet were rooted where she stood.
Finally, Nick stepped toward her. “Clara, I’m so sorry.”
A tear made its slow way down her cheek and dripped off her jaw. Damn it! Another followed, and another.
He strode across the room and folded her in his arms, but she remained rigid in his embrace. Even his soft lips kissing away the tears on her cheeks couldn’t soften her. She kept her arms crossed between them, protecting her heart. In a shaky voice, she whispered, “Explain this to me.”
“Please, sit with me.” He tugged her toward the couch where, a few hours before, they’d made ferocious love. The thought made her want to vomit. She stayed on her feet.
“Is it true, then? You got what you wanted from me? You’re going back to Berkeley tomorrow?”
“I have to go back, but just for a few weeks.”
She glared at him, her vision blurred by a fresh wash of tears. He’d told her they had another week together. He’d told her he might take a job up here. And now he was leaving, just like that.
“My department chair just called. Her husband is ill, and she’s resigning. She needs me for an emergency meeting. I don’t know when I’ll be back, exactly, but it won’t be long—”
“And the girls, Nick?”
He hesitated, just a split second, no doubt trying to compose an answer that wouldn’t send her out the door.
Too late.
She snatched up her bag and bolted.
But Nick was right behind her. He gripped her biceps and spun her around to face him.
“Look, Clara, I don’t know why Darcy wants to poison what’s growing between us. Please—” He released her arm, caressed her jawline with one finger. “Please listen to me. I’ll answer all your questions.”
Her stomach ached, her head buzzed, and her feet wanted to flee. But the vulnerability in his dark eyes held her there.
She was sure this was good-bye, and she’d been played for a fool, but she stood her ground.
“Will you come inside?”
“No. Tell me here.” She crossed her arms and shivered in the cool night air.
He closed his eyes, massaged his temples for a moment, then nodded. He slipped out of his leather jacket and draped it, warm and heavy, around her shoulders.
“There was a girl. One. A year after Diana died. She sort of…anyway, it doesn’t matter what she did. She was my student, and it was wrong.”
“Did you love her?”
He shook his head. “No. I was just lonely and flattered. At the time, it seemed—we had a special connection, and we took it too far, you know?”
She stared at him, trying hard not to crumple into tears.
“She was of age, of course. Twenty-three. It only lasted a few weeks. We both realized how stupid it was, how stupid we were.” He scrubbed both hands through his curly hair. “But someone saw us together. Word got around. It nearly cost me my job.”
“Maybe it should have.”
The memory hit her with a wave of nausea. Doctor Sanchez, her academic advisor, a handsome, distinguished man in his forties who’d offered her a much-needed scholarship. “You’re so lovely, Clara, so much more mature than the other girls. Think about the work we could do together…”
She remembered the heavy, sickening feel of his clammy hand on her bare knee, the stink of stale cigarette smoke on his breath. She remembered backing out of his office in a panic, and never returning. She should have reported him, should have told someone. But instead, she fled.
And now, fists clenched at her sides, she glared at Nick.
His beautiful brow rumpled, his hands clenched at his sides. “Clara, please. I’m being straight with you. I made a huge mistake. I’ve never repeated it, and I never will. I don’t want some young girl, I want a real woman.” He took both her hands in his. “I want you.”
She tensed, breathing hard, but let him continue.
“You’re the first woman I’ve had feelings for since Diana died. God, do you know how hard it is to say those words? It’s like a betrayal. But there it is—I care for you, Clara. Please, give me a chance.”
Her heart vibrated in sympathy, but Darcy’s words still stung.
“Feelings? Is that what you call it, Nick?”
His voice shook, husky with emotion. “Clara, I’m not talking about my dick, I’m talking about my heart.”
They stood there under the stars for a long, silent moment. She didn’t step closer, but she didn’t walk away. Goosebumps prickled her all over, except for where Nick’s warm hands enfolded hers.
Finally, she croaked out a question. “What about Darcy?”
“Shit. Darcy.” He released her hands, pulled his phone from his pocket, typed a message, then showed her the screen—You’re fired. Go back to Berkeley. He hit Send, and it whooshed away.
“Why would she lie to me, Nick? What does she have to gain?”
He scrubbed his hand down his face. “I told her I might take a job here. That was stupid of me. Her job as my grad assistant pays her tuition.”
“But Nick, she said there were girls. Lots of girls.”
Nick clasped her shoulders, squeezed gently.
“There was a girl. One. It’s a mistake I won’t repeat.” He reached for her waist, tried to pull her in closer. “Haven’t you made a mistake before, Clara?”
She held his gaze, her heart thundering. “Maybe I have. Tonight.”
She turned away.
“I’m not leaving here until you talk to me, Clara.”
But she had no more words to give him. Once again, panic compelled her to flee. She shrugged off his jacket, tossed it toward him, spun away, and jogged toward campus. A line of cabs waited there, outside the library. She hopped into one, slammed the door, and sped off into the night.