“Sorry,” I whispered, quickly silencing it before reading the response.
Nice guy. Was a big shot in the marine world. Handsome as hell.
I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t the information I was looking for.
Yeah, I can see that. Married? I asked.
Wife and kid died four years ago.
The words made me flinch as I suddenly realized who he was. I looked up at the man I had read about when I was in high school. My goal had been to go to the University of Florida, but family finances made it impossible. I had researched all of the professors and remembered reading about him. The students had given him rave reviews. A rising star in the marine world, he abruptly quit teaching after his family had been killed.
I looked away when he turned around. He walked to his desk and pushed papers aside. My eyes went to his left hand, where he still wore his wedding ring. I choked back a sob. Now I knew what it was about him that I couldn’t reconcile, and I recognized it now as grief. My hand went to the small medallion under my shirt, nestled between my breasts. It was a necklace my sister had given me nearly ten years ago. I never took it off—it was how I kept Talia close to me.
Looking down at my desk, I shut my eyes and started taking in deep breaths, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Eight months had dulled the pain, but at times it all boiled up like a tidal wave washing over me. This was one of those moments. I blinked rapidly several times and tried to clear my mind and focus on what the professor was saying.
Despite my best efforts, my mind drifted back to his personal life. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what the pain of losing a child would be like. I watched him as he strolled between the desks down one row, and then up another. It gave me the chance to study his face. He was handsome, in a George Clooney kind of way. He had been happy once; I could see the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes as proof.
Those green eyes told the story of his grief. There were dark circles under each of those captivating green eyes, framed by the longest, darkest
lashes I had ever seen on a man. I imagined he would have been a real lady killer in his youth. A smile crossed his face as he talked about a particular dive he had been on.
I found myself grinning in response. When he smiled, he was even more attractive. It was a glimpse into who he had been before death and its nasty, biting pain destroyed him. I allowed myself to casually study him from afar. His voice was soothing, and I found myself drawn to the casual yet authoritative way he spoke.
When class was over, I was a little bummed; I had actually enjoyed his lecture. I needed to apologize for my tardiness but wasn’t into public confessions. I waited until the last student had left the classroom before I stood and walked towards him at the back of the room. Was he ignoring me or preoccupied with whatever was in the box?
“Excuse me, Professor Dunlap?” I started.
“Hmm,” he grunted in response.
“I’m Tessa McShane. I’m so sorry about earlier. About being late and interrupting. That isn’t like me, and I want you to know it will never happen again. It was a rough morning,” I explained. I was hoping I sounded properly apologetic but had no idea what he was thinking, and his back remained turned away from me. Rude.
“Fine,” he mumbled, strolling toward his desk without even giving me a second glance.
I followed behind his six-foot-tall frame. His long, easy strides were a little tough for my smaller legs to keep up with, but I did. I wasn’t letting him walk away that easily.
“Professor,” I started again but stopped when he reached the desk and spun around with a sheet of paper in his hand.
“This is my syllabus. Study it and know the details. Come to class knowing what to expect. There may be times when I need you to fill in for me. I also expect you to keep me on track with appropriate materials and things of that nature,” he said, in a firm, but calm voice.
I studied him, wondering if anything got him fired up. He seemed to be very mild mannered; one of those guys who would be an excellent emergency room doctor. Nothing bothered them.
Smiling, I said, “Great, thank you. I’ll look this over and be ready for class tomorrow. Again, I really do apologize.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, in a friendlier tone now.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” I asked, not ready to end our conversation.
He shrugged. “I would appreciate any help you can provide to keep things organized. I like to utilize every minute of class to teach and hate looking for documents or searching for a PowerPoint presentation. I may occasionally need your help putting a presentation together, or at least getting your opinion on one.”
I nodded. “Of course. Sure, I can do that—anything you need,” I said, walking back to my desk and quickly jotting down my cell number.
He was watching me, I could feel it. I felt the effect of some natural instinct to try my best to look sexy as I smiled and walked back to him, holding out the scrap of paper.
“This is my number. Feel free to text or call if you need something. I don’t always check email and would hate to show up to class unprepared.”
He reached out and took the paper, stared at it and then stuffed it into the pocket of his black slacks. I suddenly felt like I made a huge mistake. Did I violate some rule? He seemed a little weirded out.
“Uh, okay, then. I need to get going,” I stammered, walking back to my desk to collect my things.