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She never broke stride, weaving in and out of the hallways amidst groups of students. "No, you didn't. You said it was about a moth, written from the point of view of a woman frustrated with her life so she decided to spend her extra time watching an insect die. You insinuated she craved a man in her life and therefore, her lack of one made her unhappy. There was no depth. Did you even listen to my lecture in class about the meaning of the essay?"
"Yes." No. He kind of drifted off in a stupor when she began lecturing. He pushed aside the guilt. "You're not being clear enough."
"You're not trying hard enough, Mr. Dunkle. You treat my class like an annoyance and with little respect. I shall treat you the same."
"I need a C-in this class or I won't graduate. I'm doing the best I can. Are you seriously going to flunk me and keep me from my degree over a moth?"
She stopped and whirled around. Her saggy sweater caught air, flew up, then settled. Her index finger jabbed the air. "Have you ever wondered what death would feel like, Mr. Dunkle? Debated life versus death? Analyzed your life to see if it was empty or just or worthwhile?"
His head spun. She was like some mad woman, fierce and way too intense over some...words. Yet, that passion connected within him for a few seconds and hit home. "Yes. Don't we all wonder what we're doing here?" he muttered.
"Good. In the beginning of the essay, the moth was joyous, even trapped between the glass with a limited view of the world. Have you ever felt happy, even when you don't know why?"
"Yes."
"But the author pitied the moth at first. Pitied its existence. The moth is destined to die. What feeling did Woolf try to explain to the reader?"
He tried to shake off his annoyance at getting into a lesson in the middle of a hallway. "The moth doesn't want to die and neither does she."
"Wrong. Yes, no one wants to die but that's not the true point of the essay. There's one guarantee in this life: death. It's part of the contract terms we get. We don't even know how much time we're going to get when we sign this contract. We're here trying to make our mark, then we're gone. Don't you ever consider what the point is?"
His gut lurched. Her slow pecking at his beliefs bothered him. Why think about all this shit when there was no real answer? Why not keep things easy? Look for happiness in the moment? Like the moth...
"Sure."
"Enough with the one word answers. 'Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was not as strange.' What do you think Woolf was feeling when that last paragraph was written? She watched the moth die in front of her, watched its struggle, watched its failure to win the ultimate battle. What do you think about that, Mr. Dunkle?"
"What do you want me to think?"
She shook her head. "We're done here."
Frustration simmered and seeped out. "The moth fought death up to the last moment. Its struggle was strange and almost beautiful to the author because we all face the same obstacles, yet no matter how bad life sucks, we still have the ability to fight to our last dying breath. Kind of like Dylan said about raging against the dying light."
Surprise flickered across her face. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. That's what I'm looking for in your papers. You insult both of us by not giving more." Then she continued down the hallway.
Son-of-a-bitch. No, he wasn't in one of those lame movies where the teacher suddenly got the student to see the light and then he transformed his failing grade into an A. It didn't work like that. Connor caught up with her, matching her pace, and heard her deep sigh.
"Do you need something else, Mr. Dunkle?"
"How about an extra credit project? I can't base my graduation on me understanding the next few assignments."
Her snort was quite feminine and intriguing. She pushed open the double glass doors and headed upstairs. "Why should I give you such an opportunity? If you work hard enough, you should be able to pass my class."
"I can't take any chances. Please. This way, I'll know I have some cushion for my grade if I keep struggling."
Annoyance radiated around her. She reached the top of the steps, and turned to say something, but her boot caught on a piece of metal grating and she fell forward.
Connor hurriedly blocked her fall, catching her in his arms and pulling her to the side. Her body was soft and warm, and for one moment, he felt her breasts push against his chest. The clean scent of cucumber and soap drifted up to his nostrils. Low maintenance and simple, like the woman. He took a deeper breath, enjoying the natural fragrance and the way her hands closed around his shoulders for balance.
"You okay?"
Her dark eyes widened. Behind the thick lenses of her glasses, her gaze locked and held his, squeezing him as tight as her nails suddenly digging into his flesh. A bolt of heat struck his dick, and suddenly, he was hard as a rock.
WTH?
"Sorry!" She struggled and he righted her, stepping back. Her skin flushed and she scrambled toward the second level doors. "I'll think about an appropriate project for extra credit."
"Thanks."
She didn't answer, just disappeared behind the glass and got swallowed up by a swarm of students.
Shaking off the whole strange encounter, Connor headed to the library. He'd won this skirmish. With extra credit, he usually had the whole semester to turn it in and his grade would get a nice boost. As for the sudden attraction? It was proof he'd been way too long without a woman. He wasn't attracted in the least to Ella Blake. If he was smart, he'd take this Saturday night, go out with a pretty woman, and slake both of their needs.
He kept the thought firmly in his mind and refused to think of his not hot professor.
Chapter Five
"Better to be without logic than without feeling."--Charlotte Bronte
A few hours later, Ella was still replaying their encounter.
She muttered under her breath and hurried through the parking lot, ducking her head against the brisk wind tearing through the trees. She'd had students who were egotistical and arrogant. But Connor Dunkle was a whole new breed. How dare he challenge her in class? His ridiculous views on women were archaic. Lord help his wife or girlfriend. She would've taught him a few hard-learned lessons about respect. Then he dared to ask for extra credit?
The worst part was her traitorous body. When she fell into his arms, her stomach got all floaty, and her blood ran hotter in her veins. She was attracted to an idiot. Why wasn't she surprised? Her track record sucked.
Rain dripped down the back of her neck and she shivered. Spring felt a lifetime away. Of course, she'd forgotten her damn umbrella again. She had four in her trunk and never seemed to use any of them.
The well-lit parking lot cut through the dark and fog, leading to her white Honda Civic. She hit the button, slid into the seat, and turned the key.
Nothing.
Dread trickled through her. Oh, no. Please work. Please work. Please...
Keeping up her mantra, she tried the car again. And again.
It was dead.
Ella glanced at her watch. She was already runnin
g late and hated leaving Luke alone for too long. Her brain calculated through the possibilities. Triple A? No, she'd decided it was an easy expense to cut. She couldn't look under the hood because she had no idea what she'd be looking for. Frustration coiled and she pounded her fist on the steering wheel. The word hovered on her lips until she finally spit it out with passion.
"Fuck!"
God, she loved that word. Saying it was her secret vice. Even the guttural, nasty sound of it on her tongue eased some of her tension.
A hard rap on the window caused her to shriek. A huge, muscled figure towered over her car. Peering out in the dark, she lowered her window a few inches.
"You need some help?"
Ella almost closed her eyes in defeat. Connor Dunkle. Of course, he'd show up trying to be her knight in shining armor. He'd probably ask her for a few extra points on the next quiz as payment.
She refused to think of other, more interesting, forms of payment.
"My car won't start. I'll call a tow company. Thanks anyway."
A frown creased his brows. "Pop the hood. Let me take a quick look." She pressed her lips together, considering. "Professor Blake? I'm getting wet out here."
She let out an irritated breath at her hesitation. "Sorry." She was glad the dark hid her hot cheeks. Releasing the latch, he disappeared behind the hood while the rain gained fury and flung drops like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. Finally, he returned, his thick hair wetly plastered to his head.
"It's the battery. I have jumper cables in my truck. Hang tight."
"Wait! I have an umbrella."
His smile was lopsided and full of wry humor. "Don't need it. I work construction, I'm used to bad weather."
"But--"
He'd already disappeared into the dark. A pair of headlights swung toward her as he angled his truck a few inches away from her car. She watched while he set up the cables, seemingly unaffected by the weather, and motioned for her to start the car.
