Page 242 of The Professor's Wife

“And lonely.”

He didn’t respond.

Finally, I faced him fully. He’d come a little closer, probably to see what I was doing, but he wouldn’t cut the distance.

The desire was there, though. In the way he watched me intently, his breath held tightly in his lungs.

Call me crazy, but I wasn’t feeling nervous. Not anymore. A calm stillness came over me. My body buzzed at his presence, needing and pining for him. My skin felt thirsty for his touch, like I’d been deprived of it for so long.

It made no sense.

But being here made no sense and went against the structure and fear I’d been caged in.

Giving him my full focus now, I asked him curiously, “Did you really write a paper on Seneca?”

His eyes flickered back and forth, surprised by my question. I supposed it was sudden. He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Do you remember the grade you got for that paper?”

His eyes narrowed curiously. “I got an A.”

“That’s impressive.”

“My professor was a lenient old man.”

“Don’t try diminishing your success. You should be proud.”

He smirked. “It was just philosophy, Daze. A couple courses to earn some credits that didn’t help me out in the end.”

Justphilosophy?

A crazed laugh sputtered from my lips as I gawked at him, feeling envious and giddy.Justphilosophy.

Like it was nothing to write home about. I thought of the months of punishments. Of rationing water glasses to get passages of philosophers like Seneca right beside a dying light.

Justphilosophy.

If I thought I wanted this man before, I was dead wrong. My body blazed. Wanting was too small a word for what hit me now.

He didn’t laugh with me. He didn’t even smile. He just watched me—really watched me—like he was trying to understand my reaction, the history behind it, the parts of me he didn’t have access to.

“Daze,” he murmured, and something in the way he said my name made my pulse trip.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, as if the slightest shift might break whatever fragile gravity held us in place.

“You’re doing that thing again,” I said softly.

His brow lifted. “What thing?”

“Looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out.”

A faint exhale left him. His gaze moved over my face, slow and heavy. “Still wondering where you came from.”

I took a slow step toward him. He didn’t retreat, but his breath caught, like he was bracing for impact.

“You said you’re terrified of me.”

“I am.”