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“I am. Marcella.” I make no move to stand up, which seems to be fine with him, because he leans against the carrel, unaffected and cocky.
“I’m Arjun,” he says. “Also known as Dr. Patel,” he corrects.
I give him a sparkling giggle. “Which is it for me?”
“Arjun. Definitely.” He smiles. “I just wanted to introduce myself before we all run off for Christmas break and whatnot. Classics is small and getting smaller.”
“You’re kind. I already feel so at home.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Well, I’ve met Lacie and Evan, and heard oodles about the vacancies in the department. A girl named Laurel?”
His eyes flash. “Yeah, well, we’ve had a tough year. Happens.”
“Oh, no, no, that wasn’t a criticism. Merely an observation. I’m happy to be here, truly. U of Seattle wasn’t … my speed, I guess.”
“I read your CV when Dean Shea posted it on the board. Good stuff. Honestly, I was surprised you didn’t apply right out of grad school.”
The man can’t know that I’ve been a dilettante for two hundred years, but I shrug anyway. “Thanks. Well … I had an entanglement. You know how it is.”
“Some guy?” Arjun slides into the chair in the carrel over.
I wave my hand. “All over now. I didn’t love the weather out there, anyway.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be deterred by Boston’s winters.”
“No, I don’t think I will be.” I stick my pencil behind my ear, showing him the curve of my throat. I watch him watching before he snaps out of it.
“What are you working on there?”
“Oh, this?” I reach back and hand him the paper.
“Wow, that’s one hell of a course name. Those undergrads are gonna be clamoring.”
“Mm, I hope so.”
He winks at me. “And maybe some of the non-undergrads, too.”
Goddess, men are so easy. All you have to do is say exactly what you’d expect they want to hear. I find I’m already ravenous to have a little taste, even if I don’t need it.
“Tell me about it here. About what you do.”
Arjun looks pleased, preening. “Oh, well, I’m in Greek. Sappho, Orpheus and Eurydice, the like.”
“So, love stories.” My lips twitch. “How sweet.”
“Brutal, though. Tragic. Bloody. As you like it, sex and blood and all that.”
“Are you sure I like that? What if it’s all a ruse?” I whisper, my fingertips finding the curve of his kneecap.
“I can read a woman a mile off.” His voice dives to a husky, needful whisper that makes my insides twist. “I can see what you need.”
This is the hardest part of the cat and mouse game. Not giving in too early. I don’t want people to think of me as easy. I’m hard to get. A prize to be won. Never mind that the outcome is, for them, always lethal.
“I’m not sure you can.” I pull my hand back and he watches my fingertips. “Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” I gather my papers. “Excuse me.” All part of the game, I remind myself when he looks crestfallen.
“Wait!” He grabs my hand. “Wait.”
