Chapter One
Ā Ā
āI will not accept any late assignments.ā Calista Prescott
snapped her laser pointer shut and swept her gaze over the lecture hall of a
hundred shuffling, slouching undergraduates. āIf your paper is not either in my
hand, on my desk, or in my mailbox by five p.m. Friday afternoonā¦thatās the day
after tomorrow, to avoid any misunderstandingā¦then you will receive an
incomplete. And no, emailing me a copy does not count. Printed copies only. No
exceptions. Class dismissed.ā
The air filled with chatter and sighs of relief. The
students stuffed notebooks into their backpacks and started checking their
phones. Her graduate teaching assistant, Jordan, approached from the projection
booth with a stack of slide carousels.
āIf you ever want me to put your lectures and slides on a
twenty-first century computer, I would be delighted.ā He set the carousels on
the table with a grimace, as if he were carrying forty-pound cement blocks.
āThe slide projector suits me just fine, thank you,ā Callie
replied crisply.
āYou mean the ancient relic?ā
āA perfect tool for teaching ancient history.ā
With an unsubtle roll of his eyes, Jordan wound up the
electrical cord and placed the carousels and remote control into boxes. āIāll
put this all in your office.ā
As he and the rest of the class began heading toward the
doors, a barrage of anxious-looking students approached the podium like a
Spartan army on the march. Callie stiffened her spine.
āProfessor Prescott, did you get my email about my grandma
in the hospitalā¦?ā
āI canāt get my printer to work, Dr. Prescottā¦ā
āThe book I need hasnāt come in at the library yetā¦ā
Callie encompassed the group in a tight smile and hardened
her heart to their puppy-dog eyes and beseeching pleas. In her early days of
teaching, sheād learned her lesson about showing any weakness. These kids might
look all scruffy, ear-pod-wearing innocence, but they could smell blood.
āYouāve all known about this assignment since the first day
of class.ā She closed her leather satchel and snapped the latch. āNo
exceptions. Enjoy the rest of your day.ā
The group sagged with dismay, and one girlāLauraābit her
trembling lip.
Walk away, Dr.
Prescott.
Callie stepped back from the podium and slipped into the
cashmere cardigan sheād left on the back of a chair. She started toward the
door, her heels clicking purposefully. Behind her, the students radiated
nervous despair.
Keep walking. Keep
walkā
Was that a sniffle?
Her heart sank. Gripping her satchel strap tighter, she
swiveled and leveled the group with an icy glare.
āI will have extra office hours today, tomorrow, and Friday
afternoon until five. I will also plan to check my email more often than usual.
Should you encounter further obstacles in your research and writing, you may
either come to my office or email me. I will do my best to assist you. But
there will be no exceptions. I wish
your grandmother well, Mr. Hamilton.ā
Without waiting to see if her remarks mollified them, she
strode from the lecture hall. Hopefully her hard-ass attitude would still
deflect any notion of weakness.
She glanced at her slim gold wristwatch. One hour until her
meeting with the senior professors in the Classics department, which gave her
just enough time to drive over to the Bliss Cove Library and pick up the books
sheād ordered through interlibrary loan.
She preferred using the local library since the college
library was always so slammed with requests from students and other professors.
Not to mention, the Bliss Cove librarian Beatrice was highly efficient, a
quality Callie both appreciated and often found lacking in other people.
Outside, the grassy expanse of the quad at Skyline College
teemed with students trudging to their next class, backpacks slung over their
shoulders as they balanced their cell phones with takeout coffee cups. The May
sun peeked through a fluffy layer of clouds, and a breeze strengthened the
scent of the Pacific ocean and the surrounding redwood forests.
Callie had always loved the picturesque beauty of the small
private college with its brick buildings and tree-lined flagstone pathways. If
it werenāt for her meeting, sheād have gotten herself a coffee and found a
quiet place to sit and enjoy the lovely day.
Butā¦junior professors who were up for tenure and trying to
finish a book proposal on Greek mythology didnāt have time to enjoy the day. Or
to enjoy anything, really.
Her phone buzzed with a text from her sister Rory: Drinks at the Mousehole tonight?
Callie paused to type a reply: Sorry, going to Momās then working.
Dropping her phone back into her bag, she got into her car
and drove toward the library. Ocean waves splashed against the rocky coastline,
and downtown Bliss Cove bustled with people out walking and shopping.
Everything about the townāfrom the ivy-covered buildings to the town square
presided over by a white gazebo to the Mousehole Tavern tucked away in a grove
of redwoodsāwas part of Callieās blood. Even when she was a child, she hadnāt
been able to imagine living anywhere else.
Flexing her hands on the wheel, she let out a long breath.
Now more than ever, she wantedāneededāto stay in Bliss Cove. Being awarded
tenure would ensure her job security and also allow her to continue living
where her roots were planted.
She followed the coastal road north out of town to an
expanse of land where a massive, old Victorian mansion sat beneath a bower of
trees. A round tower rose from the back, giving the place a fairy-tale quality.
Grabbing her satchel, she ascended the columned front porch
and went inside. A hush filled the cool, dark air, and a few people sat at the
long tables reading and studying.
Callie approached the weathered, wooden front desk where the
librarian, Beatrice Delaney, was busy checking in books.
āHi, Bee.ā
The young woman startled, pushing her glasses up the bridge
of her nose. āCallie, sorry. I didnāt even hear you come in. How are you?ā
āFine, thanks.ā Callie set her satchel on the desk. āI just
wanted to pick up the books you ordered for me through interlibrary loan. You
messaged me that they were in.ā
āYes, the last one just came in yesterday.ā Bee turned
toward the hold shelf and perused the alphabetically stacked titles. āI told
Peter to put them under your name, but I donāt see them here. Hold on a
second.ā
She picked up the landline phoneācell service being spotty
on this isolated stretch of coastlineāand dialed. āPeter? Itās Bee.ā
With a sigh, Callie glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes
to her meeting. She also needed to stop at her office on the way to pick up her
notes.
An elderly gentleman approached the desk with a stack of
mystery novels, giving Callie a nod of greeting.
āCallie, Iām sorry.ā Bee turned, a frown creasing her smooth
forehead. āHe mistakenly put them back in the stacks instead of on the hold
shelf. Iāll run up and get them for you.ā
Callie stifled a rush of impatience. She shook her head,
indicating that Bee should help the gentleman check out his books. āItās okay,
Iāll get them.ā
Before Bee could protest, Callie picked up her satchel and
hurried toward the worn staircase leading to the upper floors. She reached the
third floor and crossed the expanse of looming shelves to the very back where
the Greek mythology section was located. She checked the list of call numbers
on her phone. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā
Eight booksāand sheād left her book bag on campus. No time
to come back later either, as she had to get over to her motherās house right
after the meeting. Besides, she was here now and she wasnāt about to waste
time.
She perused the shelves and hauled out the heavy books from
between others that were coated with dust. The last volume was so large it was
stacked sideways on a lower shelf. Callie knelt to yank it out and grimaced as
cobwebs clung to her cashmere sleeve. Some of the shelves had apparently never
seen the benefits of the libraryās cleaning budget.
After piling the books on top of each other, she hefted the
stack into her arms and hurried back to the stairs. From the corner of her eye,
she caught a glimpse of the narrow, gated elevator, which she usually avoided
due to its advanced age. She started toward it. Her arms were already strained,
and sheād need to shave seconds off this errand to avoid being late.
She punched the call button with her elbow, shifting the
books into the crook of her other arm. Smears of dirt and dust covered her
beige silk blouse and the front of her sweater.
She groaned. All she needed was to walk into the meeting and
face six senior professors with smudges streaking her clothes. If Bee got her
books checked out quickly, she might have time to stop at the ladiesā room and
try to clean up.
Where was the elevator? The darned thing didnāt even have
numbers indicating its location. She shifted again, hitching her satchel higher
up on her shoulder. Her long, straight brown hair was starting to escape its
usual neat chignon, which meant another repair before the meeting.
She blew a stray lock of hair away from her forehead and
hefted the books to her other arm. Strength training at the gym had nothing
compared to hauling around Greek mythology books.
āCome on.ā She
glowered at the elevator, as if irritation would make it move. If sheād taken
the stairs, sheād be at the check-out desk by now.
āCan I help you?ā
A deep male voice rolled over her skin. She turned, her gaze
colliding with eyes so blue that looking into them was like diving into a pool
of pristine, tropical water.
Her breath caught. A hot shiver ran down her spine. āUmā¦excuse
me?ā
āThose look heavy.ā He stopped beside her and reached for
the books.
Reflexively, Callie clutched the dusty stack tighter against
her chest. Words dissolved in her throat. If a Greek hero statue came to life,
this man would be the result.
He was big, well over six feet, with strong, classical
featuresāhigh cheekbones sloped down to a square jaw and beautifully shaped
mouth, and his thick-lashed eyes studied her with penetrating intensity from
behind a pair of black-framed glasses. His longish hair, a strikingly uniform
and heavy shade of dirty blond, brushed the collar of his jacket, and his wide
shoulders looked as if they could bear any weight in the world. A black strap
cut across his chest, holding a camera at his side.
Callie struggled to pull in a breath. Though her arm muscles
ached from holding the books, she shook her head. āIā¦Iām fine. Thank you.ā
Turning, she stabbed the elevator button again. Why was it taking so long?
He angled his body toward the elevator, tucking a thick
paperback under his arm. Just standing beside him was an exercise in awareness,
as Callie couldnāt help but notice the breadth of his muscular chest beneath a
navy T-shirt, or the way his worn jeans hugged his long legsā¦
The elevator pinged. He stepped forward to pull open the
gate, extending his hand to hold the door for her. Callieās appreciation of the
chivalrous gesture faded as she moved past him, the close quarters causing her
arm to brush against his abdomen. The half-second contact elicited a
ridiculously disproportionate surge of heat in her veins.
Stop it!
Stiffening her shoulders, she strode with purpose into the
elevator. Halfway in, her heel stuck in the gap between the elevator and the
floor. With a squeak of alarm, she pitched forward.
Her books crashed to the ground. Before she could put her
hands out to break an inevitable fall, he darted in front of her, grabbed her
arms, and hauled her upright.
āCareful.ā Concern laced his voice. He tightened his grip on
her. Heavens, he was strong.
Callieās heart raced. She nodded, struggling to control her
erratic breathing. He was right in front of her, so close that she caught his
scentāsomething earthy and masculine, like autumn leaves and salt. She stared
at the tanned column of his throat, the hollow where his pulse beat visibly
beneath his taut skin.
God. Was he as
affected by their contact as she was?
āYou okay?ā He flexed his hands and peeled his grip from her
arms.
Not trusting herself to speak, Callie nodded. He bent to
retrieve her books. She started forward to help him, then stopped. She couldnāt
move. Her narrow heel was still stuck in the elevator door gap.
āHold on.ā He stacked her books in a neat pile on the floor
and stepped to her side, putting up an arm to keep the doors from closing on
her.
Before she could issue a protestāand really, at this point,
she was in no position to reject his helpāhe closed one strong hand around her
shoe and the other around her stocking-clad ankle.
Callie almost jumped out of her skin. Her pulse skyrocketed,
and warmth flooded her. She couldnāt help imagining what his big hand would
feel like sliding up her calf, around to her knee, then clear up to her thigh
andā¦
āPull,ā he ordered, his tone brisk and business-like.
āUmā¦what?ā
āPull your foot. Iāve got your heel.ā
A flush scorched Callieās neck. She silently prayed that one
of her students, or worse, a fellow professor, didnāt decide to wander by at
that very second. Bracing one hand on the wall, she tugged her foot. He pulled
at the same time, and her heel jolted free from the gap.
āSuccess!ā Straightening, he flashed her a smile so white
and engaging that pleasure constricted her chestāand then familiarity struck
her.
Wait a second. Did she know
him?
No. She shook her head to rid herself of the preposterous
idea. She wouldnāt have not
remembered a man like him.
āThank you.ā
āNo problem.ā He picked up her books. āWouldnāt want you
falling head over heels.ā
Callie laughed, her tension relaxing. He grinned and shot
her a wink before turning to press the first-floor button. Why did he suddenly seem so familiar?
The elevator doors closed. He studied the book titles and
covers. āGreek mythology, huh?ā
āYes, I teach in the Classics department at Skyline.ā
He glanced over at her, a crease appearing between his
eyebrows. Callie realized she was still staring at him. Maybe he was a new
resident or another professorāthough of what, she couldnāt imagine. Love 101?
Her cheeks warmed. āIām sorry.ā She smiled weakly. āItās
justā¦Iāve never seen you here before, but you look familiar. Do we know each
other?ā
His shoulders stiffened. A shield appeared to descend over
his features, closing off all traces of warmth and humor.
āNo.ā He faced forward again. āWe donāt.ā
Before Callie could respond to his sudden change in tone,
the elevator bumped and rattled to a stop. She extended her arms to take the
books from him.
āThanks for theā¦ā Her voice trailed off.
Why werenāt the doors
opening? Didnāt the bump indicate theyād reached the first floor?
Since she didnāt usually take this elevator, she wouldnāt
know. Maybe it was just slow.
Blowing her breath out impatiently, she hit the Open Doors button. Nothing.
āMaybe we need to say āHocus
Pocusā?ā Though his tone was light, he frowned slightly.
For some reason, a spark of anxiety lit in Callieās belly.
She shifted her weight and pushed the button again. āI knew I should have taken
the stairs.ā
Setting the books down, he punched the other buttons on the
panel. Nothing happened. The overhead lights flickered.
āCould be the ghost of Captain Marcus.ā He glanced up at the
ceiling.
Callie shot him a narrow look. If he knew the library was
rumored to be haunted by the ship captain who built the mansion, then he was
either from around here or heād read up on the history of Bliss Cove. It had to
be the former. But why couldnāt she place him?
His frown deepened as he studied the panel and pressed the
alarm button. A buzzing noise echoed in the small space. āSo at least we know
that works.ā
Callie clucked her tongue with irritation and checked her
watch. Half an hour before her meeting. āBee knows I went to get those books,
so even if she didnāt hear the alarm, sheāll wonder where I went.ā
āWhat if she thinks youāre just browsing the stacks?ā
āI donāt have time to browse
the stacks.ā She started to pace to the other side of the elevator before
remembering they were in an enclosed space that was about fifteen square feet.
And he took up a lot of room. His presence radiated beyond his considerable
physical form, warming her from the inside out.
Her heartbeat increased. She stepped back, trying to put as
much distance between them as possible. āIā¦um, I just mean Iām busy. I have an
important meeting in half an hour. I always know exactly what books I want. No
need to browse.ā
Oh my god, stop
babbling, Callie.
āI figured thatās what you meant.ā Amusement gleamed in his
blue eyes. He pressed the alarm button again and leaned toward the intercom.
āHello? Bee?ā
Silence. Callie pulled her phone out of her satchel and swiped
the screen.
āNo signal.ā Her heart sank. āBig surprise.ā
She dropped her phone back into the side pocket and walked
one step forward and two steps back. āI canāt miss this meeting. Do you think
we can climb out the top?ā
She half expected him to laugh at her. Instead he shrugged
and stretched his arm toward the ceiling. The movement caused his T-shirt to
ride up, revealing a stunning, washboard abdomen with a light trail of hair
leading straight down into his jeans. Though Callie had always prided herself
on her self-control and discipline, she was helpless against the hypnotic pull
of this manās abdomen. Until now, sheād only seen an actual six-pack in
underwear ads, and his very real musclesāwhich were right in front of herāhad her fingers twitching with the urge to
explore that expanse of smooth, taut skin.
āClose.ā He brushed his hand across the panels, but they
were too high for him to get a grip. He muttered a noise of frustration. āI
once did aā¦I mean, I can lift you up and you can try to get those light panels
off to see if thereās an escape hatch.ā
āWell, letās give it a shot.ā Callie forced her attention
from his abs back up to his face. She tried to ignore a surge of awareness at
the thought of him touching her again. āI really canāt miss this meeting.ā
āSo youāve said.ā A grin tugged at his mouth.
Another bolt of familiarity shot through her. Shaking it
off, she looked at ceiling. āSo go ahead. Lift me.ā
