Christian (The Casanova Club Book 11) Read online

  He chuckled. “Consider me flattered. Hey, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t be worried.” He swung his heels up onto the corner of the desk. “How would you feel about auditing my classes for me for the month? I know. I know. It sounds heavy. But trust me. It’s a lot easier than it sounds. Especially with what I’m looking for.”

  “Which is?”

  “Ways to promote participation.”

  “I have no idea how to do that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to. But as someone who is new to this subject and this school, I think your perspective could be helpful. Objective. All I need is for you to sit in on my classes and let me know what you think. Take notes. See if you can spot where the students seem to thrive and enjoy themselves as opposed to when they lose their edge. Make sense?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Now let’s get out of here. There’s something I want to show you before we leave.”

  Christian swept around his desk and took my hand. He pulled me gently along behind him, and we swept out into the crowded Harvard halls and wove through students and faculty alike. The place smelled rich. Like leather and sage and clove.

  My old college campus smelled like old carpet and cheap men’s body spray.

  Christian hooked a right at a flight of stairs, and we hurried up them, our fingers still wrapped around one another’s. We emerged in another hall up on the fourth floor, and Christian paused in front of a closed door with a gold plaque that read, Christian Peterson. “If you’re ever here and looking for me, chances are I’m in my office. But follow me. This isn’t what I wanted to show you.”

  I followed.

  He didn’t give me much choice, really. He was still holding my hand. We went to the end of the hall, forked left, then right, and then he fished out his keys when we came to another closed door with the words, Archaeology Department: Faculty Only, cut into the frosted glass.

  Christian twisted the lock and pushed the door open.

  The rich smell of the school was replaced with a more familiar scent. An institutional scent. It smelled like a dentist’s office. Or like a very old hospital wing.

  I followed him into the dimly lit cavernous room. “What is this place?” I whispered.

  “This,” Christian said somewhat dramatically, “is the best room in this whole damn school. Let me get some more lights on so you can see. Hang on.” He proceeded to move throughout the massive room, flicking on lamps. None of them shed very much light, but once a grand total of seven or so glowed on their posts, I realized I was standing in the belly of what appeared to be a small museum. Only, it wasn’t full of artifacts like I was expecting.

  It was full of bones.

  Bones in glass display cases. Bones hanging from wires in the ceiling at eye level, strategically placed to hang in the exact order of a human skeleton. Bones labeled and mounted on the wall.

  “How old are these?” I whispered.

  Christian waggled his eyebrows at me. “Ancient, Piper. Ancient.”

  I couldn’t help myself. My feet moved of their own accord. Step by step, I wandered past the display cases, peered up at bones hanging above my head, and marveled at my sheer luck of being able to stand in such a place. “Where did they all come from?”

  “Most were donated by museums for case studies. The students need real specimens at this stage of their education. Mind you, they don’t get much one on one time with pieces like these, and they’re all on rotation. There is always something different to discover here.” Christian gazed around at all the pieces with as much wonder in his eyes as I was sure I held in mine. “There are remains from Pompeii. From Ancient Rome. From the Dark Ages. And of course, from Egypt.”

  “It’s incredible,” I whispered, peering into a glass case holding a small skeleton wrapped in cloth. A mummy.

  “It’s as close to magic as a man can get,” Christian said as he stepped up beside me. He put his hand on the small of my back, and I didn’t mind. In fact, the closeness was appreciated. I shifted my weight to my right foot to lean toward him as I breathed in the old, chemical smell. Christian let out a content sigh. “You have to follow your dreams. I still pinch myself when I stand in this room. I can’t believe I’m the guy who gets to stand here. To study this. To live and breathe the history they hold.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  He smiled down at me, and his blue eyes shone in the lamp’s light. “I am.”

  Chapter 6

  Christian

  I twirled my red-ink pen in one hand, rolling it over my knuckles and catching it between my thumb and forefinger, while I rubbed absently at my temple with the other hand. The papers spread out across my desk were dedicated, well thought out, patient opinion pieces about where the best dig site might be at The Valley of the Kings.

  The history buff in me internally grimaced at some of the suggestions. Some of the students had clearly overlooked important details, like geographic location—like the young man in last Friday’s class who suggested site D3—and accessibility. But even those students had written compelling arguments favoring their opinion. And that in itself was the main point of the assignment.

  Now going into next week, I could show them all why they were wrong.

  It wasn’t that I got my kicks out of being right. Well, that wasn’t quite true. I did enjoy sharing my knowledge with a room of young people who were eager to learn. I got my kicks out of showing them why they were wrong and helping them discover the tools to prevent that from happening again.

  If they pursued this career path, which at least thirty percent of them would, they wouldn’t be able to afford to make these kinds of miscalculations. If they needed funding from universities, government, or museums, they would have to be better. Smarter.

  They would have to be right.

  Normally, I would enjoy spending my Monday evening dissecting papers and finding opportunities for improvement for my students, but tonight, it felt like pulling teeth.

  I wanted to be with Piper.

  We’d already spent a week together, and those seven days had gone by quicker than the first month of the semester. Every minute with her was full of laughter and wonder. I was peeling back layers of her personality day by day, and she was slowly letting me in. Slowly.

  Piper had her walls up. That was for certain.

  She was very unsure. Unsure about what she could and should say, unsure of how I might perceive her, and unsure of what I expected. I was trying to put her at ease here, but I feared my overbearing ways might have scared her off a bit.

  Apparently, I had come on too strong after all.

  But I was confident I could bounce back.

  October was my month. And for that month, Piper was my girl. There was no way I was going to throw away the opportunity I’d been waiting for all year. There was a connection between us. I could feel it in the air whenever we were in the same room. And I was sure she could feel it too.

  I’d caught her stealing glances at me the day before while we cooked dinner together. In fact, I’d caught her stealing glances all week. And every time I caught her, she turned bright pink like a schoolgirl and got very giggly. I might have been wrong, but I was confident that it was a sign of a girl with a crush.

  I had her right where I wanted her.

  Step aside, Cowboy. Harvard is going to take you to school.

  By the time eight o’clock rolled around, I was ready to throw in the towel and head home to my girl. She was probably in the living room right about now, as she usually was in the evenings, with a book in her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. I told her I’d bring dinner home with me and that I would be late. The routine of it all felt very old, like something we’d both been doing together for a long time. She’d said goodbye to me after my lectures were done and got in the luxury car I rented to take her home while I hung back for the four hours I needed to mark papers.

>   I hoped she was able to enjoy her time alone. She struck me as the sort of woman who appreciated her privacy.

  I finished the last paper I’d been making my way through for the better part of half an hour, left a critical yet constructive comment on the back page, and promptly flipped it upside down to pile it on the stack of other completed papers.

  Then I tossed my pen aside and leaned back, clasping my hands behind my head.

  There was a knock on my door. Before I had a chance to invite them in, the door opened a crack, and a head of wild copper hair appeared around the side of the door.

  Heather smiled at me. “Hey. I thought I might find you here. Is now a bad time?”

  I gestured at my papers. “Not at all. I just finished up. Come on in.”

  Heather slipped into my office, pressed her back up against my door, and pushed it closed. It sealed with a soft click. “How’s the marking going? Any standouts?”

  “One or two,” I said. “Most are—”

  “Average,” Heather finished for me. She smiled as I nodded and then pushed herself off the door. “Yes, well, that’s how it goes, isn’t it? Although admittedly, we can’t really call any of the student body here average.”

  I used the toe of my boot to push the chair on the other side of my desk out for her. The wooden legs protested against the floor. Heather took a seat and tucked her knee-length navy skirt under her thighs.

  “How was your first week back?” I asked.

  “Glorious.” She grinned. “I forgot how much I love it here. How much it feels like home. Travel is, well, you know. Exciting. New. Eye-opening. But this is home. This is where my heart is.”

  “Sounds like you’re not going to apply for next year’s semester abroad.”

  Heather laughed softly and shook her head as she looked down at her lap. “No, I don’t think I will. Maybe the following year. But I need consistency right now.”

  I felt my eyebrows draw together on my forehead. “Did something happen while you were away?”

  Heather opened her mouth and promptly closed it again. Then she licked her lips and met my stare. “Happen? No. I just… no. Nothing happened. I missed my old routine is all. And my friends here. You know how it is. You were homesick the last time you went to Cairo, weren’t you?”

  “Very.”

  Egypt had a lot going for it. It also had a lot working against it. After a few months surrounded by sand and rock and shitty traffic and armed guards, I was itching to get back home.

  I ran my hands down my face and rubbed at my eyes. “Well, I think I’m going to get out of here, Heather. It’s been a long day, and I have someone waiting for me.”

  Heather blinked rapidly. She stood when I stood and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Oh. Me too.”

  “I’ll walk you out to your car.”

  “Always the gentleman.”

  I chuckled. “We’re parked in the same lot.”

  “Still. You’d have offered anyway.”

  I grabbed my leather jacket from the back of my chair and shrugged it on. “I like to pretend I’m not as predictable as that.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being predictably chivalrous.”

  “Noted.”

  Heather and I moved out into the hallway. She hung back while I locked my door, and then the two of us walked shoulder to shoulder down the hall like we had a thousand times. We went down the stairs and through the main campus exit, where a bunch of students were gathered outside sipping coffees before their late-night classes started.

  We followed the well-lit path through the grounds to the employee parking lot.

  Heather was parked a few cars down from me.

  We stopped at her car, and she unlocked her door. “Well, thank you for the escort.”

  “No problem.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder toward my SUV and started making my way over. “I’ll see you around.”

  “See you around.”

  I hadn’t gone more than ten steps when Heather called my name and hurried after me. The heels of her shoes clipped across the concrete until she reached me. “I meant to ask you. Do you have plans on Friday? A group of us are going out for drinks. And by ‘us,’ I mean faculty members.”

  “I figured you weren’t taking any of your students drinking.”

  Heather laughed and swept her hair over one shoulder. “Yes. I mean no. I wouldn’t do that. So? Can you make it?”

  I frowned. “No. I have a date actually.”

  “Oh.” Heather shrugged one shoulder. “Bring her with you. It’s not very often that everyone gets together. It would be a shame if you had to miss it.”

  I supposed there was no harm in asking Piper if she wanted to tag along. “I’ll ask her.”

  “Good.” Heather nodded decisively. “Good.”

  I didn’t make it back to the house until quarter to nine. I had my bookbag on one shoulder and a bag of takeout in the other hand as I closed the front door with my hip.

  “Piper?”

  “I’m in the living room,” she called.

  Just as expected.

  I crossed the foyer and found her sitting cross-legged in the middle of my sofa. A blanket was draped over her lap, and she was scribbling in a notebook. I was surprised to find her writing instead of reading.

  I set the bag of takeout on the coffee table. “What are you up to in here?”

  She glanced up at me and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m writing a letter.”

  “A letter?” I sat down beside her. “To who?”

  Hopefully, not one of the other men.

  “My father.”

  “Is this some kind of tradition the two of you have?”

  Piper finished writing the sentence she was working on. Then she closed the book and put it on the other side of the sofa, where she patted it three times with a flat hand. “No. I don’t intend for him to ever read it.”

  “I’m confused.”

  She unfolded her legs and stretched them out in front of herself. The blanket still remained over her legs, and it fanned out like a tent. “Sorry. I know it’s a bit weird. But there are a lot of things that have been left unsaid between him and I for a long time, and it’s been bothering me. I can’t get it out of my head. So I thought I would try writing it all down to see if that helped me make room for other thoughts.”

  “Did it work?”

  Piper let out a tired sigh but smiled at me. “We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.”

  Chapter 7

  Piper

  I sipped my Manhattan with one arm draped on the edge of the bar. The bartender, a smooth-talking dark-skinned young man with chiseled features and warm brown eyes, nodded at my glass.

  “Another?”

  I smiled at him. “No thank you. This is technically a work event. I don’t want to get sloppy drunk.”

  “Wise and beautiful,” he said, tossing his black bar cloth over his shoulder. “You’d think I would see more of that, working in a place like this. But alas, I do not.” He leaned against the counter and looked around the bar. “So whose work thing is it?”

  “How do you know it’s not mine?”

  He gave me a calculating stare and smiled with his eyes. “Well, for starters, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone, talking to me. You’d be socializing with your peers. And secondly, if those peers knew you already, they certainly wouldn’t leave you sitting on the sidelines like this.”

  “And why not?” I ventured to ask.

  “Are you going to make me say it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Is it because I’m both wise and beautiful?”

  The bartender braced himself with both hands on the bar. “You catch on quick, don’t you?”

  The old Piper—the girl I used to be before the Casanova Club—would have been flustered by having such a hot guy hit on her. Not anymore. His attention was flattering, but I was definitely uninterested. My heart only had so much room in it, and all of it was already occupied—although I
suspected I could make space for Christian.

  “So,” the bartender said. “Which one is yours?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Which of these guys is yours? You’re here with a guy, correct? This is his work function?”

  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Are you a bartender or a detective?”

  “Just a regular guy manning the bar, seeing the same things night after night. You learn to spot patterns.”

  “I see.”

  He leaned forward again and crossed his arms over the bar. “So which one is he?”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek and turned as smoothly as I could manage on my bar stool. Christian and the other professors from Harvard were gathered at the opposite end of the bar. Behind Christian was a table of about six other professors. In total, there had to be about fifteen people. More than I was expecting but not more than I could handle.

  After all, I’d been to parties at a Rockefeller’s mansion.

  “That one,” I said, pointing through the crowd to Christian, in a white button-up and black jeans.

  “Damn, girl.” The bartender flashed me a devilish smile. “You snagged yourself a good one, didn’t you? Is he rich?”

  I laughed. “What makes you ask that?”

  “His watch, for starters.”

  My eyes went to the thick black piece on Christian’s wrist. I sighed. “Yes. He’s rich.”

  “A rich, young, good-looking man lands a beautiful wise young woman. Huh. It’s the stuff of movies.”

  “You could say that again,” I said softly.

  He drummed his fingers on the bar. “Can I ask you another question?”

  I turned back around to face him. “Of course.”

  “Why are you sitting here with me when your man is over there having all of his peers fawn over him?”

  I sipped my Manhattan to avoid answering.

  The bartender was onto my tricks. He took the martini glass from my hand and set it down just out of my reach. “A guy like that can slip through your fingers like sand if you let him. And you like him, don’t you?”