A Younger Man

She felt the warmth of his gaze all the way down to her toes, and for a moment, her mind went completely blank. Then his eyes crinkled with amusement and she realized she was staring at him as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. Heat rushed into her cheeks, mortifying her. What was wrong with her? She was too old to blush!

“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really in a hurry. I’ve got to get to school.”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “School? You go to Mountain State?”

She nodded, then grimaced wryly. “Well, I will if my professor doesn’t kick me out before I even get to sit in on his first class.”

“Oh, I doubt he’ll do that,” he replied as he easily loosened one lug nut, then another. “Most of the professors are pretty reasonable. What’s your first class?”

“Archeology,” she said, “with Professor Sullivan.”

“Sullivan?” he said, arching a brow consideringly. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a decent guy. Just tell him you had a flat on the way to school. I’m sure he’ll cut you some slack.”

“I’ve just waited so long to go to college, and I want to start out on the right foot. Not that the professor will probably even notice,” she added. “I’ve heard that some of the classes are so large there’s no way the teachers even know who all their students are.”

“Oh, Sullivan will notice you,” he assured her with a grin. “You’re cute. And I heard he was partial to redheads.”

Heat climbing in her cheeks, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you flirting with me?”

Not the least bit concerned by her warning tone, he winked at her. “Got it in one, sweetheart. How’m I doing?” When she just gave him a baleful look, he chuckled. “That good, huh? Give me time. I’m just warming up.”

His eyes danced with laughter, and she had to admit that there’d been a time in her life when she might have been tempted. She’d always had a weakness for scamps, and there was no question that her handsome Samaritan had, no doubt, been using a smile and the glint in his eyes to get his way with women ever since he was old enough to crawl. But he had to be at least ten years younger than she was, and she was older and wiser than she’d once been.

Anxious to be on her way, she said lightly, “I really hate to shoot you down, but I’ve got to go. Thanks for loosening the lug nuts for me. I’ll take it from here.”

Not the least disturbed that she was giving him the brush-off, he only grinned. “No problem. I’ve got it.” And not giving her time to argue further, he jacked up the back of her car and quickly replaced the flat with her spare. Two minutes later, he loaded the flat and jack in the trunk of her Honda, slammed the lid and turned to her with a smile. “You’re all set to go.”

“Thank you so much,” she said with a sigh of relief. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“Get the flat fixed as quickly as you can,” he told her as he opened her door for her and she quickly slipped into the driver’s seat. “Your spare’s pretty thin.”

“I know. I’ve been meaning to get new tires, but you know how that goes.” Smiling, she quickly started the car. “Thanks again for all your help. Gotta go.”

“Hey, wait!” he said, startled, as she put the car in gear. “What’s your number? Let’s meet—”

Waving, she drove off.

“—for a drink,” he called after her. She didn’t even slow down. Ten seconds later she turned at the next corner and disappeared from view. Grinning, he grabbed his helmet and jumped on his bike. Ten seconds later he, too, turned at the next corner.

Her first class was in Old Main, and Natalie couldn’t find a parking space anywhere. Softly cursing, she quickly cruised down the surrounding streets, keeping a eye out for the campus police and any space big enough to squeeze her car into. And with every tick of the clock on the dash, the knot in her stomach tightened.

When she finally found a parking place six blocks away, she was already late for class. Now it was only a question of how late. Quickly pulling into the small space between two pickups that were over their lines, she grabbed her backpack and sprinted for Old Main.

She was breathless by the time she reached her classroom. Hesitating outside in the hallway, she dreaded opening the door and walking in. Rushing in ten minutes after class started, the object of all eyes, was not the way she’d dreamed of starting college, but there was no help for it. Dragging in a calming breath, she straightened her shoulders and pulled open the door.

Just as she’d expected, all eyes swung her way. Heat climbed in her cheeks and she was only concerned with finding a seat and disappearing. But first she had to apologize to her professor for being so late. Forcing a weak smile, she directed her gaze to the man standing at the front of the classroom. “I’m so sorry—”

That was as far as she got. Her gaze locked with familiar sparkling blue eyes that were full of mischief, and suddenly her heart was pounding in confusion. This was Maxwell Sullivan? A biker with a fast smile and a quick line who came to the aid of damsels in distress? He couldn’t be! Maxwell Sullivan was not only a professor of archeology, but a writer who was a true-life Indiana Jones. He traveled all over the world, solving mysteries that were older than dirt, then came home and wrote bestselling novels about his adventures by weaving archeological facts into fiction. He couldn’t possibly be her Good Samaritan! He was too young, too carefree, too cute to be a stodgy old professor.

“I’m sorry,” she said huskily. “Excuse me. I must be in the wrong classroom.”

“Not so fast,” Maxwell Sullivan said easily as she turned to leave. “You’re in the right place…or at least you are if you’re Natalie Bailey. Everyone else answered roll.”

Stunned, she just stared at him. “But you’re supposed to be older!”

It wasn’t until the rest of the class laughed that she realized she’d blurted out her thoughts. Mortified, she wanted to sink right through the floor. Forcing a weak smile, she said, “Excuse me while I take my foot out of my mouth. I just thought—”

“What everyone else in the class thought,” he finished for her with an easy grin. “So, please, don’t apologize. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not your average professor.”

“So just how old are you?” a cocky eighteen-year-old asked him from the front row. “Are you sure you have your Ph.D? You don’t look old enough to shave, dude.”

“You can thank my parents for that,” Max retorted, chuckling. “I’ve got good genes. And yes, I do have my Ph.D. If you don’t believe me—check me out. I didn’t buy any of my degrees on the Internet.”

“But you’ve got to be too young to be a professor,” another student said with a frown. “How old were you when you graduated from high school? Nine?”

“Not quite,” he laughed. “I was sixteen.”

“Sixteen!”

“No way!”

Grinning at the uproar that created, he added, “I got my B.A. when I was nineteen.”

The rest of her classmates found that hard to accept, but Natalie could well believe he’d finished college in three years. She’d read his books—they were complex and detailed and filled with fascinating historical facts. Knowing nothing else about him other than his published work, she’d never doubted that he was anything short of brilliant…which was why she’d been so eager to sign up for his class. She’d never dreamed he’d be a biker with peach fuzz on his cheeks.

Okay, so he wasn’t that young. It was his quick, teasing smile that made him look like a teenager, she decided as her gaze moved to the sensuous lines of his mouth. Boyish dimples flashed with every smile, but it was the self-deprecating twinkle in his eye that charmed her. What woman could resist a man who didn’t take himself seriously? How old was he? Frowning, she tried to do the math. If he graduated from college with his B.A. when he was nineteen, then spent the next four or five years finishing graduate school and his Ph.D., then he had to be at least…

“Twenty-eight,” he said with a quirk of a smile as he looked her right in the eye and read her mind. “I’ve been teaching for five years.”

From across the room, someone asked him when he’d gone on his first dig, but Natalie hardly heard his answer for the pounding of her heart. He gave the other students who asked questions the courtesy of his attention, but it seemed as if his gaze always returned to hers.

You’re imagining it, she told herself. He’s your professor, for heaven’s sake! And a biker who’s footloose and fancy-free. You’re a mother with twins and the only one your boys can depend on to be there for them. The last thing you want or need is a man.

She couldn’t argue with that. Her day started early and ended late, and, thanks to her deadbeat ex, she was not only the sole breadwinner, but also chief cook and bottlewasher, housekeeper, chauffeur, dragon slayer, crises solver, and entertainment director. She didn’t have trouble sleeping at the end of the day—she just collapsed from exhaustion. Even if Derek hadn’t totally put her off ever giving her heart to a man again, she didn’t know how she would have fit one into the crazy days that were her life. There just wasn’t time…especially now that she’d added college student to the many hats she wore.

She’d waited a long time for this day, she reminded herself grimly, as Maxwell Sullivan turned the conversation to the topics he would be covering over the course of the semester, the term paper that would count for twenty-five percent of their grade, and the dig they were all required to go on over the Thanksgiving holiday. The only reason she was here was to get an education.

Quickly grabbing a pen from her purse, she opened a spiral notebook and began taking notes. Diligently, she wrote down every word. She didn’t have to look around to know that she was eighteen years older than the majority of the students, and she readily admitted that she was more than a little intimidated. How was she going to keep up? Most of her classmates had just graduated from high school a few months ago, and their study habits were as fresh in their minds as the memories of their senior prom. She, on the other hand, didn’t even remember how to study. What, she wondered, trying not to panic, was she doing here?

Watching her from the corner of his eye as he discussed some of the well-known historical digs he’d been on, Max reminded himself that he wasn’t the kind of teacher who allowed himself to become interested in his female students. Not only did the administration frown on it, but he didn’t want or need the complication. So why the devil was Natalie Bailey so distracting? It wasn’t as if she was trying to attract his attention. Most of the time her head was bent over her notes. She hardly looked up at all, and when she did, it was obvious that she was totally focused on his lecture. He should have been thankful for that. Instead he found himself wishing she’d look up and smile at him. What was going on here?

Losing his place in his lecture—something that rarely happened—he frowned and quickly got himself back on track…but not for long. He turned to pull down a map of ancient Egypt, and there she was again, right in his line of vision. He hadn’t been lying earlier when he’d told her that her archeology professor was partial to redheads. He was—he readily admitted it. She’d twisted her dark-auburn curls up on her head, exposing the tempting lines of her throat, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She wasn’t the kind of woman he would have called beautiful—with her quick flash of dimples, pert nose, and petite five-foot-two figure, she looked more like the girl next door.

But there was more to her than that. There was that stubborn chin that would challenge a man at every turn and the wariness that peeked out of her midnight-blue eyes. An interesting combination, he thought, intrigued. He’d seen her quick smile, the humor that danced in her eyes…and how quickly she stepped back from that. He would bet there’d been a time in her life when she’d been a lot more spontaneous than she allowed herself to be now. What had happened to change that? When had life taught her to be a more cautious soul? What was her story?

Suddenly realizing where his thoughts had wandered, he swore silently and did some mental backpedaling himself. What the devil was he doing? If she was unusually distracting, it was only because she was so different from the female students he usually dealt with, he reasoned. They were too young and flighty, too eager to fall in love and live happily ever after. There was nothing flighty about the conscientious Ms. Bailey. She had a maturity about her that the rest of her eighteen-year-old classmates lacked, and she had no idea how refreshing that was. How old was she? Thirty? Older? Was she married? Divorced? What had she been doing since high school?

Whatever it was, he sincerely doubted that she’d spent any time in college—otherwise, she would have known it wasn’t necessary for her to write down every word he said. And that could present a problem for her, he realized, frowning. He was a tough teacher—he readily admitted it. His tests were fill-in-the-blank and essays and difficult for students fresh out of high school. Anyone who hadn’t been in school in years would, no doubt, have a difficult time passing his class. If Natalie didn’t want to find herself in trouble, she was really going to have to stay on top of things from day one.