Nobody's Princess. Jennifer Greene
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pumping handshake, as forthright and blunt as she was. Her skin was soft, though, and warmer than sunlight.
She dropped her hand quickly enough, but his pulse was suddenly skidding down a slick, unfamiliar road At thirty-four, Alex was more than familiar with hormones, but it was one thing to recognize her attractiveness, and another to feel a kindling responsiveness to her. He loved Gwen. And Gwen had always inspired loving, sensual feelings in him, but not this strange, flash-fire kind of sexual awareness.
It made him feel guilty. And nervous. Quickly he stuffed his hands in his pockets and hoped she didn’t notice his sudden awkwardness.
She didn’t seem to. Nothing seemed to quell her gregarious friendliness. “Well, nice to meet you, Alex. It’s really rare I find anyone in the myths and legends section but me, and I couldn’t help but notice all your books. ... You’re preparing for a class?”
“Yes. And I’m afraid I really have a lot to do.” Thankfully, she took the hint. Her head ducked, then his head ducked. Pages turned. A spring-laden breeze whispered in the open windows. It was peaceful just like that.
For maybe two minutes.
“Do you like teaching?”
Hell. It was like trying to concentrate with a fire alarm going off next to him. He wasn’t sure why she kept ringing his personal fire alarm, but she was far too disturbing a woman to possibly ignore.
“Yeah, I love teaching,” he answered her, and heard the instinctive stubborn note in his voice. He got grief all the time—especially from his brother, Merle—on his choice of career. The Brennans were one of the old, landed families in Silvertree. Few in the community could fathom what the Sam Hill he was doing in a classroom. Alex didn’t care what anyone thought, but he was used to no one understanding.
“Me, too. I love working with young people. I even believe that corny line from the Whitney Houston song about ‘the children are our future.’ Can’t imagine doing anything else.” All animated, she leaned forward, giving him another throat-parching view. “You’ve really got me curious, though. I see all the books around you on Camelot and the Arthurian legend...but I thought you said you taught history?”
“I do. But we’re in the medieval stretch. The kids are in no big hustle to get excited about 1066 and the Battle of Hastings.”
“I’m with them.” Her eyes danced with teasing humor. “I can well imagine that King Arthur is an easier sell.”
“Anything’s an easier sell than the Dark Ages. And it’s not like I can’t teach them something from the Camelot legend. Half our political concepts about equality and democracy came from the ideals emerging in that time....” Alex suddenly frowned, startled to realize he was actually inviting more conversation with her.
She seemed at ease, as if they were old friends. “Yeah, I practically inhaled the Camelot story when I was a kid. I’m no believer in heroes, but Arthur seemed to be one of the true-blue good guys. It’s just a shame he was so brain smart and so life dumb.”
“Life dumb?”
“Uh-huh. All those brilliant ideas and ideals, but he didn’t seem to have a dog’s sense about people. I mean, look who he picked for his pals. He trusted Lancelot—who wooed away his wife right under his nose. And he fell for Guinevere—who had to be one of the shallowest nitwits of all times. All it took to impress her was a young guy in a pair of tights with a big sword. If she’d had a brain, she’d have recognized that Arthur was by far the better man.”
Temporarily, women taking off with other men was an extremely sore spot with Alex. So was the size of the other guy’s sword. He had no desire to pick that emotional scab around a stranger, but somehow he’d gotten embroiled in this conversation and he couldn’t just drop it now. “I think you may have misunderstood Arthur. There was nothing wrong with his judgment. He simply recognized that no one can help who they fall in love with. And he never blamed either Lancelot or Guinevere for being true to their feelings.”
“Sheesh. Don’t tell me you really believe all that poppycock?”
“Poppycock?”
He caught a dazzling sparkle of white teeth when she grinned again. Those dangerous hazel eyes of hers were still studying him. Alex couldn’t imagine why. Nothing in his mirror reflected anything unusual—he was an ordinary six feet, blue eyes, brown hair, and he wore a beard because he was too absentminded to remember to shave. Truth to tell, he tended to forget his looks altogether, but he really doubted there was anything in his appearance to attract a strikingly sensual woman like Regan.
At the moment Alex doubted his ability to attract a stone.
Yet she was leaning forward again, as if nothing on the planet interested her but talking with him. “Well, I’ve never taught King Arthur, but you’re not the only one teaching myths and legends. I’m teaching three courses this term on fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales,” he echoed.
“Fairy tales at the adult level. For women. In other words, all the poppycock lies we’ve sold ourselves through history...knights in shining armor, happily-ever-afters, heroes—all that humorous boloney.”
“You think heroes are boloney?”
“Did I, um, touch a nerve?”
Of course she didn’t. He didn’t even know her. He just felt compelled to tactfully correct the drastic misconception in her thinking. “You don’t believe in heroic behavior? That a critical part of the teaching job is to instill ideals and role models in young people?”
“Well, sure. But I also believe young women have been brought up for centuries, hoping to be dazzled by a knight in shining armor, and there is no such beast. Guinevere was a perfect example. Maybe Lancelot looked good in a pair of tights, but he betrayed his best friend and poached another guy’s woman besides. She suckered into a classic jerk parading as a hero. She’d have been better off understanding that there was no such animal...you’re looking much better.”
“Of all the one-sided, twisted interpretations of—um, excuse me?” Her last comment had seemed to come out of nowhere.
She cupped her chin in her palm, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You really are looking better,” she observed. “Color shooting up your neck. Life flashing in your eyes. You looked like you’d lost your best friend when I first sat down.”
“I did.”
“A love affair gone wrong?”
“As wrong as you can get. She didn’t show up at the altar, and I...” Alex’s voice died. Frustration clawed through him. She had everything so confused about the Arthurian legend that he’d gotten all riled up and just hadn’t been thinking. He couldn’t believe he’d mentioned anything about his ex-fiancée. A man took his blows on the chin. Until that instant, he’d cut off anyone who’d tried direct conversation or sympathy with him about Gwen. Something about Regan was mangling his mind.
And the terrifying woman suddenly reached her hand across the table to squeeze his. “Aw, hell, I was afraid it was something like that. What a painful thing to go through. I’m really sorry.”
A librarian wheeled a squeaky cart of books down a nearby aisle. A pair of teenagers jostled each other as they walked past. The magnolia-scented sunlight was still coming through the windows...nothing was new, nothing different. Except for his sudden disturbingly intimate awareness of Regan that made no sense at all.
She couldn’t possibly care about a man she didn’t know, yet he had the craziest feeling she understood. The warm empathy in her eyes radiated sincerity. He wasn’t expecting an emotional connection—not to her, not to anyone. And seeping through his nerves was the slow, alluring electric current flowing between her hand and his. For the second time he withdrew his hand and slammed the misbehaving appendage back in his pocket. “We were arguing,” he said awkwardly, swiftly.
Another one of those slow, mischievous smiles.