A Dance for Him (9 page)

If we’d just stayed status quo everything would still have been fine. Yes, I wouldn’t have gotten all up close and personal with him, but then I’d never have gotten my hopes up either. He’d still have been good for a bit of fantasising, and that would have been it.

I don’t even know if he’ll ever go back to being all flirty around me.

Fuck, for the last month and a half that’s been the highlight of my week, getting stared at by Sebastian Morland, causing him to grin roguishly and get all flushed and excited.

But things always get screwed up when they get too
real
, don’t they? …

I wonder if the deal is now off. Not that there’s anything I could do about that, and maybe it would be all for the best. I’ll go back to the club next week, that is all. Ugh, it’s a good thing I didn’t get too excited about Dr. Morland’s offer and quit the club altogether.

I’d better get those clothes out from my bag and stick them in the laundry hamper …

As I make my way over to the couch and pick up my bag I find not just the outfit I wore over to Dr. Morland’s but the envelope he’d handed me when I first got there, with “Paige” written on it in his firm, elegant hand.

Somehow, unbelievably, crazily, I’d managed to forget all about it until now.

I open it and find six crisp hundred-dollar bills.

Six hundred dollars, just as he’d promised.

And though, rationally speaking, this is
way
more than I usually make in a night at the club, I can’t help but start crying, I don’t even know why.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It’s Wednesday again, and as always I’m in class. I did briefly consider not showing up, especially since I didn’t hear a peep from him after Saturday, but that would have been weak and silly on my part.

The last thing I want him to think is that I’m still upset. To be honest, at this point the old status quo is all I want, but if I can’t get that, then I’ll just retreat into indifferent civility for the rest of the term - and after all, half of it’s already done.

It’ll entirely be his call …

When I first walked into the classroom and past his desk I ignored him completely - the only thing that could have betrayed me was my brief hesitation while trying to decide if I should sit in my usual seat or a more obscure one.

That’s if he was looking at all, and I have no idea if he was, because I certainly wasn’t going to check!

I sit down, take my notebook out in preparation for class, and fiddle with my phone, but when I glance up briefly from what I’m doing, I see him looking at me.

He’s not looking all too happy. I mean, I can’t quite read the expression on his face, and there’s something intent about it, but it’s definitely not the usual smile of delight he usually greets me with.

Momentarily unnerved, I look down, back at my phone. I’m only interrupted when Lloyd, one of the guys in class, walks in and sits beside me.

“Hi Paige,” he says cheerily. “That was a difficult midterm wasn’t it? I’m not looking forward to getting it back.”

He’s just being friendly of course. We don’t really know each other that well, apart from the occasional brief conversation in class, but in this moment I’m
really
glad he’s talking to me, so I nod and smile almost gratefully.

Before I can say anything else, Dr. Morland’s voice rings out, clearly and sharply.

“Well, hello everyone. I’ve got your midterms here, most of you did pretty decently so I am quite pleased.”

He doesn’t actually sound all that pleased, and this is causing my heart to beat faster for some reason. He’s handing out the blue books now one by one, and
of course
mine just has to be the last, so by the time he gets to me I’m almost trembling with anticipation.

“… And here’s your exam, Ms. Lytton,” I hear him say in the same steely tone, as I see a blue book flash in front of me.

Except that rather than tossing it onto my desk, he’s holding on to it, and for some reason won’t let go of it even after I’ve taken hold of it.

Startled and uncomprehending, I look up at him, and only after we make eye contact does he let go of the book.

There’s something oddly deliberate about the whole thing.

Not that he’s smiling any more than he was - I still can’t tell if he’s angry or neutral - but I definitely had the impression that he wanted to force me to make eye contact with him, to make me see him, or maybe see him looking at me.

It’s both terrifying and exciting at the same time. I take refuge in looking through my midterm, wondering if maybe I can find some clue to what’s going on in an annotation or comment somewhere, but I find nothing, just the usual - an A+ followed by the word “excellent”, in the same strong, beautiful script that he addressed the envelope in on Saturday.

Fuck. It’s impossible to absorb anything of what he’s saying. Something or other about the midterm. I’m palpitating ridiculously, and all I can think about is whether he’s cross with me, about what he might or might not be trying to tell me, about how it felt to have that strange little tug-of-war with him over the blue book.

About the enigmatic expression in his eyes when I looked up at him …

It’s only when my classmates put away their blue books and take out their notebooks that I realise he’s moving on to the lecture. But while I start out diligently enough with my note-taking, it isn’t long before I’m just sitting there staring blankly at my notebook, his voice registering as sound but not as words that I can actually understand.

By the time the class ends I’ve barely filled a third of a page, and all I can think of is fleeing, although for all my nervousness I realise when I stand up how wet I’ve gotten in the meantime, as I feel a gush of my juices inundate my panties.

Which nevertheless has no effect at all on my intense, inexplicable desire to flee the classroom.

Unfortunately, just as I’m about to leave, Lloyd decides to say something to me again.

“You know, Paige, I really could use some help with this class. You think you could help me out, maybe sometime this weekend? I’ll buy you lunch in exchange.”

I can barely answer him - partly because of my confusion at being thus accosted, partly because I can somehow feel that I’m being looked at, I suspect by Dr. Morland.

I glance in his direction, confirming my instincts - he’s staring at me balefully, his gaze searing my flesh, making me tremble.

“Um, well, Lloyd, I’d love to help but I’m not sure that I’m free this weekend,” I stammer, flustered.

“Too bad. Maybe next week then? You don’t mind if I email you?”

“Oh, um, sure. See you around.”

“Thanks, Paige, have a good week.”

Oh, Lloyd. Why now. Why here
, I think, as he walks off, leaving me temporarily stuck in the classroom, because I don’t want to walk off with him, and certainly not in front of Dr. Morland!

I give him about fifteen seconds - surely the longest fifteen seconds of my life - before I follow, moving in the direction of the door.

But it seems I’m not going to be able to avoid Dr. Morland after all …

As I walk past him, I hear his voice again: “Can I speak with you for a moment, Ms. Lytton?”

I pause and look up at him. He’s still got that same intent but unsmiling expression on his face that I don’t understand, and yet, even so, despite his newly intimidating manner, he’s still ridiculously handsome, impossible to not gawk at …

The last of the students trickle out of the classroom as we stand there silently, looking at each other, and I swear his eyes soften slightly once we’re alone.

After what seems like an eternity - a heady, intoxicating, palpitating eternity - he finally says something.

It’s not quite what I expect.

“I’ll see you on Saturday, Ms. Lytton,” he growls, before turning abruptly away and walking back to his desk.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

For obvious reasons the last few days have been a blur.

It’s beginning to verge on obsession, this thing with Dr. Morland - I’ve been alternately jumpy or dreamy, depending on what I’m feeling at any given time about the situation, about
him
.

I suppose it
could
be worse - at least the midterms are over - but drifting off into reveries about Dr. Morland in the middle of advanced calculus is
not wise
, to say the least!

When I called mom at home the other day and she asked me how things were going, I just stammered something about being busy with work - because in that brief moment I couldn’t even think of what to say about my life without talking about the Dr. Morland situation, which I definitely have no intention of telling her about!

It’s pathetic.

And it doesn’t even make any sense. I mean, that last thing he said to me -
I’ll see you on Saturday
- the utter cheek of it!

I can’t help but feel that I should be offended by it, by his distant, imperious tone, by his presumption that I was just going to cave and show up.

Not to mention the way he just turned away after delivering that line and went back to his stuff, as though
dismissing
me somehow.

Except he’s right, and I’ve called in to the club again to cancel.

Why? I don’t know.

I say to myself that it’s the rational thing to do, given how little time I have to spend in comparison to the five hours at the club, given how much he’s paying me. And I do need to catch up on calculus, after all!

On the other hand, if it were simply a matter of cold cost-benefit analysis, I wouldn’t exactly be dreaming about him, would I?

Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way he was looking at me. His words were distant, so painfully distant, and yet I can’t forget the darkly gleaming gaze that accompanied them, nor the way in which his eyes softened so markedly when they met mine.

Not to mention that it still makes me shiver to think about the way he practically forced me to look at him when he was handing me my exam.

I figure I’ll go just this one more time, just to see what happens …