Court

I couldn’t find the goddamn intern.

It had been my primary function for the better part of an hour, my idea rolling around in my thoughts, waiting to meet hers.

The Medici article had sunk into my mind like a shovel into fresh earth, the kind that began writing itself as I ate, standing at my kitchen island last night, and when I ran my thoughts down on my treadmill. It was the best kind of idea, one that had been inspired by her, by her research and work, and I had more for her. If I could figure out where she was.

I had already circled the office twice and trekked to the Lehman Library. I’d even ridden the elevator up and down twice, just in case I’d catch her there, as it seemed to be a fixed point for us. What was most ridiculous about my agitation was that I had no idea when she was supposed to come in, so I had nothing to gauge her truancy or my expectations by. And when I’d asked Bianca what time the intern usually came in, she’d looked at me like my forehead had opened up to expose a third eye.

That damnable idea wouldn’t shut up, and I’d decided I would write the article with the intern’s help. I could reassign her, place her somewhere her work would be appreciated. Vainly, I’d mentioned Medici and some of my ramblings to Bianca in the hopes that she’d brainstorm with me, but she’d only listened politely while her gaze occasionally drifted to her computer screen and whatever was waiting for her there.

But the intern would listen—if I could find her. And get her to sit still. If she’d fucking get here already.

I glanced at my watch as I headed back to my office. Annoyance fired at the late hour and lost time, cursing her as if she were to blame for not being accessible exactly when and where I wanted her.

When I looked up, my feet took root, stopping me mid-stride at the sight of the intern at the end of the hallway.

It was as if I’d conjured her, as if she’d been placed there at my feet, by my order. And the vision drew the breath from my lungs in a moment that stretched out between us like a rubber band.

She was tall—so exquisitely tall—her body a long, elegant line, mostly comprised of legs. They were glorious legs, the longest legs I’d ever laid eyes on, moving her toward me with smooth grace. The narrow circle of her waist was accentuated by the waistband of midnight-blue pants, and her blouse hugged her breasts, the V-neck like an arrow, drawing my gaze down the everlasting length of her body.

And then I met her eyes.

They were confident and assured but touched at the corners with flickering uncertainty, lined with kohl and bigger, wider than I remembered. The creamy porcelain of her skin glowed luminescent, her jaw and chin so delicate, they might break in the wrong hands, in the wrong palms.

But it was her lips that summoned me, commanded me without a word, a deep shade of crimson spotlighting their bewitching shape; narrow on her face but ample and alluring, her top lip was as thick and luscious as the bottom. I envisioned them parting to whisper my name.

In that moment, I imagined those lips doing a great number of things.

And then her lips did part, stretching into a small O, her eyes flashing open as she pitched forward.

She was in my arms before she could make a sound, her warm, soft body pressed against my cold, hard one. Her hands gripped my biceps. Mine slipped around her slender waist and held fast.

The intern—could it really be her?—looked up at me, her cheeks smudged with a rosy blush. Her eyes weren’t brown after all but a deep, steely shade of blue and green, the change in pigment so slight, they combined to form a sheet of color that reminded me of slate, a depth of blue-gray that defied logic.

“I…” she breathed, her eyes lighting with fear and embarrassment.

I found myself smiling with the slightest tilt of my lips.

“Glad I caught you,” I said, setting her to rights, loathe to let her go. “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

Her cheeks flamed brighter as she toyed with her waistband, adjusting her bag strap and avoiding my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Lyons,” she said to her shoes.

“Don’t be, Miss Van de Meer.”

“Please, call me Rin.”

Rin. The word sat on my tongue, the shape of it enticing.

“Would you mind coming to my office for a moment?”

“Not at all,” she said with authority I’d yet to see in her before she walked into the building with the confidence of Cleopatra taking on the Empire.

Rin.

What had happened to her since yesterday? Where was the girl who couldn’t share an elevator with me? The one whose shoulders sloped and voice wavered when she had the courage to use it?

I couldn’t see her at all in the girl under that lipstick and those clothes. The metamorphosis was astonishing, the air around her affected by her confidence. And that, I found, was more appealing than the finery—it was the way she stood, the way she carried herself, the way she met my eyes without hesitation.

I’d never subscribed to the belief that clothes made the man, but I’d be damned if the clothes hadn’t turned Rin into a version of herself I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen it for myself.

She sat in one of the chairs across from my desk, crossing those magnificent legs and waiting expectantly for me to speak.

I smoothed my tie as I sat. “I wanted to thank you for your research on Medici.”

Confusion flickered across her brows. “But I…”

“Bianca sent me your work, and it gave me the idea for a piece I want to put together for the exhibition. In fact, I was so impressed with your research, I was hoping you could provide a little more. That is, if Bianca doesn’t have you too busy.”

She sat up a little straighter, her face surprised and eager. “No, I have time. What do you need?”

So sure of herself, her chin high, her voice steady. How in the hell is this the same girl who ran away from me twenty-four hours ago?

I relayed the details of the Medici family I wanted citations for and invited her to send along anything else she felt was relevant—she had studiously retrieved a small notebook from her bag and jotted down instructions while I spoke. And then I dismissed her, watching her walk out of my office, my eyes unwittingly on her tight ass until it was out of sight.

When she was out of proximity, my head began to clear from the buzz of the encounter, and cold clarity crept into its place, settling in right next to my disappointment.

There wasn’t a universe that existed wherein I was allowed to be attracted to the intern. Not only for my career, but for myself. I’d lost that freedom two years ago.

Everyone had a price, even those I chose to trust.

And I would never, ever be so blind again.

* * *

Rin

I did my best to strut out of the room with jellified insides and shaky knees, feeling his eyes on me every step of the way.

I’d impressed him.

He wanted my help.

The curator, the man who just a few days ago had all but sentenced me to death, had asked me for help. Because he was impressed. With me.

Even after I’d tripped and fallen into his arms.

My cheeks flamed, replaying my epic flail in slow motion in my mind from the moment I’d toppled forward to the moment I was in his arms. God, his body was insane, hard and curved and big, his biceps so wide, my hands didn’t span them, and my hands were huge. And God, he was handsome. And my God, he smelled good.

And I’d impressed him. Me!

I could have sprouted wings and flown around the building.

Even Bianca couldn’t get me down. When I walked into her office and she glanced up, she was so shocked by the sight of me, her face shot open. Of course, it immediately shut down again, her eyes narrowing as they dragged up and down the length of me.

“You’re too tall for heels.”

I shrugged. “That’s not a thing,” I said and believed it, although I was glad she was sitting down where I could forget I was a full foot taller than her. “I’m heading up to the library. Do you need anything?”

“Just for you to stay there all day.”

“Gladly,” I said cheerily and turned on my fancy-ass heel, sweeping out of the room and twirling on those haters like Beyoncé.

And my smile, which threatened to take over my face, didn’t quit all day.