Free Beauty and the Wolf by Lois Faye Dyer

hers, the hard strength of his shoulder against hers.
    Frankie turned back toward the screen, deciding to enjoy the moment and not worry about what it might mean that her heart stuttered each time his thumb smoothed over the back of her hand.
    Since they both had to rise early for work the following morning, Eli dropped her off just after ten-thirty, saying good-night with another kiss that left her breathless. Forty minutes later, as she climbed into bed and switched off the lamp, Frankie realized she hadn’t spent such a relaxing, thoroughly enjoyable evening in a very long time.
    And it was entirely due to Eli’s company.
    Part of her loved the thought—while another part dealt with the niggling worry that she liked his company far too much.
    A wise woman wouldn’t tempt fate, she thought drowsily.

Chapter Six
    O n Wednesday morning, Frankie was in her office at Liberty Hall on the University of Washington campus. Since completing work on a museum exhibit in December, she’d been reassigned from her usual duties as a research assistant. She was now temporarily filling in for an English Literature professor who’d gone on emergency leave. Much as she loved the variety of her research work, Frankie welcomed the opportunity to teach in a classroom. The new responsibility challenged her creativity and gave her one-on-one contact with students, which wasn’t usually the case.
    Since her next lecture wasn’t for another forty-five minutes, she planned to make good use of the time to catch up on a few non-classroom duties.
    Her desk was littered with data reports, printouts ofclass grading curves and miscellaneous information.
    Deep in thought, she contemplated a possible change in her syllabus notes for the current lecture series on classic British authors of the twentieth century.
    â€œHey, Professor.” The deep male voice was soft, just above a murmur, but Frankie jumped nonetheless, startled, her gaze flying to the doorway.
    Eli leaned against the doorjamb, one broad shoulder propped against the walnut edge. He was dressed for work in a blue-and-white plaid flannel shirt that hung unbuttoned over a white T-shirt tucked into the waistband of snug faded jeans. A black leather belt was threaded through the belt loops of the jeans, and dusty black boots covered his feet.
    â€œHey,” she responded faintly.
    â€œSorry I startled you.” He shoved away from the doorjamb and walked toward her, his stride easy. “I had to stop at a job site near here, and when I picked up coffee, I thought about you, probably stuck in your office, slaving away. So I brought you a latte—double shot, vanilla, right?” He held up two take-out Starbucks cups with lids.
    Frankie beamed at him, delighted. “You remembered.” She took the cup and sipped, closing her eyes in pleasure. “I owe you.”
    â€œAnd I’ll collect,” he shot back, grinning when her eyes opened and she studied him with suspicion. He picked up a straightback wooden chair and spun it around, straddling it, his forearms resting along thetop of the polished oak back. “Any new thoughts about our next move against Harry?”
    Frankie leaned back in her swivel chair, propping her stockinged feet atop the open bottom desk drawer, ankles crossed. “Believe it or not, Harry called this morning. He’s having a group of people over for dinner on Friday night to welcome a visiting software mogul from London. He asked if I’d like to join them.” She looked at Eli from beneath lowered lashes. “I told him yes, providing I could bring a date.”
    â€œAnd what did Harry say?” Eli drawled, lifting his cup to sip, his blue eyes watching her over the rim.
    â€œHe asked me if my date was Nicholas Dean.”
    Eli stiffened, his eyes narrowing over her. “He’s still pushing Dean at you.”
    Frankie nodded. “Apparently.”
    â€œHas Dean called you?” Eli