Broken Beauty Read online

  He stood. He’d quit and deal with things how he always did—head-on. Anything was better than jeopardizing his relationship with her.

  The papers slid haphazardly onto the chipped rosewood desk as he stood. Determined now, he stuffed the whole bundle into his briefcase. His loafers whispered on the scuffed hardwood floors. He swung open the ancient heavy door and almost ran directly into Melinda.

  Melinda, the woman he’d once loved. The fiancée who had dumped him when she saw his face and realized he’d never live up to the promise of public service. The person who’d gone into his house that night and made herself at home. He did not have time for this shit, and he almost brushed past her and kept walking. But then he remembered Erin’s face when she’d seen Melinda at his house. Erin had been hurt by her asshole boyfriend before, but anyone would be concerned about the situation. Melinda had been his fiancée, for God’s sake, and she was suddenly showing up in his home? He had to nip this in the bud.

  Frustrated, he practically growled, “Come in. Close the door before anyone gets here.”

  She smiled, her lids lowering. “Whatever you say, Blake. I always liked it when you gave me orders.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like that, Melinda. You and I are done, exactly how I told you when you came to my office. I thought you understood then, but apparently not. What the hell were you thinking breaking into my house?”

  She pouted. “I had my old key. Anyway, I realized I made a mistake letting you go.” Her voice dropped, the same way he’d always found so damn sexy. Now he felt nothing but impatience and annoyance.

  “So, telling me I could never be the man you’d once loved…that was a mistake?”

  She threw up her hands. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. It was hard, okay?”

  He felt a stirring of sympathy. The whole situation had been a fucking mess. He didn’t want to judge her too harshly for bailing. He knew very well what the explosion had ruined, and it was a lot more than his face. But that didn’t mean they could turn back the clock. He wouldn’t even want to.

  “It’s over between us. I’ve moved on.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So there is another woman.”

  Annoyance clawed at him. “I don’t care what you tell yourself about this. You can paint me as the monster. Lord knows I already look the part. But we’re not doing this anymore. I’ve had the locks changed. If you show up again, I’m calling the cops.”

  Her eyes widened, nostrils flared. At least he’d finally made his point.

  “Fine,” she ground out. “I was only doing this to be nice. You’re pathetic anyway, walking around campus with no shame. Don’t you realize everyone is staring at you?”

  Unfortunately, he did. “We’re done here.”

  She gave him a sly smile. “What am I even talking about? No one would date you now unless you paid them. I’m only here because your mother called me, worried about her little boy.”

  Jesus. Dear old mom had never given up on him like his father had.

  “Are you finished?”

  “I’ll see you at the Faculty Ball. You wouldn’t miss it, would you?” Her smirk made it clear she expected him to hide.

  “Of course not.”

  The gleam in her eyes was bloodthirsty. “I look forward to it.”

  “As do I.”

  After she left, he let his eyes shut, a small release of his frustration. At least that part was over. The side of his face burned with the familiar, daily pain—and a small but real dose of humiliation. Walking around campus with no shame.

  Footsteps approached. It was too late to back down now. Hell, it had already been too late. With a sinking feeling, he stepped back as two students burst in. They were clearly in the middle of a conversation, one animating her words with her hands, the other with his head down, looking at his phone as he walked. The girl saw him first. She stopped. And gawked. The boy glanced at her first, mouth open mid-sentence. Then he saw Blake and his mouth gaped open.

  Blake tried to clear the air. “I’m Professor Morris. I’ll be teaching this course. Grab a seat, we’ll get started in a minute.”

  He found a smile, the one that used to put people at ease. His world had been divided into before and after. Before, he could charm anyone with that smile. Now, he knew, it looked more like a grimace. The boy seemed to recover better. He brushed it off with a nod of greeting before hitching his backpack and grabbing a seat. The girl took it a little harder, peering at his face as if it were a puzzle for her to solve. Blake forced the smile to stay in place and gritted his teeth. She finally turned to take a seat beside her friend when Erin walked in.

  All the air sucked out of the room, like it always did when Erin was near. The explosion had brought him low, but it was nothing compared to what she did to him. The scars were a frustration, the constant pain a prolonged sort of torture. But the pain she could deliver would devastate him.

  And she wasn’t looking at him.

  Her head was down as she passed him, leaving only the sweet Erin scent in her wake. She took the seat farthest in the back, though the room was small enough that they were still close. Even as she unpacked a notebook and pen, she consistently avoided eye contact.

  He frowned. They’d agreed not to give away their relationship, but this was extreme. It probably hinted at inappropriate behavior more than outright flirting would have done. No, it was more than circumspection. Something was wrong. And he’d have to sit through a whole class before he could ask her what it was.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Erin focused on lining up her pens beside the notebook. She flipped the page open to a fresh one.

  Okay, she was stalling. Because Blake was looking at her curiously and she couldn’t face him at this exact moment, not with the other students between them. His stare was a force pulling her toward him, a question she felt compelled to answer. Finally a new student entered, and he turned his attention away. She felt a corresponding chill at the loss.

  She’d practically sprinted from meeting with her advisor, hoping she could make it here before anyone else and wish Blake luck. She’d skidded to a halt, out of breath, when she heard Professor Jenkins’s voice inside with him. It had sounded, in that smattering of words, as if she’d asked him to the faculty ball. And he’d accepted.

  Even though she knew he wouldn’t do that to her.

  Finding them together, she’d flashed back to that night she’d seen the woman at Blake’s house. And gotten a resurgence of that same old anger. Even after Professor Jenkins had stormed out, looking pretty angry in her own right, Erin had remained in the hallway. She didn’t want him to see her this way. She trusted that when she heard the full story, everything would be fine. But in the meantime, all she felt was sad.

  Only when two other students went inside had she been able to stroll inside and pretend indifference.

  Someone took the seat next to her. She glanced up. A smiling face.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “Good to see a familiar face, though.”

  She smiled. “Jeremy. Didn’t I see you outside Dr. Miller’s office?”

  “I meant to catch you after, but you left so quickly.”

  She blushed, thinking of exactly who she’d been in such a rush to see. “Didn’t want to be late. First day and all.”

  “What’s the deal with this guy?” he asked, and it took her a minute to register he was talking about Blake. Professor Morris, she reminded herself.

  “What about him?”

  “His face, for one thing.” When she scowled, he quickly continued. “And where did he come from? This is an advanced level class. I can’t believe they gave it to a new adjunct professor.”

  “It probably means they have a lot of faith in him.” The defensiveness surprised her. She’d have to watch that if she didn’t want people guessing they had something going on.

  Jeremy looked at her speculatively. “Sure. Whatever.” He pulled out a laptop and plugged in to the wall behi
nd them. “Besides, only one more semester and I’m out of here.”

  She grinned. Now that she could relate to. “Me too.”

  “Man, I can’t wait. I’m so done with this place.”

  She was right there with him. With her degree, she would finally be able to support herself on more than loans. She’d finally be able to afford more than a shared, crappy apartment. Could she really blame Blake for speaking to Professor Jenkins or wanting to see her outside of work hours? She was his equal. Erin wanted that too.

  She sneaked a glance at him. He’d gone back to his desk and opened his briefcase. The papers inside looked crumpled and disorganized. That was unlike him.

  Distantly a buzz signaled the start of class. The newer buildings didn’t have bells, but this was one of the more historical buildings on campus, which meant the furniture was all scratched up and the A/C was constantly on the fritz. The low hum of conversation fell into silent expectation. Blake set down the papers and came around the desk empty-handed. He turned one of the chairs around and straddled it.

  In a way, meeting them all as equals.

  Her heart softened. It must have been hard for him to face everyone on the same level, without the shield or props that most professors used, even ones without scars. But he wasn’t showing any nervousness. He looked calm, competent. Like an experienced professor instead of a man who’d been ripped apart, physically and emotionally. Like a soldier.

  He introduced himself as Professor Morris but call me Blake. She smiled at that. He’d said something similar to her at the beginning when she’d showed up to clean his house, though it had been Mr. Morris. Back then, she’d instinctively resisted, recognizing that intimacy between them could grow like wildfire. So he was always Mr. Morris to her…until they’d slept together.

  Now he was Blake.

  He spoke with a smooth baritone, easy to hear and understand as he went over the tenets of the class, the schedule and the research paper that would account for the bulk of their grade. Everyone, including Erin, scribbled down the information.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business. I’m told the class textbook was listed with the enrollment information.”

  She’d been the one to tell him that. In his day, they’d only gotten that information on the first day of class. That was how he’d said it too—in my day. She had laughed. As if he was ancient instead of just ten years older.

  She pulled out her textbook along with the rest of the class. The books lay in a circle on the table, unopened.

  He paused for a moment, as if thinking.

  “This isn’t an issues class. I do expect you to stay up to date with what’s happening in the political sphere…and catch yourself up if for some reason you haven’t been following the news for the past five years. But I’m not going to tell you how to feel about euthanasia or whether you should support a candidate who smoked pot. That’s your job to figure out, as a citizen and as esteemed graduates of this program. This class is about giving you the means to convey those feelings and your support. The language. The tools.”

  Another pause, and in any other class, there would be shuffling as students turned, disinterested, to their phones. Instead, there was only thoughtful silence. Erin found herself thinking as well. What tools did she have? Responsibility as a citizen…those were strong words, but he said them without rancor or judgment. With a certain sense of trust, as if he believed that a bunch of hungover college students really would come up with the right answers on their own.

  “What’s your name?” he asked one of the boys across from her.

  “Uh, Allen.”

  “Allen, can you read the first paragraph of the first chapter please?”

  Pages rustled as everyone flipped open to the right page. The chapter heading said, PRECEDENT.

  Allen read aloud, “A precedent is an earlier event or action regarded as an example or guide to be considered in similar circumstances or a principle established in a previous situation that may be applied to subsequent cases with similar circumstances.”

  “Hmm,” Blake said. “That’s a perfectly whitewashed definition, but I think we can do better than that. Anyone want to give it a try?”

  The room was quiet. Blake waited.

  Finally Jeremy spoke up from beside her. “It’s a way of explaining current behavior based on something that happened in the past.”

  “Excellent. Framing the present using the past. What’s the benefit of doing this?”

  “If something was true then, then it holds that it will be true again,” another student supplied.

  “Using the past as context. Good.”

  “Consistency,” a surly-faced boy said. “Rules are established and then followed.”

  “Yes. Right. What else?” When no one answered, he continued, “Why is precedent such an important tool that they put it front and center, first chapter in the textbook?”

  Erin looked down at the glossy white pages with stark-black ink. A few sentences had been highlighted from the previous owner. There was a lot of small text but nothing to give her a clue as to why this was first—or even important at all.

  Blake seemed to settle in, resting his elbows on the chair back in front of him.

  “There was a time that no one could match the power of Rome,” he began. “One who came close was Carthage, with its advantageous trade position and well-developed culture. Unfortunately, the Romans considered the Carthaginians to be savages and a threat to their way of life. Or so they claimed. In truth they simply wanted the wealth of Carthage. So, following an inspection of the city and surrounding countryside, a Roman commission reported to the Senate ‘an abundance of ship-building materials’ and claimed the Carthaginians had built up their fleet in violation of the treaty.”

  Blake paused his story and reached back to take a sip of water. That moment of quiet seemed to give the girl across from Erin courage.

  “You’re slanting it,” she blurted out. As thirty faces turned to her, she blushed, looking like she wanted to take it back.

  Blake turned to her too, unoffended. “How so?” he asked mildly.

  “You’re telling us their motivations, that the Romans really just wanted their wealth, but you don’t know that. Maybe they believed the other people were a threat.”

  “Maybe so. And that’s a benefit of history, we can look inside their private writings and their memoirs. We can get a firmer grasp of what they thought outside their public speeches. Unlike current events, where all we have is the public view.”

  “Another benefit of precedent,” Erin said under her breath.

  He flashed her a quick smile. “Yes. Exactly. Now the Carthaginians knew they were going to get their asses handed to them.” One of the boys snickered at the language here. Blake continued. “So they pleaded with the senate, swearing that they were not in violation of the treaty, promising that they would surrender without a fight.

  “So the clever Romans came up with three challenges. On the first, they requested three hundred sons from the noble families as captives. Carthage sent them over in a ship. For the second challenge, they demanded that Carthage send them armor and weaponry. Carthage complied. When it came time for the final challenge, the diplomat explained to the Carthaginians that they would need to move their city, the buildings, everything, ten miles to the left.”

  Someone snorted. “Why?”

  “The location near the sea had corrupted Carthage’s temperament,” Blake said. “At least according to the commissioner.”

  Quiet laughs of disbelief rang out in the small room. It was ridiculous, and yet it was real. History.

  “Here Carthage had no choice but to refuse. Imagine moving a whole infrastructure ten miles to the left. It was impossible. Clearly Rome was looking for an excuse to invade and steal their resources.”

  “Bullshit,” said the boy who’d spoken earlier, the one whose face seemed set in a perpetual frown. He was large too, bulky but also intimidating. The chair and table they us
ed looked too small for him.

  “Sorry?” Blake asked casually.

  “I said it’s bullshit. You said you aren’t here to tell us what to think, but you’re doing just that.”

  “Do you disagree with my representation of the Third Punic War?” he inquired.

  The boy made a rude sound. “You aren’t talking about any Punic War or the Romans, and we all know it.”

  “Then who am I talking about?”

  “You’re talking about the Iraq War. About Bush. This is some liberal propaganda.”

  “It’s just a story. Why does it have to mean anything?”

  “Because—” The boy broke off. He snorted softly. “Because it’s a goddamn precedent.”

  Blake hummed in agreement and approval. “Precedent is useful for a lot of reasons, but stories are how we connect with the world, how we understand the bigger picture. I told a story about Rome, and you naturally connected that to Iraq. There’s power in stories. Never underestimate that.”

  He directed their attention back to the textbook, but Erin felt much more interested in these theoretical words now that she understood the application. Everyone seemed to join in with enthusiasm, even the boy who had challenged Blake before. Any animosity had faded under the strength of curiosity…and the power of stories.

  No, she wouldn’t likely underestimate that again. Nor would she underestimate him again. He may have been reluctant to accept the job, but once here, he would have no reservations about performing to his fullest. And his fullest was very, very good.

  If she hadn’t known him before, she was pretty sure she’d have a major crush on her professor at this point. But she had known him before, had seen him joyous and brought low. She’d seen him laugh with abandon and climax with an agonized groan. Her feelings right now transcended a crush. They soared into love.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Erin spent her days in class or in the library working on her research paper. Her nights were always spent in the same place—Blake’s arms. Sometimes in her apartment, but more often at his place so as to let her roommate sleep in peace. Courtney never mentioned the noise except to keep a running tally on the whiteboard in the kitchen of how long it had been since she’d gotten laid.