The Quirin Stone Page 2

  His aquamarine eyes gleaming, a faint smile tugging at his lips, he glanced down at her as they reached the steps leading up to the verandah and placed his palm in the middle of her back. “I'm beginning to think the honor and privilege of having you under me would be all mine."

  Chapter Three

  From the moment Professor Severnson's hand settled in the middle of her back as he escorted her up the stairs and across the verandah, Cassandra's brain simply ceased to function altogether. A really strange feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and tightened until it felt as if she would be turned inside out. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. She'd reached a point where she began to fear that she was going to further embarrass herself by passing out when he pushed the sliding doors open, ushered her inside and released her.

  The relief was almost instantaneous, for his hand had begun to feel like a firebrand where it touched her. Sighing shakily as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving her in the great room, Cassandra looked around the room curiously.

  The interior of the house was almost as intimidating as the man who owned it. The furnishings were tasteful and expensive. The quiet elegance would've been enough to impress most anyone, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. The room was filled with priceless artifacts.

  A tremendous fireplace, centered in the wall to her right from where she stood at the glass doors, was the focus of the room. It was surrounded by marble. The mantel, probably eight feet long, looked to have been carved from it in the elegant flowing curves of the French Provincial style. It was supported by a pair of ‘lions rampant’ clutching shields between their forepaws, which also looked as if they'd been carved from marble.

  On either side of the fireplace, a full suit of medieval armor was displayed, each representing a different period. Cassie wondered if they could possibly be real armor. Even from across the room, however, she saw they were authentically detailed, which either meant that they were real period pieces, and were priceless, or they were perfect replicas, and were staggeringly expensive.

  The walls were covered in weapons. Everything from flintlock muskets, dueling pistols, and six gun revolvers, to rapiers, broadswords, and daggers, to stone war clubs, bows, and spears were displayed on the walls. The tables scattered about the room contained exquisite displays of pottery from every culture imaginable.

  Cassandra was afraid to move from the spot where he'd left her, almost afraid to breathe for fear she might make something priceless fall.

  “The professor said to tell you he'll be down in a minute. I'm to show you to his office. Would you care for some refreshment while you're waiting?"

  The woman's voice penetrated Cassie's fog of awe, and she turned to look at her. To her surprise, she saw it was an elderly woman. The Professor had said his housekeeper, but somehow, in her mind she'd thought ‘house mate'. He wasn't married. They'd said he was a widower, which, she supposed, was what had given her the idea that he must be pretty old.

  “Thank you. Actually, water would be nice,” Cassandra said, crossing the room carefully toward the woman who was waiting for her. As she drew nearer, she saw the woman didn't look nearly as old in the face as she'd thought she must be considering her hair was almost a pure silvery white. Still, Cassie figured she must be at least fifty or sixty.

  Professor Severnson couldn't be nearly that old. She frowned, realizing that he couldn't be as young as he looked either, or he wouldn't be a professor. She was still trying to figure out the bare minimum age he could possibly be when the housekeeper opened a door at the end of the hallway and gestured for her to enter the room. “Have a seat. I'll get you a glass of water. Or would you prefer bottled?"

  “Bottled would be nice."

  The light was off in the office. Cassandra searched the wall beside the door and switched it on. Bright fluorescent light filled the large room. The wall next to the switch was lined with bookcases. The bookcase turned the corner and continued, turning again along a third wall.

  Cassandra's gaze skimmed the books lining the shelves as she stepped slowly into the room. The shelves nearest the door contained text books for the college, a set of encyclopedias, a dictionary. Reference books on various subjects, mostly ancient civilizations, filled the next segment of shelving. Beyond those, the books began to gain age. Scrolls of sheepskin and papyrus or other natural fibers filled the segment nearest the desk.

  Cassandra wanted to examine everything in the worst way, but she didn't dare touch anything. She'd screwed up badly enough as it was. She was still stunned that the professor had actually invited her in and was willing to speak to her after she'd barged in so rudely.

  There was a comfortably padded chair facing the desk. She'd already started toward it when her attention was caught by an ornate picture frame hanging on the wall behind the desk. She paused, turning to study it.

  The painting looked to be several hundred years old at the very least. She was no art expert, but something about the color's lighting reminded her strongly of Da Vinci's work. It was a portrait of a woman, though. It looked like nothing she'd ever heard was a part of his surviving collection, and she felt fairly certain that she would've remembered reading or hearing about such a painting.

  Moving a little further into the room for a better look, she studied the portrait, feeling a strangeness begin to filter through her. She wasn't really aware of it at first. She was too enthralled with the face, the eyes in particular. The woman's eyes were the same color as her own, which wouldn't have seemed all that remarkable except that her eye color was remarkable. They were actually hazel, she supposed, but unlike most hazel eyes, hers tended to be less changeable. By the time she'd reached puberty, they'd become a strange sort of golden color, not yellow, not brown, but gold.

  Mostly, people seemed to notice the odd color right off. She was a little surprised that the Professor hadn't seemed to, but now that she thought about it, she'd been standing in his shadow most of the time she'd been talking to him, and looking down mostly for that matter.

  She blushed, feeling horror sweep over her as she realized her gaze had been absolutely glued to his genitals. He could hardly have failed to notice. He hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed or uncomfortable, which she supposed was why she hadn't realized, until now, that she'd hardly taken her eyes off of it.

  Pressing her hands to her cheeks to cool them, she thrust the thought aside and returned her attention to the portrait, studying the gown the woman was wearing and trying to pinpoint the costume period. The skirt was gathered, the waist practically microscopic, especially when compared to the overflowing bosom. She thought, maybe, it was somewhere around the 1500's, definitely pre-Napoleonic.

  Dismissing it, she returned her attention to the face. This time, she noticed the strangeness that swept over her when her gaze met the woman's. It was almost like tunnel vision, as if time and space were being folded into a funnel. A wave of dizziness swept over her. She planted her palms against the top of the desk, trying to brace herself, but darkness began to eat up the fringes of her vision. An odd heaviness washed over her, rather like climbing out of a swimming pool after having been swimming for an hour or so. She blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness and the blackness. Instead, when she opened her eyes again, she saw that everything was black. Her knees wobbled. She felt herself sinking slowly toward the floor.

  She heard the sound of approaching footsteps and made one last push to throw off the darkness. When next she became aware of her surroundings, something cold and wet was touching her face. She gasped, as if she'd been holding her breath a long time. Her mind stumbled around, trying to orient itself, noting the feel of carpet beneath her hip. Her head was resting on something hard. She opened her eyes slowly, blinked them a couple of times to bring her vision into focus.

  Severnson's face was only inches from hers, his expression strangely concerned. She stared back at him for several moments. “Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"

  'What happened?’ was what she'd meant
to ask. It didn't come out of her mouth like that. The strange string of syllables that emerged didn't sound comprehensible to her at all. They didn't even sound like English.

  Severnson turned white as a sheet. For several moments, she thought he might faint and fall on top of her.

  “What did she say?"

  Severnson swallowed convulsively. “She spoke old French."

  Cassie frowned. Closing her eyes again, she lifted a hand to her pounding head. “Couldn't have. Don't know French.” She tried to get up then, which was when she realized that she was on the floor. Severnson was kneeling beside her, an arm around her shoulders.

  “No. Lie still. I think you hit your head when you fell."

  She relaxed obediently. “I fell?"

  “I wasn't fast enough to catch you. You were looking at something across the desk when I reached the hall. You turned to look at me and then just ... fell."

  “I did? I don't remember turning around. I was looking at the picture, the portrait, I mean."

  “Shhh. Just lie quietly for now."

  “Should I call the EMTs?"

  Severnson was frowning speculatively when she opened her eyes in alarm. “No! Please don't! I'm fine. Really, I am."

  Severnson shook his head. “Let's see how she does. For now, I think she'd be more comfortable on the couch. Can you put your arms around my neck?"

  Cassandra nodded, twisting slightly and reaching up to lock her fingers behind his head. Slipping his free arm beneath her knees, he stood up with her, then turned and moved carefully through the doorway with her, striding down the hallway toward the great room.

  She still felt oddly weak, and heavy. That thought made her more than a little self-conscious, but he didn't seem to be having any trouble carrying her. Still, she was relieved when they reached the great room and he settled her on one of the two long couches that faced each other in roughly the center of the room. When he'd released her, he grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch and put it under her feet. “Your feet should be elevated, I think."

  Maybe, but since that also made the short, slinky dress ride up her thighs almost to her crotch, it wasn't terribly comfortable, especially since the inclined position made her breasts sort of ooze toward her neck. With an effort, she refrained from checking to make sure they hadn't managed to ooze all the way out of the neck of the dress. She was pretty certain they hadn't and she didn't want to draw attention to them by grabbing herself.

  The housekeeper brought the water. Severnson settled beside the couch and lifted her shoulders, holding her up while she drank. She felt more than a little self-conscious about that too, now that she was beginning to feel more like herself. When she'd taken a couple of swallows, she handed the bottle to him and he lowered her to the cushions once more.

  “I didn't get your name,” he said, turning to set the bottle on the low table between the two couches.

  “Cassandra,” she said, embarrassed when she realized she hadn't even introduced herself.

  He dropped the bottle from suddenly nerveless fingers, his head whipping toward her.

  Chapter Four

  Cassandra jerked upright so quickly a wave of dizziness washed over her. “Oh!” she gasped, collapsing back against the cushions and slamming her eyes shut. “I'm so sorry! Do you think it'll stain the carpet?"

  He didn't say anything. After a moment, she opened her eyes. He was staring at her with that same strangely confused expression, as if he thought she was familiar but couldn't place her. “We haven't met?"

  The way he said it, it was hard to tell whether it was a statement or a question. “No. I only just moved down from Atlanta. I registered too late to get in one of your classes."

  He sat back, turning to study the housekeeper absently as she dabbed up the water he'd spilled. When she'd finished, she looked up at him. “Will you need anything else?"

  He shook his head, dismissing her. With a faint smile at Cassandra, she left the room. When she'd gone, he turned to study Cassandra again. “Feeling better?"

  “Yes,” she lied.

  His lips curled faintly. “You look a little pale to me."

  “I'm a little dizzy,” she confessed. It occurred to her, though, that he'd probably gotten the idea that she was sickly, or maybe even that she'd faked a faint, just to play on his sympathies. “I don't know what happened. Nothing like that ever happened to me before. One minute I was looking at the portrait, and then I just started feeling very odd, and then everything went black. I think maybe it's because I was really nervous about talking to you. I'm not usually the nervous type though. Ordinarily, I'm completely cool with everything."

  She was babbling. She clamped her lips together, and then sucked her upper lip wryly. He watched the movements of her lips as if mesmerized and then she couldn't seem to ‘normalize’ the set of her mouth at all, couldn't figure out how she usually held it when she wasn't flapping her lips. It was a lot like when you noticed a guy was staring at your ass and discovered you couldn't seem to walk right.

  He cleared his throat. “How's your head?"

  She blinked at him. “OK, I think."

  “Here,” he said, helping her to sit up. “Let me check you."

  She held perfectly still as he speared his fingers through her hair, carefully checking her skull for lumps. She gasped when he found one. “Hold still.” He parted her hair and studied it a moment. “That's a pretty good goose egg."

  She put her hand on her head, trying to check it. He caught her fingers, guiding her. It felt huge, but she couldn't even remember doing it.

  “Maybe I should get the paramedics out to check you."

  “I'd be so embarrassed if you had to call them. Please don't. I really am fine."

  He studied her for several moments and finally sat back and she noticed for the first time that he'd changed into a T-shirt and jeans. His hair was still loose. Dry now, she saw it was a dark, golden blond, more wavy than straight but certainly not curly, and nearly as long as her own hair. “Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

  She sat up, facing him, but frowned as a wave of dizziness washed over her again. He made an impatient sound and moved from the floor to the couch. Catching her shoulders, he pulled her down until she was lying with her head in his lap. A blush climbed up her neck and settled in her cheeks as he, almost absently, stroked the hair back from her face.

  “This will be better, I think,” he murmured. “Until you're feeling more yourself."

  She wasn't so sure of that. She was agonizingly aware of the bulge in the front of his jeans. It made it really difficult to concentrate. “Uh ... I heard you had a dig planned for the summer. That's why I transferred. I haven't managed to get on a dig yet, and I'll be graduating next year."

  He frowned. “We usually hold positions for the students at the college ... the students who've been with us through most of their studies."

  She sucked her upper lip in, gnawing it. “I know. But I really, desperately, need the field experience, Professor Severnson."

  “So you said."

  She sighed in defeat. “Maybe I could just go with you and observe?"

  “That wouldn't look nearly as good on your resume’ , though, would it?"

  “No."

  “Then the position's yours."

  It took several moments for that to sink in. She looked up at him, startled. “You mean it?” she whispered disbelievingly.

  He smiled faintly. “Yes."

  Excitement flooded her. Impulsively, she bounced up, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Oh! Thank you! Thank you, so much!"

  His arms came around her, almost as if he would pull her away. Instead, after a moment's hesitation, they settled lightly around her as she leaned back to smile at him.

  “You won't regret it. I'll be the best assistant you ever had."

  His gaze, she realized quite suddenly, was fastened on her mouth. The moment she realized it, her mouth went desert dry. The air seemed to catch in h
er chest. She had to work to gather enough moisture in her mouth to swallow.

  “I think,” he said slowly as he dragged his gaze from her lips and met her gaze, “that I would regret it forever if I didn't."

  Cassie scarcely heard him. She supposed, from the moment she'd first seen him she'd just been too completely overwhelmed to feel much more than shock. It had formed a barrier between her and him, preventing her from actually feeling anything at all beyond awe. With her face mere inches from his, the barrier crumbled. She became aware that his chest was rising and falling rapidly, his breath ragged from his laboring heart. The warmth of his breath caressed her face, drawing her gaze to his slightly parted lips. Heat moved through her in a surge. His scent, borne on his breath, drifting to her from his heated skin, acted on her like the third shot of neat vodka, intoxicating her. She became acutely aware of the brush of her breasts against him with every breath he took. Her nipples were distended, forming tight little nubs now.

  He swallowed audibly, slowly, with obvious reluctance, he moved his hands from her back to her sides. Gripping her just below her breasts, he lifted her off his lap and settled her on the couch beside him. “I should take you home."

  She blinked, trying to remember how she'd gotten to his house to begin with. “I told my roommate I'd meet her over at the mall when—after I talked to you."

  He frowned. “That's a good five miles."

  “I walk to keep in shape."

  His gaze flickered over her as if he was assessing just how good a shape she was in. “Not today."

  Getting up abruptly, he caught her hand and pulled her up from the couch. As she turned away, she saw him surreptitiously adjusting himself. The long ridge was still noticeable when they went out the sliding doors, however. Cassie stopped to wait while he closed them and glanced back at him curiously, wondering if she'd imagined it to begin with.

  Feeling strangely subdued, she gave him the directions to the apartment she and her roommate shared when they'd settled in his SUV. He glanced at her several times as they drove along the streets. “Are you all right?"