He laughed. “You couldn’t make a house fall down. Don’t worry about it.”
Before Frankie could respond, the house lights dimmed and the previews for upcoming movies began.
When the popcorn container was empty and napkins had wiped away any traces of salt and butter, Eli caught her hand in his, threading her fingers between his own. Startled, she glanced sideways at him, but he was focused on the screen, his profile lit by the flickering light from the movie.
There was something nice about sitting in the dark theater, Eli’s warm, callused palm pressed to 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
On 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 of class 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.
“Hey, 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.
“Hey,” she responded faintly.
“Sorry 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.”
“And 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 the top 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.”
“And what did Harry say?” Eli drawled, lifting his cup to sip, his blue eyes watching her over the rim.
“He 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.”
“Has Dean called you?” Eli asked, his voice neutral.
“Interestingly enough, no, he hasn’t.” Frankie tucked her hair behind her ear.
Eli’s gaze tracked her fingers’ movement, lingering over her hair before fastening on her face once again. “So Harry must not be giving Dean the same kind of verbal nudging he’s giving you,” he guessed.
“I suspect not.” Frankie frowned, considering. “Has Harry tried to grill you about me?”
“Not yet.” Eli shrugged. “But we have a meeting tomorrow to discuss the Wolf Construction proposal for the south Seattle project. Maybe he’s waiting until then.” He sipped his coffee once again. “Harry’s cagey—I wouldn’t put anything past him, and if he’s not nudging Nicholas about asking you out, he must have a reason.”
“Or maybe Nicholas refused to get involved in Harry’s schemes,” Frankie said. “And if he did, then our plan isn’t really necessary.”
Eli’s eyes glinted. “If you believe that, then you don’t know Harry as well as I thought you did.”
“What makes you say that?” Frankie hoped Eli had a really good answer, because she was enjoying seeing him and didn’t want their dates to end.
“Harry always has a bigger view of his projects, and if fixing you up with Nicholas didn’t work out, he would go to plan B.”
“And what’s plan B?” Frankie asked.
“Not what—who. I have no idea who Harry would pick out to be the next candidate, but I’m sure he has another name on his list as a backup for Nicholas.”
“Of course.” Frankie sighed, tense muscles relaxing. “You’re right. Harry always has a plan. Mom said that’s the reason he was always so good at chess.”
“That sounds like Harry.” Eli glanced at his watch. “Time for me to go—I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.” He stood, swinging the chair back into its original position. “What time do you want me to pick you up on Friday?”
“How about seven?”
“I’ll see you then.” His gaze flicked to her mouth, lingered, before returning to her eyes. “Have a good afternoon,” he murmured, his deep voice a rumble.
And he was gone, before Frankie could gather her wits after that hot, focused stare.
Several minutes later, she was still sitting motionless, staring blankly at the notes on her desk when, for the second time in a half hour, knuckles rapped against her open office door. She looked up to find her friend and coworker, assistant professor Sharon Katz, standing on the threshold. Before Frankie could say hello, Sharon spoke.
“Wow, Frankie, who was that guy?” she asked, curiosity lighting her face. “He’s gorgeous.”
Frankie laughed at her friend’s expression. “He’s a friend of my cousin Justin.”
“And he’s visiting you … why?”
“He brought me a latte.” Frankie lifted the Starbucks cup and saluted Sharon with it before drinking.
“Nice.” Sharon leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, a sheaf of papers in one hand. “Come on,