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Each wall was lined with ceiling-high bookcases filled with leather-bound books. The last light of the day filtered in through the bay windows. A sheaf of papers and a large book rested on his lone window seat, a large leather armchair in the corner near the fireplace.
"Wow," Danielle breathed, taking in the scent of books and leather, trailing her eyes over the spines of the books in their shelves. She felt Davis's startling presence right next to her.
"There's much more," he said huskily, and she turned toward him. His eyes were dark green, and he watched her intently, his gaze brushing over her, down the line of buttons of her shirt. He seemed intoxicated by her, making her all the more aware of her own sensuality, a rarity.
"Why don't you go look around the place, while I get us something to drink?" he suggested, leaving her in the room.
Danielle padded down the hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking under her steps. Then she saw it-- his study, equally filled with books, except for the large, almost imposing wooden desk against the wall, looking like it belonged in the library rather than a residence. She brushed her fingers over the polished wood, and found her midterm paper at the very top of a stack. A copy of Kingdom of Fear by Hunter S. Thompson lay right next to it. When she opened the front cover, she saw it had been signed by the author himself.
"Find anything interesting?" Davis asked, appearing in the doorway with two glasses of red wine.
"So you met him," she said, more a statement than a question, waving the book at him.
Davis handed her a glass. "At a writer's conference a few years back. I finally found the copy and I thought you should have it."
"Really?" she asked skeptically, not knowing if she would ever give away a book signed by a writer, unsure if she should accept it.
"Don't forget to take it later," he warned her, smiling.
"Thank you, so much," she enthused, doubting she would forget.
"Cheers, to your success," Davis said, clinking his glass into hers.
Danielle took a healthy swig, hoping the wine would soothe her nerves at least slightly. She felt uncomfortably at ease among all the books, in her Professor's space, after hours. His gaze was becoming more and more intense, increasingly heated, frustrating her, making her stomach knot itself into a pretzel. She had respected his intellect from a distance, but had never been able to admire his well-toned physique or the masculine line of his jaw up close. She could feel his heat even though he stood a few inches away from her. She took several steps closer to the bookcase, checking out the titles, inhaling the welcome aroma of old books.
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