Clarity slipped her hand from the crook of my elbow. "I'll dance with you," she told her father.
"Sorry, darling, I'm already spoken for." Dean Dunkirk nodded over his shoulder at a white-haired woman in a deep purple dress. "But we don't want an empty dance floor, so come on you two."
Clarity caught my arm again and tugged me after her father. The orchestra thrummed to life and the music covered my swearing. I took Clarity in my arms, making sure my elbows were held out in a still circle.
"Not a big dancer, huh?" Clarity asked. She shifted my hand to her waist and stepped closer. "I know I'm your student and all, but this is college, not junior high."
I caught the fresh, floral scent of her hair and forgot about dancing. Her dress dipped low in the back and my thumb brushed bare skin. "Any ideas for an article?" I asked, desperate for a coherent thought.
Clarity smiled and starting listing possible subjects but I didn't hear a thing she said. Her dress flowed against my legs and her easy grace smoothed over my clumsy steps. The only lifeline I had was Clarity did not feel the same. She talked as if there wasn't a burst of sensations every time our bodies brushed.
As soon as the song ended, I could see Dean Dunkirk beaming. He was leading his dance partner across the floor to join us. Clarity turned to smile at her father and I slipped away into the crowd. I headed for the bar like a man stumbling out of the desert.
"A scotch, neat. Very professor-ish."
I turned to see Jackson's wife smiling up at me. "Hello, Alice. So, Jackson suckered you into coming."
She nodded. "And it's been lovely. Though, I have to say, your appearance on the dance floor might be the highlight of my night. You never once stepped foot on the dance floor at our wedding."
"Didn't want to show up the groom," I said.
Alice laughed. "Well, I bet you were only tempted into dancing tonight because of your beautiful partner. You two looked wonderful together."
The scotch burned my throat and I coughed. "We're not together. Clarity is one of my students; she's on the student newspaper staff."
Disappointment sped across Alice's face like a cloud then gave way to curiosity. "How old—"
"Ah, Ford Bauer, we keep running into each other. Who knew?"
My spine stiffened as Barton joined us. He and Alice smiled politely at each other and then looked at me. I cleared my throat. "Wesley Barton, meet Alice Rumsfeld. Her husband is an English professor."
"An English professor?" Barton asked as he kissed Alice's hand. "I hope he recites sonnets to you."
"Only as much as I recite the law to him," Alice laughed.
"A lawyer. Beauty, brains, and an empty drink. Here, allow me." Barton signaled the bartender, who left another couple waiting as he poured a second wine for Alice.
"Thank you, Mr. Barton."
"Please, call me Wesley," Barton said with a warm smile.
Jackson appeared before anyone noticed my clenched fist. I considered following through with the punch just for the
hell of it, but remembered both my department head and the college president were present.
"Wesley Barton, this is my husband," Alice said. She threaded an arm through Jackson's and leaned into him.
Next to Alice's slim and compact figure, Jackson was too tall and gangly. Barton gave him a sardonic smile. "Nice to see you again, professor."
"Why are you here?" I asked.
Everyone blinked but Barton recovered in two seconds. "My friend, Michael Tailor, has a son starting here next year and I'm always willing to help a good cause."
"Does he have a nephew that plays football? Brian Tailor?" Jackson asked.
I scowled, wishing the conversation would end so I could get my friends far away from Barton. "The running back," I said.
Barton cocked an eyebrow at me. "You really do notice everything, eh, Bauer?" He smiled at Alice, though she had caught the grim expression of her husband. "The Tailors have a long history with Landsman College, and my friend makes many generous donations. Perhaps there is something the English Department needs? Do people actually read books anymore?"