By the time her head fell back on the pillow, she’d fallen fast asleep.

Irene opened her eyes and realized that Van Holtz had turned off the lights. No matter, she often moved around in the dark. Moving slowly so as not to wake him up again, Irene carefully threw her legs over the side of the bed but she froze when her foot slid over a warm, and standing, moving surface.

“Uh . . .”

“Going somewhere, doc?”

“Wait,” she begged. But he already had her flat on her back and was inside her, fucking her while he kissed her neck and licked and stroked her nipples.

“Van Holtz, you bastard! You’re doing this on purp . . . on . . . oh! That feels very nice. Do that again.”

She’d just come out of the bathroom and was about to sneak downstairs when he caught her around the waist and carried her back to the bedroom. Setting her at the foot of the bed, he used his legs to push her thighs apart. Then he took her from behind, his teeth gripping her shoulder while his hands played with her breasts. His weight kept her pinned in place and she wished she could say she didn’t like it. But she kind of did.

He released her shoulder, pulled her head back by her hair and kissed her while he continued pounding away inside her. But the way he kissed her always seemed so tender. Even when things went out of control, his kisses never seemed brutal or vicious. Just . . . determined.

The bastard.

Irene yawned and turned over, snuggling back under the covers. Big hands pushed her onto her back and she groaned. “No, no. I’m not awake. I swear! I was just getting comfortable!”

“So am I,” he gasped, embedding himself deep inside her yet again. And dammit, but it felt wonderful.

Van pushed her hair off her face and Irene groaned in defeat. “No. Not again. I can’t.”

He grinned, almost ashamed of himself—but not really. She’d tried to throw him out. Like he’d ever let that happen.

“Not again. I have to go,” he whispered and she finally opened one eye. And who knew a person could glare out of one eye.

“Good.”

He’d be angry if she didn’t sound so cute . . . and worn out.

“I’ll be back tonight. We’ll go to dinner.”

“I can’t,” she said simply, closing her eyes. “I have a previous engagement.”

Overwhelming jealousy washed over him. “Previous engagement? With who?”

“It’s ‘whom’ and that’s none of your business. I had these plans weeks ago. I’m not changing it for a wild romp in the hay.” She pulled the comforter up to her chin. “You got what you wanted, Van Holtz. Now you can go back to your regular life and I’ll go back to mine. After last night, you must have gotten what you needed.” She turned on her side, shutting him out. “So go back to your supermodels and your country club elite. AndI’ll go back to men who actually know what the Algorithmic Information Theory is.”

Van gritted his teeth and stared at the back of Irene’s head. Fuck if he knew what goddamn Algorithmic whatever whatever was. And fuck if he cared. Because in the long run it didn’t matter. Not to him. And it shouldn’t matter to her. But did she really think she could make him walk away that easily? Did she really think it would be that easy to get rid of a Van Holtz? Yeah, the Romans thought that too in 52 B.C. True, Irene Conridge was a hell of a lot tougher than a battalion of well-trained Roman soldiers, but he was a descendant of barbarians . . . he’d get what he wanted.

And he wanted her. So he’d have her—and she’d better be goddamn glad about it, too.

Six

“What?” Irene asked again, turning her office chair around to glare at her TA. He’d been getting on her nerves all day.

“I said do you need anything else from me before I leave?”

“No.”

Irene started to turn back around but stopped and asked, “Were you on my computer earlier?”

Mark nodded while pulling his backpack together. “I had to pull your latest draft on Sharkovsky’s theorem for your publisher.”

“Well, be careful when you use it. I keep finding all my files mixed up.”

“I was trying to organize—”

“Well, don’t. Don’t organize. Don’t move. Don’t touch my files, Marcus. Understand?”

Mark stood up and for the first time Irene noticed how tall he was. Not in a skinny, awkward way either, but in a well-developed, “I’ve played football all my life” way. “Sorry, Dr. Conridge. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”

Irene shook her head. “Forget it, Mark. Go. I’ll see you on Monday.”

It was one thing when she picked on her students for her own amusement, but picking on them because of one man simply disgusted her beyond all reason.

How had she allowed this to happen? How had she allowed one man to eat his way into her brain like a vicious virus? All day she’d thought of nothing else and it horrified her. She’d always prided herself on being able to block out nearly everything so she could focus on a problem or a task. Jackie actually had access to Irene’s bank accounts because she made sure to pay all the bills. When Jackie went on her European tour two years ago, they’d almost lost their home and poor Jackie came back to a dark house because Irene had forgotten all about the electric bill. Now if Jackie wasn’t around, Paul took care of it.

But, for the first time in her life, Irene wasn’t completely focused on one theory or mathematical problem. For once she wasn’t focused completely on inanimate objects or thoughts. Instead, all she could think about was having sex with Niles Van Holtz.