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May.”
    “How did you know it was me?” She sounded irritated.
    Slowly, he removed his forearm and opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the sudden influx of midday summer sun. Focusing on the woman standing beside him. And for a second she looked like she was surrounded by a corona of light, blonde hair a halo around her head. Beautiful. Delicate. An unearthly being.
    Her cool gaze regarded him with a certain amount of dispassion and he felt warmth beginning to uncoil inside him, wanting to see that heat again in her eyes. “How did I know it was you? Because of your perfume. Chanel No. 5. Your favorite.”
    “Really? And how do you know it’s my favorite?”
    “Because you wear it every day.”
    “Oh. How predictable of me.”
    “I’m not complaining. It’s a very sensual scent.”
    Her forehead creased, clearly not liking him pointing that out. But too bad. She knew how he felt about her, no point in hiding it now. “I take it you didn’t come over here to finally admit your feelings for me,” he said.
    She snorted, holding her briefcase in front of her like a barrier between them. “Hardly.”
    Of course he hadn’t expected her to, not even when he’d challenged her with it the day before. She was a guarded woman and he suspected getting her to admit to anything would be difficult.
    But shit, he’d spent all of the previous week making sure it was him she looked for whenever she walked into a room. And he’d done it. And now he wanted more than merely a look.
    He wanted to hear her say it.
    Slowly he sat up. “Then what? Because if you want an apology, you’ll be waiting all day. I’m not apologizing for the truth.”
    “Yes, well, there are some situations where the truth is not required.”
    “You’d rather I lied?”
    “I’d rather you kept it to yourself.”
    “You asked me for the truth, Professor. I gave it to you.”
    Her mouth thinned. “Then you need to pull back on the truth, Mr. North. Because next time you’re so frank with your views I’ll have no qualms about taking this to the dean.”
    She was serious. He could see that. And if she’d shown him no signs of interest whatsoever, he would have done what she asked. Because that was one of his rules: he never pushed himself where he wasn’t wanted. He may be a killer but he wasn’t a rapist.
    It was a small distinction, but vitally important. Especially since that rule had been the only thing that separated himself from the other soldiers.
    The only thing that kept him from being a monster.
    Except Eleanor May hadn’t been entirely unaffected by him. He’d seen the flush in her cheeks when he’d taken her hand. The flare in her gaze when their eyes had met. And despite the fear that had come after it, that small flash of response when he’d told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.
    Whether she liked it or not, she was interested.
    Yet he could almost see the walls behind her eyes. The barbed wire and the broken glass set on the top of those walls. Keep out. Go away. Trespassers will be shot.
    He wanted to know why those walls were there, why she was hiding. And he’d be fucked if he let those things scare him off.
    “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid.” He put his arms around his bent knees. “The only thing I can’t work out is whether it’s yourself you’re afraid of or me.”
    Her gaze narrowed. “You’re really kind of an arrogant shit, aren’t you? Why on earth would you think this has got anything to do with fear? Me going to the dean is a perfectly reasonable response to being confronted the way you confronted me.”
    There was no point in arguing with her. She was a lawyer, she probably had dozens of arguments she’d trot out to deflect him. To protect herself.
    If he wanted to get past those walls of hers, he was going to have to use a different method.
    He didn’t look away, holding her gaze with his. “I would never hurt you, Eleanor. Understand that right now.”
    Her mouth