A Younger Man. Linda Turner

placed her hand in his, only to frown in confusion when his fingers closed around hers. There was something so right about the feel of her hand in his. Almost as if he’d touched her a thousand times before, she thought, shaken. But how could that be? She’d never laid eyes on him before today. What was going on?

      The thunder of her heartbeat loud in her ears, she eased her hand free and stubbornly, quietly, reminded herself why she was there. “I’ve waited a long time to go to college,” she said huskily. “I just hope I can handle it.”

      “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he replied. “Don’t take this wrong, but you’re obviously older than the rest of the class. How long has it been since you’ve been in school?”

      She wasn’t ashamed of her age. “Eighteen years,” she said with a wry smile. “Better late than never.”

      “It’s like riding a bicycle,” he assured her. “You may be a little shaky at first, but it won’t take you long to get back into the swing of things.”

      “I’m worried about the term paper,” she admitted. “I don’t even remember how to write a footnote.”

      “You’re not alone,” he said. “If you asked the rest of the class, they’d probably say the same thing, and they just graduated from high school last year. Don’t worry—I’ve got a whole list of books that will help you with your paper. I’ll bring it to class on Wednesday. If you need any other help, just let me know. Okay?”

      His blue eyes were direct and sincere, and there was no sign of the flirtatious biker who’d asked her out when he’d stopped and changed her flat for her. Relieved, she appreciated his professionalism. But a few minutes later, as she thanked him and turned to leave, she couldn’t forget the way her heart had jumped when his hand had closed around hers.

      “Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she hurried to her next class. “He’s still a baby. So what if he looks like Lancelot on a motorcycle? Hello? He’s your teacher! And you’ve got enough on your plate with school and the boys and your job—you don’t need a man!”

      Deliberately pushing the memory of Max Sullivan’s twinkling eyes from her head, she was determined not to give the man a second thought the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as easily dismissed from her mind. As she headed to her next class, she found herself comparing him to every man she passed on the street. They all came up short.

      Chapter 2

      Staring at his computer screen, Max read the only line he’d written in the past hour, then swore softly. It was stiff and awkward and hardly the work of a writer who’d made the New York Times’ Bestseller List with his first two books. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t think of a single way to improve what he’d written. He didn’t mind admitting he was worried.

      Starting the fall term was always stressful, he reminded himself. There were meetings, university functions he was required to attend, and this year the administration had added two more classes to his workload. And he had no one to blame but himself. Because of the success of his books and his rapport with the students, his classes were in hot demand. Normally he would have been flattered by all the attention, but he was on a short deadline with his next book and getting nowhere fast. He’d be okay once everything settled down.

      “Yeah, right,” he muttered to himself as he leaned back in his chair in disgust. “And if you believe that one, you might as well write a letter to Santa and ask him to give you a finished manuscript. At this rate that’s the only way you’re going to make your deadline.”

      The phone rang, and he welcomed the reprieve. Snatching it up, he growled, “Sullivan.”

      “Well, I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re having a good day,” his father said dryly. “What’s got your shorts in a knot? One of your girlfriends giving you trouble?”

      “I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad.”

      “Ah, so that’s the problem. You should have told me. I could have made some calls for you.”

      Max swallowed a groan at the thought. He didn’t doubt that there were any number of women his father could call—he’d been married eight damn times and had, no doubt, probably dated every woman in town over the age of thirty-five! Which was exactly why his old man was the last person he’d call for advice on women.

      “Thanks, Dad, but meeting women isn’t the problem. I can get my own dates.” Absently glancing at the clock on the wall directly across from his desk, he frowned. “Hey, wait a minute. You and Joanna were scheduled to leave for Las Vegas this morning, weren’t you?”

      “We decided not to go.”

      “Not to go!” he repeated, surprised. “But you already have your tickets. And you love Vegas! The last time I went there with you, I had to pry you away from the tables with a crowbar. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

      For a long moment his father didn’t say a word. And in the silence of his hesitation, Max knew what he was going to say before his next words ever left his mouth. “We’re getting a divorce.”

      “Dammit, Dad!”

      “There’s no use getting upset about it,” his father grumbled. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

      “Yeah, and they all have a name,” he retorted. “Susan, Karen, Bridgett, Laura… Shall I go on?”

      “I don’t regret a single one of my marriages,” John Sullivan said stiffly. “I loved every one of my wives.”

      “You just couldn’t stay married to them. I thought Joanna was the love of your life. Of course, that’s what you said about Cathy and Tanya and—”

      “I was hoping for a little sympathy. This isn’t easy for me, you know. Just because this is my eighth divorce doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

      “I know that, Dad.” He sighed, guilt tugging at him at his father’s wounded tone. “I know how crazy you were about Joanna. What happened?”

      “She thinks I’m having an affair.”

      “And are you?”

      “Of course not!” he said indignantly. “I’ve never cheated on any of my wives. I would think you’d know that about me.”

      Now he’d hurt his feelings. Swearing under his breath, he reminded himself that his father really was hurting. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t faithful. I just don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself.”

      “What? Getting married…or divorced?”

      “Both! You’re too old for this.” He knew his father didn’t want to hear anything negative when he was already down, but Max had held his tongue for too long. “The world’s changed, Dad. It’s not like it was when you and Mom were young. You don’t have to marry every woman you want to sleep with.”

      “Watch it,” John Sullivan warned. “You’re starting to sound like a cynic.”

      “Because I don’t put myself through the torture that you do?” he retorted. “C’mon, Dad! There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a woman, then letting her go. You don’t have to complicate your life by marrying her.”

      “You’re talking about sex,” his father said flatly.

      Max didn’t deny it. “You’re damn straight. And what’s wrong with that?”

      “Because there’s more to life than sex,” the older man said indignantly.

      Max winced. “There you go again—talking about love. It doesn’t exist, Dad. Haven’t you figured that out? That’s why marriage doesn’t work. You let your raging hormones convince you you’ve found your soul mate, and while you’re under the influence, you make