Eyes Read Online Free Page B

cats?”
    â€œNot exactly. I spent it on tuition. I’m getting my doctorate in social work.” Adele turned to the handsome man beside her. “Professor Neil Bradley meet Jill Larkin.”
    The man reached out to take Jill’s hand. “Hello, Jill. It’s not really Professor Bradley, not until next year. And then it’s only associate professor. Just call me Neil. It’s a lot less complicated.”
    â€œNeil’s my boss.” Adele beamed. “I work part-time at the ESL lab.”
    Neil noticed Jill’s puzzled expression, and he explained. “English as a Second Language. Adele helps foreign students brush up on their English skills.”
    â€œThat’s a perfect job for her.” Jill felt the color rise in her cheeks. Neil was still holding her hand. “What do you teach, Neil?”
    â€œI’m Dr. Brown’s teaching assistant for Metaphysical Poets.”
    Jill smiled. What else could she do? She knew absolutely nothing about Metaphysical Poetry.
    â€œI also fill in for Professor Harris on Fridays. He teaches a class on Sir Thomas Wyatt.”
    Jill raised her eyebrows. Wyatt had been one of her mother’s favorite poets, and she knew one piece of information about him. Perhaps it would be enough to get by and impress this handsome, soon-to-be professor. “Was Wyatt really Anne Boleyn’s lover before she married?”
    â€œThe jury’s still out on that.” Neil looked pleased that she knew something about his field. “Let’s just say Wyatt was in the right place at the right time, and anything’s possible. Would you like to dance?”
    â€œI’d love to!” Jill gave a deep sigh of relief as Neil escorted her to the dance floor. She loved to dance, and she was good at it. Everything would be fine just as long as he didn’t expect her to say anything intelligent about poetry.
    Neil took her into his arms, and they began to move rhythmically. He was a good dancer, and Jill managed to match his steps perfectly. She searched her mind for something to say, but he was quicker.
    â€œYou seem to know something about poetry, Jill. Who’s your favorite poet?”
    She took a deep breath. Her mother had always said if you could get a man to talk about himself you wouldn’t have to say another word all night. “I’m not sure, Neil. How about you?”
    â€œI’m not sure, either. Of course there’s Shakespeare. And Keats . . . and Shelly . . . and Byron. And I can’t forget Poe.”
    Jill smiled and nodded. Her mother was right. But Neil didn’t begin to rhapsodize about poets in the way she’d expected. Instead, he asked her another question.
    â€œHow about favorite poems? Do you have one?”
    â€œOh . . . well . . .” Jill tried to come up with an answer, but Neil was holding her so close, all she could think about was the way his body was pressing against hers. It was no use trying to dredge up the name of a suitable poem. She decided to be honest, even though she was going to blow her first chance at a handsome, eligible guy in months.
    â€œLook, Neil . . .” She raised her head to meet his gaze, and she almost lost her train of thought. His eyes were a gorgeous, deep brown color, and they were warm, like polished wood in the sun.
    â€œYes?”
    His smile made Jill’s knees weak. How would his lips feel pressed tightly against hers? And his hands, with those long, strong fingers, stroking her body?
    â€œJill? Why are you blushing?”
    Embarrassed, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. “I’m not blushing. That’s just a reflection from my red dress.”
    â€œI see.” Neil laughed. “Now what were you trying to tell me?”
    Jill dropped her eyes. It was impossible to think when she was looking at him. “I only took one class in poetry, and that was because it was required. I’m not really into