Living in Shadow (Living In…) by Jackie Ashenden Page A

about you? What’s your story?”
    She let him have the abrupt change of subject. “My story? My parents were academics so I kind of ended up doing the same. Let’s see… Got married too young. Got divorced. Ended up at the law school.” She reached out for her wine again, avoiding the look in his eyes. That intensity of focus was back.
    “You’re divorced?”
    “Like I said, married too young.”
    “What happened?”
    Helpless anger welled up inside her. She hadn’t pushed him, why did he feel the need to push her? “Did I ask you what happened to your parents?”
    The look on his face was impenetrable. “You want to get to know me, but I’m not allowed to ask about you? That’s not going to work, Professor.”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “Why not? It’s what you are.”
    She tried to ease the tension gathering in her gut. “You keep saying it, though. You like the kink of it? Is that what this is about?”
    He moved, leaning forward, the hand at her back pressing firmly against her, igniting the heat in her blood. “Stop attacking me, Eleanor.” His face was inches from hers, staring at her. “I know you’re hurting, but I’m not the enemy here.”
    She stared back, feeling raw and exposed all of a sudden. Tears pricked behind her lids, shocking her. Christ, where the fuck was all this coming from? “I’m not attacking you,” she said, her voice husky.
    He shifted again, leaning forward even farther and reaching down, the warm slide of his finger curling around her calf. “You are. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but you need to stop. We’re only talking, okay?”
    Her breath caught and a helpless shiver swept over her, every single nerve ending sensitized to his touch. “I d-don’t want you to touch me,” she forced out, her mouth dry.
    “Yes you do.” She couldn’t escape the way he looked at her, studying her like she was a riddle he wanted to solve. “You’re desperate for me to touch you. But you’re afraid and I don’t know why.”
    Look away, look away.
    Hands trembling, Eleanor reached for her glass, drained it. “It’s no big deal,” she said, saying the first thing that came into her head, anything so she didn’t have to admit what she knew was waiting for her. That no matter what she said, no matter what she told herself, the fear that had dogged her after she left Piers continued to do so. “I met my husband in the States, but we ended up living here. Our marriage went…bad. He didn’t much like New Zealand and couldn’t settle. The divorce was painful and messy and in the end…he went home.” It was the barest of bones, but that was all he was going to get. She didn’t want to tell him anything more. Didn’t want to grant him any more power over her than he already had.
    God, perhaps coming here was a mistake. A giant fucking mistake.
    “My parents were shot right in front of me,” Luc murmured, his thumb moving slowly over her skin. “I was twelve. It made coming back to New Zealand very, very difficult. My grandparents tried hard. They helped me settle in here, made sure I did a couple of years at the best private school and pulled some strings to get me into the law school since I didn’t have the best grades initially.” The brush of his thumb was steady, sending little tongues of flame licking over her skin. “But I don’t think this place will ever feel like home to me. I don’t think anywhere ever will.”
    Eleanor held herself motionless, slightly dizzy from the wine and the heat of his touch, struggling with the fact that he’d given her a piece of himself. A dark, jagged piece.
    His parents shot in front of him. A twelve-year-old boy. Fucking hell.
    That must have been the trauma she’d spotted in his eyes. The sense that he was much older than his twenty-five years. Because, God, watching your parents die would destroy the innocence of any kid. Did you ever heal from something like that? Or did you carry it around with you