He moved closer, his fingers trailing on the back of the chair to his right. “Ask me why you aren’t an evening news intern and I’ll tell you.”

“I couldn’t care less why.”

“Really?” He looked at her for another long minute, unsmiling, then walked away from her, down the aisle and up onto the stage.

She could either keep her pride or risk her future. By the time she made her decision and hurried after him, he was backstage.

“Okay . . .” The word seemed to catch on something in her throat. “Why?”

He stepped toward her. For the first time she noticed the lines on his face, the creases in his cheeks. The dim overhead lighting accentuated every flaw, every hollow and mark on his skin. “Whenever you come to class, I can tell you’ve chosen your clothes carefully and spent a lot of time on your hair and makeup.”

He was looking at her now, seeing her. And she could see him, too. Past the shaggy unkemptness to the sharp bone structure that had once made him so handsome. But it was his eyes that grabbed her; liquid brown and sad, they spoke to the empty places inside of her. “Yeah. So?”

“You know you’re beautiful,” he said.

No stammering, no desperation. He was cool and steady. Unlike the boys she met at frat parties or on campus or in the taverns playing pool, he wasn’t half drunk and desperate for a feel.

“I’m talented, too.”

“Maybe someday.”

The way he said it pissed her off. She was gathering her wits for a scathing comeback when he closed the distance between them. All she had time for was a bewildered, “What are—” before he kissed her.

At the touch of his lips, gentle yet firm, she felt something exquisite and tender blossom inside her; for no reason at all, she started to cry. He must have tasted her tears, because he drew back, frowned at her. “Are you a woman, Tully Hart, or a girl?”

She knew what he was asking. As hard as she’d tried to conceal her innocence, he’d sensed it, tasted it. “Woman,” she lied, with only the barest wobble on the w. She knew now, after just one kiss, that whatever there was to know about sex, her pathetic rape in the woods had taught her none of it. Although she wasn’t a virgin, she was something worse somehow, a reservoir of bad and painful memories, and yet, now, with him, for the first time she wanted more.

That was how she’d felt with Pat that night, too.

No. This was different. She was a long way from that desperate, lonely girl who would have gone into any dark woods to be loved.