The Man in Black kept popping back into Carolyn's brain as she moved through her day. Something about his banked intensity and smoldering good looks made him hard to forget. She realized, in the midst of a lecture on religious themes in the Venetian school, that she didn't even know his name. He'd become the Man in Black in her mind, and that was that.
If he came to her office hours, she would definitely ask him. Certainly, if he wanted to have dinner with her, she'd have to know his name. She pictured that square-jawed, dark-grained, fierce-eyed face across a dinner table, with a bottle of red wine between them. Would he switch the black leather jacket to something else? A dinner jacket or a dress shirt? Or did he always stay casual? Why was she so fascinated?
Actually, she knew why. I
