Learning Curves (10 page)

“So, where are we meeting up with your friend?”

“Meeting my who?” Leanne suppressed a grimace. She’d hoped her father would have picked up on her conspicuous lack of specifics without her having to spell out the embarrassing details. Just because she’d succumbed to a momentary fit and invited Brandon to the potluck didn’t mean she planned on introducing him to her father. The fact that Julia whispered, “I like him,” when she’d said her goodbyes last night and Cassandra—who’d made up her mind to dislike him sight unseen by virtue of her job description as overprotective best friend—warmed to him once they’d discovered a mutual love of music, had no bearing on this potentially embarrassing meet and greet.

“Your friend, the choreographer.”

The subtle approach hadn’t worked quite as well as she’d hoped.

Licking her lips apprehensively, she tried to distract him, skirting the fine line between outright lie and misdirection. “We’re not meeting up. When he gave me the tickets, I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to make it so I told him not to look for me afterward.”

“Oh, I see,” her dad said, the disappointment clear on his face, and guilt crept in at her prevarication.

The lobby was taking on the appearance of a human sardine can, enthusiastic performers and audience members mingling raucously, buoyed by post-show giddiness. “We’re never going to find each other in a crowd like this anyway. We should just grab our coats and head out.”

But before she could steer her father toward the snaking coat check line, a murmur swept the room. Applause, long and sustained, erupted.

“Woo-hoo, Brandon!”

“Brandon, you rock!”

Leanne turned in time to see Brandon emerge from backstage. Despite being dressed casually in crisp khakis and a light blue dress shirt, nothing could hide his broad shoulders or the tapered lines of his lean hips and taut ass. The many longing glances she intercepted, confirmed most, if not all, females in the room shared the same opinion. He accepted the applause graciously, with a self-deprecating smile, before he began to circulate around the room. His modest demeanor seemed genuine but there was no mistaking the regard with which he was held by all the dancers. Tonight’s performance had been an extraordinary team effort but no one could mistake who the captain was, either.

He was shaking the hands of a well-dressed middle-aged couple when he saw her.

For a moment, the air in the room disappeared. Leanne couldn’t breathe or move. He studied her, from her tousled curls to the patent Mary Janes she’d worn to compliment her velvet skirt, and his smile widened.

He never missed a beat, though, greeting the parents warmly, accepting their praise and, if the blushes of the young dancer were any indication, returning the favor with kind words about their daughter’s skills. But there was no mistaking the expectant curl in his lip. Leanne knew it was only a matter of time before they came face-to-face once more.

The line moved at a snail’s pace. Short of dashing from the auditorium without their coats, she would have to introduce him to her father. At least she had a few minutes to prepare herself.

Hugs and introductions with the large cast slowed his progress but he made his way toward the line where Leanne waited.

“Leanne, I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

She held out her hand and he shook it, his fingers lingering against her sensitized palm. Her knees weakened and it took every ounce of strength not to show him how a simple touch turned her on. “This is my dad, Larry Galloway. Dad, this is Brandon Myles.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Leanne’s dad smiled. A tall man, in his mid-sixties if the salt-and-pepper in his hair was any indication, he moved like someone much younger. His face was friendly and inquisitive as he shook Brandon’s hand.

He hoped that inquisitiveness hadn’t been triggered by the startling moment he and Leanne just shared. Those shoes…Those legs…Somehow this unassuming scholar had a direct line to his libido. A single touch—hell, a single look—tapped into to his most primitive urges. Urges he’d rather not share with her father. He wouldn’t give his desires free rein, however tempting it might be.

“I understand you’re the fellow who organized all this.”

Brandon shook his head. “I oversaw the choreography but there were a lot of different people who made it happen. The costumers, the dancers, the crew.”

He glanced again at Leanne. Her eyes seemed fixed on him but her expression was unreadable.

Feigning a casualness he didn’t feel, he asked, “So, Larry, Leanne, what did you think of the show?” As he waited for their answers, he was surprised by how much their responses mattered.

Leanne cleared her throat. “It was…it was really fantastic,” she admitted. “I was mesmerized.”

As if to emphasize her point, she reached out and touched his arm. Her soft, slim fingers on his forearm hit him like an electrical current, short-circuiting his already addled brain. He remembered the feel of those same fingers wrapped around more intimate places. A twitch gave proof to the fact that those places could remember them too. His tongue glued to his mouth, he tried to formulate a response that didn’t involve a) kissing her senseless or b) dragging her off to the nearest dark corner for another round of hot, sweaty sex.

Larry cleared his throat.

This time, there was no missing his amused awareness. A smile danced around his lips as his gaze swung between his daughter and her new acquaintance. Brandon realized he was gaping at Leanne and that her hand still rested on his arm. But when his eyes met hers, she suddenly seemed to become aware of who she was touching and in front of whom, and snatched her hand away.

Brandon made a valiant attempt to respond to her praise. “Mesmerizing, huh? And what about you, Larry? Did you enjoy it?”

“Absolutely. Dance is usually my wife’s thing but this was definitely not a night at the ballet.”

“Not a fan of men in tights?” Brandon laughed.

“Not so much,” the older man confessed. “But this was different. There was a story like a ballet but it was stronger somehow. More intense. Really…” he paused, searching for the right word.

“Dynamic?” Leanne suggested, and he nodded.

“Exactly. Dynamic.”

Their honest appreciation made him happy. He appreciated their genuine praise, their enthusiasm for the production.

He’d been determined from a young age not to sink into the halfhearted apathy that had infected his parents. Lisa and Dustin Myles never put in more than minimum effort at anything: dead-end jobs, their marriage, their kid. They’d been content to drift along. The only thing they’d ever shown any long-term commitment to were their arguments. Vicious knock-down, drag-’em-out affairs that could rumble and menace for days on end. For that at least, they’d shown flair and inventiveness, relishing every opportunity to strike a blow against each other.

Their son’s attempts at diligence—a paper route, a summer spent cutting lawns, a plaque for perfect attendance—only received jeers and derision. In their scornful eyes, these weren’t achievements to celebrate but proof of his refusal to accept his lot in life.

Without conscious planning, he’d taken the opposite path. Some of his earliest memories were of staying up late to finish his homework, working the extra questions, drawing the neatest diagrams. He lapped up his teachers’ praise, pathetically eager for even a few obligatory words of kindness.

It took years for Brandon to realize that he’d come to enjoy learning for its own sake. The approval he’d earned from his teachers, coaches and the dance faculty mattered but it was the effort itself that filled him with satisfaction. By giving it his all, he never doubted his worth.

“I’m glad,” he said. The line moved again, and only one more couple remained ahead of them. But before he could think of a reason to delay them further, he was hailed by the production’s technical director.

“Hey, Brandon! We’re headed to the Judge for a pint. You in?”

Larry reached into his blazer pocket for his coat-check tickets. “You’re not joining us at the restaurant, Brandon? I’d been looking forward to treating you to dinner. My thanks for the tickets.” Turning to the clerk, he collected their coats and gave one to Leanne.

Brandon glanced at Leanne but once again, her face gave no hint of how she felt about him presuming upon their “friendship” like this. He’d already found himself thinking about her far more than was wise the past few days. He’d insinuated himself into her life, and her body language revealed her uncertainty at his pursuit, even approaching as he did under the banner of friendship.

He wasn’t the kind of guy for long-term relationships anyway. He always disposed of his girlfriends after a couple of months, the better to keep them from getting too close or building too much stock in their relationship. She’d be better off without him in the long run, even if she did make his blood heat to unprecedented levels. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said to her father. “Leanne mentioned that she doesn’t get to see you as much now.”

“You wouldn’t be in the way,” she said.

Brandon turned. He was wary of reading too much into her statement but felt a small glimmer of hope. Hope his rational mind knew he shouldn’t be happy about feeling. “No?”

She nodded. “Dad’s right. You were kind enough to share your tickets, so we owe you a good meal in return. I’ve got reservations at that new restaurant on Cumberland. Do you like Thai?”

“Love it,” he said. “Maybe not as much as I love Nonna’s eggplant parmigiana, but definitely a close second.” She laughed awkwardly, a warm glow flooding her cheeks, and busied herself sliding into her thick wool coat her. It covered her from throat to midknee but he could still make out her delicious curves.

Sexual attraction waned. It always did. If he was smart, he’d ignore her attractions and start the process as soon as possible.

It was difficult to be smart standing so close to Leanne. The charge between them short-circuited whatever good sense he might have otherwise claimed.

“Great.” Larry shrugged into his own tweed overcoat before securing his scarf and gloves. “It’s a date. You’ll need your things, Brandon. We’ll wait here and then we can all head over together.”

Leanne froze for a moment and Brandon was sure she was about to rescind her offer. Then she nodded and he felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time—anticipation.

Pushing back from the table with a satisfied groan, Leanne poured herself another cup of steaming green tea and smiled. She couldn’t eat another bite of the fragrant curry and sweet jasmine rice. Far from being the disaster she’d feared, dinner with her dad and Brandon had been…

She sipped her tea, searching for the right word.

Fun.

She rolled the word silently on her tongue. It felt a little foreign but correct.

Hard as it was to believe, the evening that started out as an obligation had become enjoyable. For one thing, Brandon and her father made instant friends. Just like he’d fit in so naturally at the potluck last night. The moment they’d climbed into her car, the conversation flowed. From politics to sports to engineering and current affairs, the topics they’d touched on ranged wide and far.

Leanne couldn’t help but compare their natural connection to the stilted and awkward one that had existed between Steven and her dad. She didn’t blame her father; he’d made every effort to include her former boyfriend in family happenings. Steven simply hadn’t fit in.

Looking across the table at the two men relaxing after the meal, she admired how easily the two had hit it off.

She wasn’t embarrassed in Brandon’s presence anymore. Now that she knew him better she felt confident he wouldn’t reveal their reckless fling to her colleagues. Besides that practical relief though, she was forced to admit she was well on the road to liking him too. What wasn’t there to like? He was funny, hard-working, self-deprecating and a great dancer to boot.

Oh, and drop dead gorgeous.

No way could she overlook that last inescapable fact.

She would forget momentarily, distracted by his wit or his clever mind, but then he would catch her eye and wink. His long legs would brush against hers, or their fingers would touch reaching for a spring roll and the heated awareness washed over her once again. After an evening in his company, she was a wreck. Trying to act as if she wasn’t more aroused and more aware of him than any man she’d ever known was an unrelenting assignment.

But now, as the night wound to a close, she let go of her worries and her doubts. The restaurant was nearly empty, just a couple of scattered tables besides theirs still occupied. A few more minutes and she’d be free of Brandon and his unsettling presence once and for all.

Of course, chances were they’d bump into each other on campus from time to time. It was a small university, after all. But she no longer dreaded that possibility. Any meeting between them now would be pleasant but brief. One night, no matter how explosive, did not a friendship make and she was proud to have accepted her lapse as an event that did not signal the end of her world. They were both busy people, with full schedules of teaching, research and upcoming defenses, plus, in Brandon’s case, work and rehearsals. The connection between them would wither in its natural course, time and distractions working their magic.

As if sensing a lull, their waiter hurried to the table. He set dessert menus in front of them one by one and paused expectantly.

Looking over the menu, her dad laughed. “I didn’t think there was room for anything else, but I see you’ve got baked coconut pudding. You may have to roll me out, but I’ll have that, please.”

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said, turning to Brandon next.

“I’ll have your sticky rice with mangoes. And a cup of coffee. No sugar. One cream.”

“And for you, miss?”

She hesitated and Brandon’s mouth quirked. “Come on, Leanne,” he said in a singsong voice. “You know you want to.”

“Fine,” she huffed playfully, snapping the menu shut. “Honey melon sorbet for me.” She stood, dropped her napkin onto her chair and collected her purse. “Excuse me, I’ll be back in a sec.”

She hurried toward the washrooms, threading through the linen covered tables to the front of the restaurant. A burst of male laughter made her turn. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Brandon once again deep in conversation with her father, comfortable after one night in a way that Steven had never been after nearly two years.

She shivered and slipped into the small stall. As she washed her hands, she thought about the similarities between Brandon and herself that seemed designed to deepen the connection between them. It wasn’t just his sense of humor and stunning good looks. Nor was it simply their incendiary attraction. He’d charmed her friends and fit in easily with her close-knit social circle. And he shared many of her dad’s interests. All of these things would have been great attributes if Brandon was someone she could ever consider in a long-term light but now they were lodestones around her neck, weighing her down with regret and bitterness.

What was it with fate, teasing her, taunting her like this? Steven should have been perfect for her but he wasn’t. Brandon should have been all wrong for her but he wasn’t. She liked too many things about this guy to dismiss him as nothing but an accidental lover.

Yet no matter how many positives she tallied, they couldn’t outweigh one inescapable truth.

They had no future. What they wanted out of life was too different to ever give them a true foundation. In a few months time, she’d finish her PhD and, if everything went according to plan, set off on the next stage of her career as the recipient of the Walters Prize. Brandon was still at least a year or more away from finishing his dissertation. It wasn’t rational to expect their unconventional friendship to survive the distance and separation so it was best to limit their time from the start.

She snapped off the taps and dried her hands. Back in the dining room, Brandon stood at the front counter with the hostess. He seemed startled to see her, turning away as she hurried across the restaurant.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “I was just settling the bill.”

“You can’t do that,” Leanne protested. “You gave us the tickets. Besides, this was supposed to be my treat.” She scrabbled in her purse and drew out her wallet, setting it on the hostess counter. Brandon frowned and drew out a billfold. They stood side by side, glaring at each other like dueling cowboys.

“I’d like the bill, please,” they said simultaneously, and the hostess, a diminutive woman in Asian dress, laughed.

“The gentleman you are dining with?” the hostess said in a lilting voice. “When he arrived, he left a message at the desk for you both.”

“He did?” Leanne threw a startled glance at Brandon. “What did it say?”

“He said to put your wallets away because this meal is his treat and neither of you are paying for it.”

Leanne shook her head in defeat. “Leave it, Brandon. There’s no way Dad’s letting you pay for your own meal. He still tries to slip me money for rent and groceries every time he comes over. It’s just his way of showing he cares.”

He sighed and pocketed his money reluctantly. Turning away from the counter, she started back toward their table. Brandon reached out, halting her progress. He took her elbow and guided her into a small alcove. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

“Your dad mentioned some big dinner at the country club this weekend.”

Leanne rolled her eyes, surprised that her father had mentioned the obligation at all. Her mom was the one who usually planned their outings. “Oh yeah. Highlight of my social calendar. Gillian’s rehearsal dinner.”

“Gillian as in business-card Gillian?” His voice dropped to an intimate level, his body still. Leanne was impressed he’d remembered the name on the business card—he’d only glanced at it before setting it aside. And they’d been so distracted by
other
things afterward, she’d barely been able to remember her own name. Just thinking about those other things made it difficult to focus on this conversation. He stood close to her, the restaurant tables shielded from their direct line of sight by an elaborate arrangement of exotic silk plants.

“Gillian Saunders is a…family friend. She’s getting married a week from Saturday.”

She watched his throat, smooth and defined as he spoke.

“I see.”

“And I’ve been invited because my mom is one of her mother’s oldest friends. Lucky, lucky me.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Hell, no! Gillian only invited me so she could gloat and preen.” Her lips twisted. “I anticipate two hours of intrusive questions and an hour of overpriced, undercooked entrées followed by another hour of unsolicited advice. Does that like fun to you?”

“So ask me to come with you.”

Leanne’s mouth dropped. That was the last thing she expected him to propose. Marshaling a rebuttal was difficult. It was hard to think clearly when he was so close. “You can’t be serious. It’ll be boring. Horribly stuffy and pretentious.”

“What makes you think I don’t like stuffy and pretentious country club dinners?” he teased, his breath brushing her temple although his lips never touched her heated skin. “I’m hurt you don’t think I know the difference between my dinner fork and my dessert fork.” His strong fingers threaded through hers and he drew her even closer.

Her head lolled back and it took all her willpower not to kiss him, knowing her father was on the other side of the room and the hostess only steps away. Anyone could come upon them, and the possibility of discovery added an element of excitement.

“You don’t want to come,” she said again, but this time her voice was low and breathless.

“Ask me anyway.” His eyes never left her face. His free hand came up to his mouth and he popped a mint between his well-shaped lips. He must have filched it from the hostess station.

“Ask me, Leanne.”

She could smell the minty freshness of his breath.

“Fine.” She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to regain control of her riotous body. “Would you like to come with me to Gillian’s dinner on Saturday?”

“As your date?”

Her eyes flew open.

“I’m sorry?”

He pressed again. “As your date?”

Leanne gulped. She couldn’t marshal her arguments coherently when his lean, beautiful body was only inches from her own. Talk was the last thing on earth she wanted to do right now.

“As my date,” she conceded, even as she berated herself for not reiterating her commitment to keeping things casual. He smiled, his even white teeth glinting in the muted lights of the restaurant. He brushed a light kiss against her lips and her breath caught at the fleeting contact. But instead of deepening the kiss, he backed away almost immediately and released her hand.

“Excellent,” he said, seemingly unaffected by the kiss. “We should get back to the table. I think the waiter’s bringing out our desserts now.”

Her mind spinning, Leanne could only nod. She followed Brandon’s progress as he led the way back to their table. The desserts were indeed waiting for them and Brandon and her father dug in with unabashed eagerness. Still lost in thought, she took a bite of her own treat, the citrus sorbet melting on her tongue, and pondered the riddle that was Brandon Myles.

“Then turn left at the stop sign.”

The rain had finally stopped but the roads were still slick, littered with leaves brought down by the latest deluge. With a flick of her wrist, she signaled the turn.

After dropping her father back at his car, Leanne had offered to drive Brandon home. He lived in the student residences, a motley collection of low-rise apartments and narrow townhouses owned by the university and reserved for its graduate students, their partners and from time to time, their young families.

“It’s the last building on this side.” He gestured toward one of the townhouses at the end of the cul-de-sac and Leanne pulled into an open parking space near the front steps.

She turned off the engine, and the radio, which had been tuned to a late-night jazz program, fell silent. Leanne glanced down at her hands still resting on the steering wheel and picked an imaginary piece of lint from her coat. She tried to think of something—
anything—
to say but for once, her mind stayed mute. Brandon was looking at her, studying her profile, and Leanne had to resist the overwhelming urge to scratch her nose.

His scrutiny unsettled her. And little as she liked to admit it, she knew why.

Because this felt like the awkward front-door moment that always came after a first date.

Except for that brief interlude in the alcove at the restaurant, her father had been there to take the edge off of any simmering moments. But now, in the darkened car, nothing distracted from the attraction that continued to arc between them despite her sensible admonitions.

Even though she knew that they hadn’t been on a date, a small quiver of awareness deep in her belly made it impossible for her to dismiss the notion.

A first kiss could tell you so much about a person.

In retrospect, she should have known her relationship with Steven was doomed to fail. Their first kiss had been pleasant, she supposed, but lackluster and formulaic. He hadn’t committed any cardinal kissing sins—no garlic, no drool, no unauthorized grinding—but it was still leagues away from the out-of-control combustion she’d experienced the first time she and Brandon had kissed.

She barely remembered what making love to Steven felt like. Just vague impressions. Nothing specific. Nothing concrete. Nothing particularly memorable. Just like their entire relationship, really.

In contrast, she could remember every single second of her time with Brandon, as brief as it had been. The taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands as they’d moved over her body, the tang of his come, the musk of his cock as she’d sucked him. The whole night was indelibly inscribed into her flesh, like a perverse and erotic tattoo. Time and again, scenes of their encounter flashed across her mind in all their Technicolor glory and she’d been powerless to resist their allure.

Before she could sink any further into depravity, Brandon spoke and his words shattered her erotic musings.

Releasing his seatbelt, he said, “Thanks again for the ride, Leanne.”

He seemed to caress her name, drawing it out softly and she felt her knees quiver at the sound.