Learning Curves (5 page)

It’s not him,
her common sense shrieked. Was she going to spend the next who-knew-how-long comparing every guy to her one-night stand? As he stood with his back to her, speaking to the dean, she tried to think logically. So what if this guy was roughly the same height? Sure, his shoulders were broad and defined. She could see that clearly, despite the casual sweater he wore. And so what if his butt was tight, hugged by a pair of well-worn jeans? It wasn’t the same firm, muscled bum she’d clutched as she’d lurched and spun into orgasm…

She blinked and looked down to see mangled crumbs ground into the now clenched cocktail napkin that had held her appetizers. She needed to get a grip.

A serious, serious grip
, she repeated to herself.
Just ease up on the nibblies
.

Yet even as she argued with herself at the impossibility, telling herself the resemblance was only a figment of her oversexed imagination, she discarded her ruined food and moved across the room, skirting the groups of chatting people, working her way ever closer to where the dean and the unknown man stood talking. Try as she might to convince herself that she was just circulating, she needed to see his face.

To prove to herself that her imagination was working overtime.

“Leanne.” The dean’s voice carried clearly over the clattering hubbub. Trying to look casual, she turned to face the woman calling her name. Dressed in one of her signature caftans, her hair in its usual immaculate bob, the administrator was a force to be reckoned with in campus politics. Leanne looked upon her as a valuable mentor. And a friend. Today, she found herself wishing the dean was a million miles away instead of waiting politely for a greeting from Leanne.

Because even as Leanne turned, still insisting the man the dean was talking to was a stranger, her body knew better. It hadn’t forgotten the way they’d moved together or the way he’d made her feel. So while her rational brain refused to concede, her body welcomed the sight of him like a long-lost friend.

When her eyes finally, reluctantly, came to rest on his face, there was no denying the truth. In the bright room she could see the unmistakably rugged planes of his face.

Crap.

“Hello.” Her voice dry and scratchy, Leanne was overcome with the need for a drink to soothe her parched tongue. But short of turning and fleeing, there was no escape from this mortifying reunion. Her only consolation was that Brandon looked as stunned as she felt.

Clearing her throat, Leanne tried again. “Hello, Dean Rose.”

“How are you, Leanne? I haven’t seen much of you this term. Busy with your research, I assume.”

Carefully avoiding meeting his eyes, Leanne said, “I’m fine, thank you.”

Oblivious to the tension, the dean made a gesture of introduction. “Have you met each other? Brandon’s one of our new PhD candidates. In fine arts though, not English,” she clarified.

“Dance. Twentieth-century choreography.”

A student? He’s a graduate student at Wellington too?
Her brain still reeling from the sight of her fantasy-man-turned-real in the flesh, Leanne could barely assimilate this startling new information. The possibility of running into her one-time fling again and again made the veggie samosas rise in her throat.

What if he spreads the news of our encounter around?
The damning thought skittered into her brain before she could stop it. Because no matter how people claimed the rules had changed for female academics, gaining a reputation for dubious one-night stands was hardly going to endear her to any hiring committee looking for signs of intellectual commitment.

Despite the innocuous nature of his reply, his dark, smooth voice slithered across her skin like an unwitting caress and forced to her to abandon her increasingly frantic thoughts. His lips quirked in a crooked half-smile that hinted at, but didn’t reveal, the dimples she knew were there. Her nipples tightened at the sight of his mouth curved in undeniable sensual appeal.

Bad, bad nipples.
Apparently they weren’t concerned with the vagaries of hiring committees, regardless of Leanne’s sensible admonitions.

Crossing her arms to hide the signs of her body’s eagerness, she waited to see how he would respond to the dean’s introduction.

“Actually, we’ve met, Dean Rose, but we’ve never been formally introduced. Of course, Leanne may not remember. It was a very brief meeting.” His eyes glinted with sharp humor, and he held out his hand, an unmistakable challenge on his face. Unable to avoid his gesture without appearing rude, Leanne put out her own hand in response.

When his agile fingers wrapped around her slender ones, she couldn’t help but remember the feel of them inside her. A warm flood of moisture followed as she considered not only where those fingers had been but what they’d done too.

“Of course I remember,” she said, angry at the breathless hitch in her voice but unable to avoid it. “Leanne Galloway.”

“Brandon Myles,” he said evenly. “I’m glad we finally have a chance to be properly introduced. Because I have to tell you, Leanne, I’ve been wondering who you were since the first time we met.”

The security lights reflected an unearthly orange glow against the rain-soaked paths as Leanne hurried toward the university parking lot. Most of the day classes had finished and, as the early darkness deepened, only a handful of students darted between buildings, their shoulders hunched against the driving rain, their faces obscured by flimsy umbrellas and precarious newspapers.

Ducking beneath the portico next to the science building to escape the downpour, Leanne tried to reassure herself that she hadn’t run away from the Faculty Club. She needed to leave to tackle her marking. She’d like to think that she acquitted herself admirably after the shock of meeting Brandon had subsided. That she’d managed to hold her own and parry his seemingly innocuous inquiries with bland cocktail talk of her own. That she’d been aloof, dignified and oblivious to his myriad physical inducements.

Oh, who was she trying to kid? She’d acquitted herself with all the aplomb of a toddler for whom two-syllable words were still an impossible challenge. As for her body’s treacherous reactions? Well, after the mass defection of every body part from the neck down, there was no doubt whose side of the argument it lined up to support.

Even now, a dull ache throbbed low between her thighs and her breasts were full and sensitive. The friction of her wide book bag strap rubbing across one peaked nipple was enough to have her tearing her hair out. She felt wild, horny and incredibly frustrated.

And it was all his fault.

“Leanne!”

The hand that grabbed her shoulder startled her, and she whirled, instinctively seeking out the reassuring blue light that marked the nearest security phone. But the any relief evaporated when she saw who it was.

“Brandon.”

He was the last person on earth she wanted to see right now. Anger overcame her at his continued intrusion into her calm and ordered existence. Who the hell did he think he was, horning in on her life like this? Couldn’t he take a hint? She’d left the reception because she didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t
need
to talk to him. They didn’t have anything to say.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He was drenched, wearing only a worn leather jacket against the November downpour. His hair was plastered against his skull, and beads of water sparkled on his impossibly long lashes. His flat nipples beaded against the cold, visible through his thin wool sweater. The acceleration of her heartbeat did nothing to endear him to Leanne at that moment. It only fueled her irrational spurt of guilt and lust.

“Sorry? What’s that supposed to mean?” She waved her hand, dismissing his apology. “Sorry you slept with me, because you never thought you’d have to see me again? Sorry your friends walked in and got an eyeful of my winter-white thighs? Or just sorry we slept together, period? Well, forgive me for making your life difficult but that’s tough. Because you can’t regret what we did any more than I do.”

The disbelief on his face was almost enough to make her regret her rash, out-of-character words but she was still too shell-shocked by his reappearance to moderate her comments. The Leanne Galloway she knew didn’t shout or rant or raise her voice. Yet here she was, shouting at a perfect stranger and goading him with details of their abortive fling. Her life was careening out of control and she hated it. Hated what he did to her good sense and what she did around him.

As if he could read her unflattering thoughts, his face darkened. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he spit out. “I’m trying to apologize, for God’s sake. I would have called you but—”

“Called me? What for?” she scoffed. “I don’t need or want your apologies. What’s done is done. You got caught up in the moment. So did I. But it didn’t mean anything. It’s a big university and we’re in different departments. As long as you keep it quiet, no one will ever know and we can both move on with our lives.”

“Me?” he snapped, anger erupting through his outward calm like molten lava. He looked stunned at her accusations and a small part of her brain—the part not consumed by guilt-fueled fury—felt a flicker of shame at her behavior. “You think
I’m
the one who’ll let the cat out of the bag? Charming. Really, really charming. You’ll go far with those kinds of people skills.”

She brushed aside his insult, too furious to assemble a coherent comeback. His coworkers’ cruel, jeering comments echoed in her brain, and she couldn’t understand why he was being so stubborn, insisting there was connection between them despite all the evidence to the contrary. She was making sense but he wasn’t listening.

“I’ve got my career to think about,” she explained tersely, trying without much success to control her volatile mood. “Tenure. A reputation for inappropriate liaisons isn’t going to do me any favors in front of a hiring committee. You know I can’t risk it. The bar for female faculty is always higher, no matter what official policies might claim.”

“Inappropriate liaisons with a stripper, isn’t that what you really mean?”

She gasped. He was putting words in her mouth. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker—it didn’t matter what he did. What mattered were the consequences to her nascent career if she got a reputation for sleeping around. “I didn’t say that.”

Men were protected against many of the dangers that could beset an unwary female intent on making her mark in academia. He’d told her that night that he didn’t sleep with women for money and she’d believed him. But even if he did sleep around, the impact on his career would always be less dire. Unfair, but the unspoken reality on campus.

He was a man. A beautiful, gorgeous man, who had to have women throwing themselves at him left, right and center. While their encounter had been miles from ordinary for her, Leanne couldn’t believe he’d never taken advantage of his good looks to get what he wanted from partners willing to overlook the downsides of a casual hookup. He glared at her through narrowed eyes, his mouth pulled into a thin scowl. “I’m very good at reading between the lines.”

“Oh, really?” she jeered, masking her insecurities with biting sarcasm. “Then read this—I don’t care what you do. I just want you to do it far, far away from me.” She tried to walk away but he stopped her escape with an unrelenting grip.

“Let go,” she cried. “I’m not going to discuss this with you anymore.”

Why was he trying to prolong the misery?

She was equally angry, as much at herself as she was at him. At her body’s susceptibility to his beauty and his sexual allure. Heat poured from him, and she was captured again by the beauty of his eyes, alight with fury. They had darkened to a mutinous indigo, and one corner of her mind registered that the shade was the same as when he’d come inside her. The reckless memory set off a riot of electrifying shocks. They rocketed through her and she shuddered, with lust or humiliation she couldn’t tell.

“Is that what we’re doing? Because right now, it feels like I’m defending myself against someone who’s determined to forget what really happened between us on Saturday night. How good it was. How hot it was.”

Her breath caught in her throat at his stunning admission. Her breasts peaked in needy points, and she could feel the heat of his body through her damp clothes.

“I know what happened Saturday night. We had a one-night stand,” she spat out, furious at this proof of her body’s unreliability when it came to this man. She vented her anger at her private shortcomings with words. “Don’t you get it? I don’t care how
hot
or how
good
it was. All I want is to forget it ever happened.”

His jaw tightened at her insults but he didn’t release her arm from his bruising grip.

“You were the one who came backstage.”

“That has nothing to do with anything, I told you, Jeremy—”

“Don’t talk to me about Jeremy,” he snarled, bending to look her in the eye, his face stiff and intent. “This is about you and me.”

She couldn’t think clearly when he was so close. Her body resisted her silent admonitions. At his touch, angry or not, it abdicated from her mind’s control, clamoring for his talents, no matter the cost.

She made a last, desperate stab to reclaim sanity. “I don’t know what you think happened between us the other day, but I’m not interested.”

Brandon exploded. “Not interested? Is sucking my cock ’til I damn near came in your mouth how you tell someone you’re not interested? If that’s the case, I’d suggest you think about refining your technique, because you’re going to give some poor schmuck the wrong idea.”

“Fuck you,” Leanne swore, stunned at the vitriol in his words, her fury overwhelming her usual reticence.

“Sorry, sweetie. That train’s already left the station,” he ground out as he hauled her even closer to his shockingly aroused body.

The brush of his erection was as electrifying as it was bewildering.

What the hell?

Here they were, fighting like fishwives, and he was getting off on it? Leanne was overcome by a burning sense of shame that she’d ever slept with this man. Worse, that her body still didn’t care what a piece of crap he so clearly was. Even now, with her wet clothes rubbing against him, she could feel her sex clench. The smell of the rain, the heat of his skin and the anger lighting the depths of his eyes—the combination was a heady mix and even as she berated herself for being six ways to foolish, she couldn’t deny his sensual appeal.

She watched, like a victim of a high-speed crash who sees the accident unfold but is powerless to stop it, as his beautiful lips descended toward hers. At their touch, she splintered, a moan rushing from her throat. She parried his tongue with her own, and he slanted his mouth to the corner of hers and down her jaw, nipping, kissing, licking, his dangerous lips and lethal hands silencing her mind and all its concerns.

When he caressed her, wrapped her in his strong arms, tenure didn’t matter. Her dissertation didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this. His kisses. His touch. Her knees weakened and she melted against him, reveling in the substantial length of his erection pressing into her core. She was lost, awash in sensation and unable to grasp at anything tangible beyond the here and now.

That petrifying thought somehow managed to penetrate the lust that had descended on her like a fog. She wasn’t that person. She knew who she was. She knew what her goals were and what she needed to do to reach them. She never got so lost in a moment that she couldn’t rationalize and weigh the pros and cons. She was sensible and purpose driven and resolute.

Except that right now, she wasn’t.

And that terrified her. The fear galvanized her into action.

She wrenched away and, summoning a reserve of control from somewhere deep inside, brought her hands to his chest and pushed.

“Stop,” she ordered, gasping for breath. “Enough.”

He lifted his head, breathing hard. His lips were wet and swollen, as she knew her own must be, and a red mark on his neck bore mute testament to Leanne’s own reckless, passionate response. Brandon’s arms dropped and he retreated. Leanne suppressed the quiver that shook her at the loss of his heat, her gaze dropping to the sizeable bulge in his sodden jeans. She took another step back, and a cold shower of rainwater streamed into her upturned collar. She shivered violently, chilled and queasy.

Her mind a wasteland; words escaped her entirely. She didn’t know what just happened or why, and she was in no shape to parry his accusations or recriminations. Her only consolation was that Brandon looked as bewildered as she did.

“Leanne, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “This got out of hand. I just wanted to talk to you again and—”

“Brandon? Oh my God, it
is
you.”

The excited voice hailing his name startled them both.

“It’s so good to see you,” a tiny blond whirlwind exclaimed, throwing herself into Brandon’s arms.

“Stephanie.” There was real pleasure in his voice as he leaned down to kiss the beautiful young girl’s cheek. “It’s been too long. What are you doing back at Wellington?”

She laughed, revealing even white teeth, and shook her umbrella, sending a cascade of droplets through the air. Despite the foul weather, her long hair hung in a perfect wave over her shoulders and down her back. Despite her petite size, her slim legs looked impossibly long and limber in tight jeans.

“Just here visiting,” she said, throwing a questioning glance at Leanne, who continued to stand awkwardly beside the reunited pair, toying with her own umbrella.

Brandon caught her glance. “Oh, I’m sorry. Stephanie, Leanne. Leanne, Stephanie. Steph’s a graduate. She’s one of the students I worked with in studio last year.”

Trying not to squirm under the speculative glance of the young woman, Leanne nodded. “Nice to meet you.” But the dancer’s focus was already back on Brandon.

“I came back for the end-of-term show. Are you choreographing it again this year?”

“I am,” he replied. “I hope you enjoy it. The students have really been working all out.”

“I enjoy anything you do,” Stephanie said, her face alight with flirtatious intent. She flicked another fleeting look at Leanne, as if to gauge her reaction to the romantic sally. Leanne was careful to ensure that none of the turmoil she felt reflected on her face, but she was still unprepared for the tight clench of possessiveness that spasmed through her at the sight of Stephanie’s hand resting on Brandon’s forearm.

It wasn’t jealousy.

Uh-uh. No way. The mini mushroom quiches had just given her indigestion. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

Even as she vowed to steer clear of suspect appetizers in the future, Leanne had to give Brandon credit. He didn’t respond to the clear invitation in the young dancer’s face, but simply stepped back and smiled. “Do you need a ticket to the show?”

Stephanie shook her head. “No way, I booked them ages ago. But you’ll be there, right? With your girlfriend?”

“I beg your pardon?”

At his shocked tone, Stephanie wrinkled her nose. She took in the red mark low on Brandon’s jaw, and Leanne could only hope that her lips weren’t too swollen. It took everything she had not to rub her mouth guiltily with the back of her hand. Brandon looked as embarrassed as she felt, the tips of his ears turning pink.