by Sandra Brown
His voice was deceptively innocent as he asked, “If the business in Washington wasn’t the reason, why did you stop me, Shelley?”
Her footsteps faltered on the gravel driveway. He clasped her elbow and urged her on. “I need more time,” she said in a low voice. “I need to know if what I’m feeling now is real or just an extension of what I felt for you ten years ago.”
That was a lie. She knew she loved him, always had, always would. But she didn’t want him to know that yet. “I’m not sure I want to get involved with anyone right now. I’ve had a difficult time getting my life together. Now that it looks like I might make something of it, I’m afraid to gamble.”
She stopped and faced him. “I haven’t changed much since high school. At least where morals are concerned. Sex isn’t a casual pastime to me. I couldn’t sleep with you one night, and the next day go blithely on my way as though nothing had happened.”
His eyes were lit with an internal flame that burned into hers. “I’m glad you feel that way. Because once I slept with you, I doubt I’d ever be able to let you go.”
Flabbergasted by what he’d said and the profound way he’d said it, she remained mesmerized by his eyes. Finally, forcing herself out of the trance, she said, “Besides we’re still teacher and student.”
He tossed his head back and let out a short laugh. “You can always fall back on that, can’t you?” She returned his grin as he steered her up the steps to the porch. “Come up with a better excuse, Shelley. Who the hell cares about that?”
Chancellor Martin did.
The cocktail—or rather wine—party was as stuffy and dull as Grant had predicted it would be. They were ceremoniously greeted by a receiving line as soon as the butler let them in the door. Chancellor Martin’s physical appearance was perfectly suited to his career as an academician. He was austere, gray-haired, high of brow, tall in stature. He handled his introduction to Shelley graciously enough, but she felt that his shrewd blue eyes were sizing her up.
His wife, a stout matron with gray hair a shade bluer than her husband’s, spoke to Grant and Shelley with an insincere smile carved onto her face. She seemed more interested in adjusting the cluster of diamonds pinned to her ample bosom than in them.
“Can you imagine Mrs. Martin writhing in the throes of passion?” Grant asked out of the corner of his mouth as they moved away. Shelley nearly dropped her glass of wine. She had accepted it from the silver tray another rented-for-the-evening butler was passing around. She was convulsed with silent laughter.
“Shut up,” Shelley ground out between her teeth as she tried to maintain a decorous mien. “You’re going to make me spill my wine and then I’ll have to have this blouse dry-cleaned, when otherwise I might get by with wearing it one more time.”
They mingled, and Shelley couldn’t help noticing that the women in the room, faculty members and spouses alike, gravitated to Grant like homing pigeons. She was sickened by their subtle questions, purposely drafted to lead him into a discussion of Missy Lancaster and her suicide. Deftly he managed to detour them to other topics.
The men in the room discussed the afternoon’s football game, the season in general and the team’s chances for a bowl game. Grant introduced Shelley without explaining who she was, but one of her former professors remembered her just the same. Shelley was sure that news of their student-teacher relationship was spreading through the room.
A half hour later Shelley and Grant found themselves in Chancellor Martin’s den. They were discussing the merits of backgammon over chess when the chancellor himself walked in.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Chapman. I was hoping for a word with you.” He sounded friendly enough, but the way he closed the double doors to the room behind him filled Shelley with foreboding.
“We were just admiring this room,” Grant said congenially. “It’s beautiful, as is the rest of the house.”
“Yes, well,” he said, coughing unnecessarily, “as you know the university owns the house, but when I was appointed chancellor and we moved in, Marjorie redecorated it.”
Moving to the bookcase-lined wall, he clasped his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. “Mr. Chapman—”
“Excuse me,” Shelley said, edging her way toward the door.
“No, Mrs. Robins, as this concerns you, I’ll ask you to stay.”
She cast a furtive glance in Grant’s direction, then said, “All right.”
“Now,” the chancellor said ponderously, “as you know, this university maintains high standards both academically and morally. We, meaning the board of directors, care about the reputation of this school, both as an institute of higher learning and as a community unto itself. Because we are a church-sponsored university, we must safeguard that reputation. Therefore,” he said, swiveling his head around and glaring at them in a gesture guaranteed to strike terror into the heart of any miscreant, “the members of the faculty must have sterling reputations on campus and off.”
A deathly quiet had descended over the room. Neither Grant nor Shelley spoke or moved, but out of the corner of her eye she saw that Grant’s fists were clenched at his sides.
“We took a chance in hiring you to teach at this university, Mr. Chapman. The board reviewed your application carefully. They felt that you were unfairly exploited by the press in Washington. They benevolently gave you the benefit of the doubt.
“Your credentials are excellent. When you publish, as you’ve expressed a desire to do, that will lend further distinction to the university. But your keeping company with a student, albeit an older one, leaves you vulnerable to criticism and puts the university in an unfavorable light. Especially after the unfortunate affair so recently publicized. I must request that you and Mrs. Robins, whose status as a divorcée only adds another questionable element to the situation, stop seeing each other on a social basis.”
Grant wasn’t impressed by either the chancellor’s edict or his piety. “Or else what?” he asked calmly. The controlled tone wasn’t in keeping with the fierce expression on his face.
“Or else we might have to review your contract at the end of the semester,” Chancellor Martin said.
Grant crossed to Shelley and took her arm. “You have not only insulted me and questioned my morality, which I’m sure is in keeping with that of the university, but you have maligned Mrs. Robins—”
“Grant—”
“—whose reputation is spotless.”
She had tried to interrupt, afraid that he’d say something in her defense that would further antagonize the chancellor. For judging by the pallor of his face, few, if any, had ever ignored his warnings.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Grant was saying as he dragged her toward the door. “And thank Mrs. Martin for us.”
He flung the door open wide, strode through it proudly and wended his way through those lingering at the party to the front door. If he noticed heads curiously turning in his wake, he didn’t show it. Shelley only prayed that the color in her cheeks wasn’t as vivid as she felt it was and that her knees would continue to support her until they were at least through the front door.
In fact, they held up until she reached the car. As soon as Grant opened the door of the passenger side she slumped into the seat, overcome by trembling.
It wasn’t until Grant had sped down the lane to the main thoroughfare and wheeled the sports car into the sparse traffic that he said, “I’m starving. What sounds good to you? Pizza?”
She turned her head to stare at him with incredulity. “Pizza! Grant, the chancellor of the university just threatened to fire you.”
“Something he can’t do without a majority vote from the board. And despite the adverse publicity I’ve received and the aura of scandal that surrounds me, some of them are star-struck and want to keep me around. Others realize that I’m a damn good teacher.
“The only thing that makes me mad as hell is what he said about you. That sanctimonious jackass. If he had the opportunity, don’t think
he wouldn’t like to see you on a ‘social basis.’”
“Grant!” Shelley cried before covering her face with her hands. Her obvious distress sobered him. After covering the distance to her house in silence, save for an occasional muffled sob from Shelley, he whipped the car to the curb and braked abruptly. His earlier suggestion about dinner was forgotten.
For long moments they sat in stony silence. Grant’s profile, lit by the soft glow of the streetlight outside the car’s window, was just as forbidding as that of Chancellor Martin. Shelley gathered enough courage to say, “We can’t see each other anymore, Grant. Not like today.”
He turned in the bucket seat to face her, his clothes making a rustling sound in the darkness. He braced his arm on the back of his seat and gave her a level stare. “You’re really going to let a parody of respectability like Martin keep us apart?”
She exhaled wearily. “I know what he is, and if he didn’t hold the position he does, I wouldn’t give him or his opinion a thought. But he is the chancellor of the university and you are in his employ.”
“There was no clause in my contract about whom I date.”
“But it’s an unwritten law that teachers don’t date their students. I tried to tell you weeks ago what people around here would think of us. You wouldn’t listen. This isn’t the more progressive-thinking East or West Coast. This is mid-America. Such things just aren’t done.”
“What are we doing that’s so bad?” he shouted, finally losing the composure he’d tried so hard to hold on to. When he saw her flinch, he cursed under his breath and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you.”
“I know,” she said quietly. It was the hopelessness of the situation that angered him.
Grant found it hard to admit to that, however. “I don’t want another upheaval in my life. Hell, that’s the last thing I want. I especially don’t want one that could in any way touch you. But dammit, I can’t give you up either.”
“You’ll have to. How do you think I’d feel if you lost your job on account of me? Do you think I could live with that?”
“I’ve lived through much worse, Shelley. Believe me, I’m a survivor. It wouldn’t bother me.”
“Well, it would bother me a great deal.” She placed her hand on the door handle. “Good-bye, Grant.”
He caught her arm with a hand like a steel talon. “I won’t let them force us apart no matter what they threaten. And I won’t let you throw it all away. Shelley, I need you. I want you. And I know you want me just as much.”
His other hand shot across the interior of the car and caught the back of her neck, hauling her against him. “No—” she managed to force out before he clamped his mouth over hers. The kiss was brutal, his passion adding to his frustration.
Holding her motionless with one hand, he slid the other down to trap her breast. His rotating palm coaxed the nipple into rapid response. Then fingers talented in the art of seduction finessed it into rigid proof of her building desire.
“Please no,” she breathed into his mouth as his kiss gentled, “don’t touch me anymore.” His tongue glided along her lower lip, sliding over it to caress the soft interior just beyond.
“Don’t deny us this, Shelley. After all this time, don’t take this away from us. Haven’t we paid enough dues for the privilege? I want to know all of you.”
He began with her ear. It was explored thoroughly by a velvet-rough tongue that whimsically probed or teased. Her hand had unconsciously closed over his thigh. She squeezed the muscled flesh beneath his trousers mindlessly, gripping it harder when his touch raised the level of her excitement.
Had Grant not already been driven with his need to possess her, the placement of her hand would have provided him with more than enough incentive. As it was, her unconscious caress only fanned the fires of his passion and made him more determined than ever to eliminate her fears and reluctance.
His mouth sampled the smooth skin of her neck and chest, alternately nibbling with his teeth and stroking with his tongue. She felt herself welcoming the rising storm inside her. She wanted to be drawn into the tempest, into the maelstrom his caresses made of her universe.
Impatient with her clothes, he kissed her through them. He pressed hot, moist kisses onto the lush curves of her breasts. When he reached her nipple, she gasped his name and wound his hair around her fingers.
His tongue feathered the agitated peak, burning through the blue silk and the sheer veil of her brassiere. Her breath came in quick, shallow pants as his tongue nudged her breast more insistently, and she cried his name sharply when his mouth closed around the tip completely.
He tugged on her gently. First one breast, then the other received his meticulous attention. He lifted his mouth free only long enough to speak her name in a loving chant.
She welcomed him when his hand insinuated itself under her skirt and slip to stroke her thigh. The silky texture of her panty hose only heightened her sensitivity. she liquefied under his touch, moving in a way that encouraged his bold exploration.
Aroused as they were, neither was prepared for the tumult of emotion that rocked them when his caressing hand reached the top of her thighs. He pressed his forehead against her breasts while her fingers remained enmeshed in his dark hair.
He whispered endearments as his thumb erotically stroked the gently swelling mound and her thighs relaxed and parted. “Shelley, I’ve got to love you,” he said as he opened his hand to enclose her.
This was the man she’d always wanted and here he was, offering her unbound passion. Why was she reluctant to accept it? Because this wasn’t a fairy tale. This was life. Things like this didn’t happen in the real world. No man, whom a woman loved and desired for years, came back into her life like a knight on a white charger. Nothing worked out that perfectly. Somewhere, at some time, a price had to be paid.
It would be so easy to submit to his whispered words of love and her own blazing desire. She wanted him, thought she might very well die if she didn’t have him, but she couldn’t stake both their careers on one night’s pleasure. And that was all it might be.
He was willing to gamble on an affair. After all, he could always walk away from it. When he was through with her, when he had broken her heart all over again, he could simply retreat. He’d be free and she’d be left to pick up the pieces of her life again.
She didn’t really think Grant could be so callous. But then she hadn’t thought Daryl could be either. When it came right down to it, women were at the mercy of the men they loved.
Much as she loved Grant, she wasn’t going to be that vulnerable again.
At first he didn’t realize that she was struggling to extricate herself from him, not to move closer. The sudden stiffening of her limbs alerted him as nothing else could. Her hands warded him off. He looked at her blankly, blinked and shook his head to clear it.
“Shelley … ?”
“Good-bye, Grant.” She shoved open the car door and tumbled out.
“Shelley!” she heard him shout. She ran up the walk, let herself in the house and slammed the front door as though the devil were after her.
Like an automaton that knew exactly how to act but was void of feeling, she went into her bedroom and climbed out of her clothes. She looked down at the two damp stains on the front of her blouse with dismay. It would have to be dry-cleaned after all, she realized as she burst into tears.
She spent Sunday cloistered in her house. Since it rained all day, she had a good excuse to remain indoors. Her mother called and asked if there was anything new in her life and if she was enjoying this semester’s classes. Shelley elected not to mention her political-science teacher.
Apparently Grant was going to let her decision stand. She had expected him to telephone, but he didn’t.
Monday night she debated with herself about attending Grant’s class the next day or dropping it as she had threatened to do a week ago. The reasons for dropping it were obvious. Yet she found herself com
ing up with reasons for staying in the class.
First, she didn’t want to give Chancellor Martin the satisfaction of having cowed her. Not that he would ever know one way or another, but she couldn’t tolerate the thought of giving in so easily.
Secondly, she didn’t want Grant to think her a coward. He had called her that once and he wasn’t far from wrong, but she didn’t want him to think her cowardly. She had boasted that she had put her life in order, that she was independent, self-sufficient. If she knuckled under at the first sign of trouble and retreated without dignity, he would think her an utter fool, immature and not worthy of the attention he’d already given her. That stung. She couldn’t abide that.
On Tuesday, with eyes red from crying, and grim resolution engraved on her delicate features, she went into the classroom. Grant was standing, bending over his desk perusing his notes. The muscle spasm in his jaw was a dead giveaway that he knew she had come in, but he didn’t deign to look up.
That set the pattern for the next two weeks. He never looked at her as if truly seeing her. On several occasions, she was tempted to contribute to the heated discussions he encouraged in the class, but she refrained. She could maintain this vigil of silence as long as he.
One afternoon when she purposely arrived early in an attempt to force Grant to speak to her, she caught him in the company of Miss Zimmerman.
The younger girl was perched on the corner of his desk in a most seductive and not at all subtle way. He was laughing up at her as he sat tilting his chair back on two legs, his feet propped on the corner of the desk close to her hip. Shelley gnashed her teeth in an effort to quell the temptation to kick the legs of his chair out from under him and to slap Miss Zimmerman resoundingly on her overrouged cheek.
Thoroughly enraged with him and disgusted with herself for caring, she didn’t take one note during his lecture. The view out the window absorbed her total attention as she sat fuming at her desk. At the conclusion of the class, she yanked up her books and flounced past him on her way to the door.