by Sandra Brown
“I love your mouth,” he said urgently, dropping hot kisses on her lips. “God, I love it. Every time I kiss you it’s like eating a rich, creamy dessert.” When he kissed her again, they reclined on the blanket. His hands slipped under her sweat shirt and he thrilled to the warm satin texture of her skin. With titillating slowness he stroked his way up her ribs to the undersides of her breasts. He cupped them, barely touching them.
Her breathing had become rapid and he smiled. He raised her sweat shirt and looked down at the sun-drenched radiance of her breasts. “How could you doubt your femininity when you have breasts like these?” he asked, softly chiding. “They’re beautiful. Created for me to love.” He traced a finger around one full mound. And again. And the circles became smaller until she was writhing against him.
“Kiss me,” she rasped, clutching at air until she gained a handful of his hair.
He outlined her nipples with the tip of his tongue. Lifting his head, he studied their perfect response before he took one between his fingers to fondle and sucked the other into his mouth. As she was drawn deeper into the trance he was creating, her hips undulated on the blanket in a sexual ballet.
His hand caressed its way down to squeeze her upper thigh through the denim of her worn jeans. A cry escaped her lips. “Grant,” she gasped.
His purpose wasn’t to torment, but to please and he instantly reacted to her silent request. Raising himself above her, he stared into her befuddled eyes as he opened her jeans and slid his hand inside. The dainty lacy band of her panties was lifted and his fingers covered the dark downy triangle.
“Grant … ?” Her voice was thin and reedy as he parted and caressed.
“You are a woman, Shelley. I’ll show you how much of a woman you are.”
For only a heartbeat she resisted the persuasive talent of his fingers, until she saw that was a useless exercise. She surrendered to their sweet magic and the spell they wove. Delicately, tenderly, he stroked the very center of her femininity with a sensitive fingertip. A veritable mountain of fire built inside of her.
Restlessly she arched her back. Mindlessly she covered his dear hand with her own and pressed it. The mountain trembled with boiling internal pressure.
“Shelley, look at me,” he urged as he gripped her other hand and interlaced their fingers. Her blank eyes opened to meet his and only then did they come into sharp focus.
“Grant … you are … ah, my love …” The mountain of fire erupted with volcanic intensity and she closed around his fingers spasmodically. The aftershocks went on and on until the conflagration burned itself out.
Her head lolled on the blanket even as her chest heaved with gasping breaths. When at last her pulse had slowed and her respiration had been partially restored, she opened her eyes again.
She blinked against the bright sunlight until he shaded her face with his lowering head. Drowsily she smiled at him. “I don’t know whether to be thankful or ashamed,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Never be ashamed of what you are, and show your gratitude by never doubting that you please me. You’re the only woman I want.”
It came to her suddenly how selfish she’d been. She glanced quickly at the full evidence of his sex straining against his pants. Without weighing the consequences, she touched him. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t quite fair to you.”
He grinned and began unbuckling his belt. “We aren’t done yet.”
Feeling the exuberance of a naughty child, she laughed. “Grant, we can’t,” she said, even as he positioned himself above her. “Someone might accidentally see us.”
“Nonsense.” He ducked his head to blaze a trail of kisses along her neck. “Just relax.”
“Relax? I can’t,” she said breathlessly, doing exactly that under the dictatorship of his mouth. “I’ve never made love outdoors before.”
“No?”
“No, never.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted, “and it’s high time we did.”
CHAPTER 9
Well?”
She loved the movement of his lips against her hair. “Well what?” She snuggled closer to him, relishing his warmth despite the impetuous lovemaking they had just concluded.
“Are you going to marry me?” He reached under the sweat shirt to fondle her breast. Only minutes ago she had lain uncovered and unprotected from his lips. His violence had been tempered by his love and she had welcomed his ravaging mouth. Now, she delighted in his tender stroking.
“I could be talked into it.”
His thumb was gently soothing. “Please. I love you. This weekend has been incredible. I hope we have a thousand others like it. But an affair won’t be enough for me, Shelley. I want us to share our lives, not just one facet of them. You’re not the ‘living together’ type and I believe in commitment. Marry me, Shelley.”
She moved her head so she could look up at him. “Are you sure, Grant? I’m a small-town girl, not cosmopolitan like the women you’re used to.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t nearly the man about town the press made me out to be after Missy’s death. And even if I were, I want only you.”
“I guess that settles it then,” she said softly. His eyebrow wrinkled in query. “Because as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted only you.”
Grant had little regard for the serene atmosphere of Chancellor Martin’s office when he stormed through the door the next morning. Without even glancing around the carpeted outer office, he stalked to the receptionist’s desk and, bracing his hands on it, leaned over her menacingly.
“I’m right on time,” he said tightly.
The receptionist blinked at him through thick glasses and licked her thin lips. “He … he’ll be with you as soon as he’s seen Mrs. Robins.”
With a nod of her silver-blue beehive hairdo, she indicated the only other person in the room. Shelley was seated against the wall in one of the uncomfortably austere chairs.
Grant spun around on his heel and spotted Shelley for the first time. His mouth thinned into a slash of anger. He tossed one deprecating glance at the receptionist, then crossed the cheerless room to Shelley. Without the least embarrassment, he took her hand and held it tightly between his own as he sat down on the chair beside her.
“You got one too,” he said quietly. He looked down at the monogrammed envelope that matched the one hand-delivered to him that morning. In it he had found a summons to appear in the chancellor’s office at ten o’clock to review a matter of grave importance.
“Yes. A young man delivered it this morning. I tried to call you, but you’d already left your apartment.”
“Are you all right?” He rubbed the back of her hand reassuringly with his thumb. His moss-colored eyes scanned her face anxiously.
“Yes,” she said, smiling tenderly. “Though I didn’t sleep too well.”
When he had taken her home after their outing, they had agreed that he shouldn’t stay at her house overnight; nor would it be wise for her to stay with him, until they were married. “Neither did I. I didn’t have any place to put my hands.”
“Shhh,” she said, blushing.
“I couldn’t wait to see you this morning, then this.” He took the envelope from her hand and slapped it against his palm.
“What … uh …” She darted a hasty look at the receptionist, who wasn’t making the slightest effort to disguise her interest. “What do you think this is about?” she asked in a hushed tone.
He looked at her with an expression of combined contrition and mischievousness. “You know damn well what it’s about and so do I.”
She nodded grimly. “Do you think Pru Zimmerman made good her threat?”
“Maybe. I’m sure she’s going to try to hurt us one way or another.” He thumped his thigh with a balled fist. “Dammit. I don’t care what they think of me, it’s just that I hate being treated like a fraternity pledge caught in a panty raid.” She paled and he mumbled, “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
When the
y looked at each other and recalled the moments they had shared, they did something totally unexpected. They laughed. They laughed in pure delight with each other and their love. The receptionist’s horrified expression made them laugh even harder.
She was still eyeing them warily when the intercom buzzer sounded. “Yes?” she said into the lighted panel. “Of course.” Her watery eyes lit on Shelley. “Chancellor Martin wishes to see you first.”
Shelley stood up, but Grant was right beside her. “He’ll see us together,” he contradicted, striding toward the forbidding door.
“Grant,” Shelley said, grabbing his sleeve. “I don’t mind. Really.”
“I do. I won’t have him browbeating you. We go together.” He took another determined step, but she held him back.
“Belligerence may not be the best tack to take.”
He turned to her and sighed ruefully. Then he smiled and maneuvered her toward the door with a less aggressive gait. “You’re going to be good for me. In so many ways.”
Chancellor Martin was seated behind his desk, but he stood up as Shelley went through the door. He had arranged his features into a merciful countenance that hardened to disapproval when he saw Grant following her in.
“I asked to see Mrs. Robins alone.”
“She’s agreed that we should see you together, Chancellor Martin,” Grant said. Stunned, Shelley turned around to see if she was with the same man who had been in the outer office. Grant’s tone was respectful and humble.
Apparently the head of the university wasn’t ready to forgive them, no matter how respectful Grant’s tone. “Sit down, please,” he said loftily.
Grant seated himself next to her after helping her into her chair. She crossed her legs and chastely tugged her skirt over her knees. Grant sat staring into the chancellor’s stony face with polite interest.
“I had hoped that this discussion could be avoided,” he began in his most judgmental voice—the king apologizing to the miscreant before lopping off his head. “Since this is a church-supported university, the world watches us closely, much more closely than it would academicians at a public university. Your … interest … in each other would probably be ignored anywhere else, but here, it has come under close scrutiny and criticism.
“You, Mr. Chapman, came to us with a cloud of suspicion already hanging over your head. Frankly, you’ve disappointed us. We—”
“In my teaching abilities?”
The chancellor seemed annoyed that Grant had broken his train of thought. “Uh … no. I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that the chairman of your department finds your work commendable.”
Grant smiled broadly and sighed with exaggerated relief. “That’s good to know.”
“However,” Martin said sternly, “your moral code is as important at this university as your teaching ability.” He peered at them severely, indicating that he’d come to the crux of the matter. “It was brought to the attention of one of our most generous … donors … that you have been cohabiting. We find that appalling and intolerable. He has threatened to withdraw a grant already designated for a new science building if you, Mrs. Robins, are not expelled and you, Mr. Grant, are not relieved of your post at the close of this semester.”
“But—”
Grant caught Shelley’s hand and stilled her angry outburst. “May I ask who our accuser is?”
“I don’t see that his identity is important. He happens to be a very prominent physician in Oklahoma City. His daughter attended our university, as he did himself as an undergraduate.”
Light dawned in Shelley’s head. She looked at Grant to see if he shared her suspicions. His feral look revealed that he did. Somehow he managed to control himself. “I think I know of whom you speak and why such a busy, prominent doctor as you’ve described could possibly be interested in the love lives of two people he doesn’t even know. You see, I’ve had the misfortune of meeting his future son-in-law.”
The chancellor’s fist crashed onto his desk. “Mr. Chapman—”
“Permit me,” Grant said, holding up both palms. “Mrs. Robins and I are to be married next Sunday, Dr. Martin. I don’t think we could demonstrate the way we feel about each other more clearly than that. Nowhere in my contract or in the bylaws of this university does it state that a teacher cannot marry the woman he loves. The fact that that woman is a student at this institution should have no bearing on the matter.
“You tell your ‘generous donor’ that if he wants to meddle further, I know some noted representatives of the press who would love to sink their teeth into such a story. Some of them feel that they owe me a favor. They went hard on me in Washington and a few of them have called me to say they’ve had second thoughts about the muckraking stories they wrote. They would love to relieve their consciences and make amends.
“It would only take one telephone call and the story of our upcoming wedding and the discriminatory attitude of this university would be smeared in headlines all over the country. You’re afraid that our romance will damage the reputation of this university? I don’t think you can begin to fathom the furor that that one telephone call could create.
“Think about it,” he finished succinctly. Standing, he offered his hand to Shelley. “Shelley,” he said, giving her one of his warm, reassuring smiles.
He drew her toward the door, but before they were halfway there, the chancellor stopped them. “Wait!” he exclaimed in a panicky voice.
Slowly they turned around to face him. He wet his lips with a nervous tongue and ran his palms down the sides of his coat as though to blot them. “I had no idea you were planning to be married. S-so soon. Of course, this sheds an entirely different light on the situation. Once it’s explained to … uh … Dr… . the donor, I’m sure he’ll understand.”
He paused, hoping he’d be thanked. Grant stared back at him solemnly. Martin made an effort to smile, but it was unsuccessful. “Your chairman is most pleased with the way you’re handling your classes, Mr. Chapman. We might even be persuaded to offer you an increase in salary once your contract is reviewed by the board.” He wiped his hands on his coat again. “And as Mrs. Robins has been on the dean’s list since her first semester, there was never any real possibility of her expulsion.”
“Yes. That would have been ludicrous, wouldn’t it? Good-bye, Chancellor.”
“Chancellor Martin,” Shelley said by way of good-bye as Grant held the door for her. When he closed it softly behind them, she turned to him and leaned against him weakly.
“Daryl. How could he?” she whispered.
“Because he’s a selfish, petty bastard, that’s why.”
A scandalized gasp from the receptionist brought their attention to her. She was staring at them, her claw-like hand clutching at the material over her meager breast protectively.
“Oh, for godsake,” Grant growled. “Let’s get out of here before I do something rash.”
The days went by quickly because they were both busy. Shelley attended her classes as usual and Grant had lectures to prepare and present. In his classroom, she maintained her seat near the back of the room, keeping a low profile.
They spent as many waking hours together as possible. Grant was only at his duplex long enough to pick up his mail and sleep away the remaining hours of the night after returning late from Shelley’s house.
“I don’t know why I’m paying rent,” he told her. “The guy who lives next door told me someone was there looking for me today. Package delivery or something.”
They had decided to sublet his apartment and live in her house until her graduation. “There’s more space in your house,” Grant said reasonably. “I can make that extra bedroom into an office.”
“What about an office for me?”
“We’ll share it.”
“There’s only room for one desk and chair.”
“You can sit on my lap.”
“No way.”
“Okay, then I’ll sit on your lap.”
She wa
s trying desperately to keep a straight face. “I may start thinking of you only as a sex object.”
He grabbed her then, pulling her to him and molding her to a body that was ever hungry for her. “Every guy should be so lucky.”
Her parents were notified of the marriage and after the initial shock and a long, reassuring conversation with Grant, they promised to be in attendance Sunday afternoon.
Shelley was now completely confident in her decision to marry Grant. His loving thoughtfulness was nothing akin to Daryl’s self-centeredness. Though Grant had a recklessness to his nature, a rebellious bent, she admitted that that was part of his attractiveness. She knew, too, that she wasn’t harboring any adolescent infatuation. She was in love with the man, not with a fond memory of her youth. And they had even overcome the stigma attached to their relationship, if the silver tray sent by the board of directors as a wedding present were any indication.
Nothing could stand in the way of their happiness now.
“Oh, Grant!” she cried, stamping her foot.
He slumped against the doorframe, helpless with laughter.
“I thought you were my parents,” she said crossly.
“Do I look that much older than you?”
“Don’t be cute. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.” She was barring his entrance into her house, wearing only a nightshirt that came to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was in curlers and she had a thick mint-green mask on her face.
“That’s silly,” he said, shoving past her. He was carrying a carton of books and a suitcase. “I had to start moving some of this stuff over. I’m going to live here, remember?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still agitated. “I may change my mind.”
He only laughed. “I’ll put these books in the spare bedroom.”
“I’ll wash my face, even if it is five minutes early,” she grumbled, then called to him loudly: “Don’t blame me if my complexion isn’t radiant and blushing like a bride’s. It’ll be your fault.”