by Nikky Kaye
“—Boring?”
“Not exactly. Passion is this teeth-rattling, bone-jarring sensation that usually fizzles out as quickly as it comes.”
“Where does romance fit into your theory?” She brushed away a rivulet of icy water creeping over the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, and tried to suppress her frustration. Hadn’t he learned anything over the last couple of weeks?
“I’m still not convinced that romance is anything more than lust-induced hormones.”
Sophy’s hand stilled on his cheek and she sighed. “So that’s it, huh? You still can’t believe in romance.”
Max tossed the half-melted ice pack over the side of the couch where it landed with a subdued slosh, and blinked tentatively. Water glistened on his eyelashes like tears and an angry bruise was starting to form at the top of his cheekbone. “But I believe in passion. Isn’t that something?”
“Passion’s not enough, Max.”
He frowned and caught her wrist with his fingers as she leaned over him to check his eye. “Enough for what?”
She hesitated, trying not to lose her balance. Trying not to lose herself. “For everything,” she replied resolutely.
“Are you sure about that?”
He tugged on her wrist and she toppled onto his broad chest. Her body rose and fell as he breathed, and as she stared into his darkening blue eyes, she realized that passion was potentially more powerful than she had bargained for.
His hand crept to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. His fingers trailed along the side of her jaw to cradle her head, and her eyes fluttered shut for a whisper longer than a blink. Then they snapped open and widened as his thumb caressed the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
She knew he wanted to kiss her. She knew she wanted to kiss him. So why was she waiting for him to make the first move? What was she afraid of? That he was right about passion? That he was right about her?
She had tended to avoid passion in the past, afraid of becoming intoxicated by these curious sensations that were now rippling low in her belly and making her breath come raggedly. Maybe she had a good reason to fear it.
Their faces were barely inches apart; she could feel his warm breath on her cheek as she waited to see what would happen next. Her tongue darted out and dragged across her suddenly dry lower lip. It caught on the little piece of skin that she had been nervously chewing on all day, and she scraped her teeth against it, softening the delicate skin.
His eyes devoured her every movement, and something disturbingly familiar flashed in them as his fingers stiffened against her hairline and he covered her mouth with his.
Passion can’t be everything, she thought. But it sure was something.
She splayed her hands across his hard chest, feeling the crispness of his white shirt under her fingers and the thumping of his heart drumming through her nerve endings. He shivered slightly underneath her, and a strange elation burst within her. She gasped against his mouth as his hands wandered down her ribcage and crept under her tank top to rest in the arch of her spine.
“Are you sure, Sophy?” he whispered against her lips. “Can you honestly tell me that this feeling isn’t worth it?”
She groaned. “I don’t know anymore.” She pulled back and shook her head slightly, her eyes clamped shut. “What is it?”
“This is passion. That teeth-rattling, bone-jarring sensation that I was talking about before.”
Her eyelids flickered open and she looked at Max through a haze. She brought her hands up to rest in the curve of his neck, and her fingers tangled in the dark hair at the base of his skull. “When will it start fizzling?”
“Do you want it to?”
She felt him smile against her cheek, and he nibbled his way across her jaw.
Her hips moved restlessly until she was lying between his legs, enveloped by his warmth and hardness. “Not just yet,” she answered slowly.
Her skin tingled where his mouth meandered over it, and his roaming hands on the bare skin of her back were like a spinal block, paralyzing her.
Suddenly she understood what he meant about passion. It was all-consuming... intoxicating... scary...
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, and touched the tip of his tongue to the throbbing pulse in her neck.
Wrong.
Sophy’s eyes widened and suddenly the scene tilted into focus. She released her gentle hold on the nape of his neck and pressed her hands into the corduroy cushion, pushing herself up and off of him.
“Why?”
He looked puzzled. “Why do you think?”
She searched his eyes for something she knew she wouldn’t find. They were clouded by passion, but that was all.
With less grace than she would have liked, she disengaged herself from his arms and moved to the other side of the couch. “You want to sleep with me,” she stated bluntly, tugging down her tank top.
Max exhaled raggedly and dragged a hand through his hair. The dark strands feathered back down on his forehead as he propped himself up with his elbows and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“I need more than that, Max.” Sophy felt like an idiot as she hugged herself, rubbing her bare shoulders. Goosebumps grated against her palms like sandpaper, and she shivered.
“I can’t give you more than that,” he reminded her.
Her hands dropped to her side and she met his unapologetic expression dead on. “I know. That’s why I’m leaving.” Her feet swung to the floor and slipped into her sandals.
“What do you want from me, Sophy?”
Her mouth twisted in a sad smile. “I guess you were right before. I want love.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and reached for her bag. Before she reached the door, she turned back and met his darkened gaze in the shadows.
“Passion isn’t enough, Max. At least not for me.”
* * *
The library was just as elegant and cavernous as he remembered. And equally forbidding, for all the sunshine streaming in through the lead-paned windows.
After an endless night of punching pillows and counting backwards in a futile attempt to get to sleep, Max had finally given up and headed in to the office at a little after seven o’clock. Three hours and five cups of coffee later, he stared blankly at the mockingly empty computer screen, and finally shook his head.
And now he was standing here in the middle of the library, and he wasn’t sure exactly why. His gaze wandered over to the long oak table where he and Sophy had sat a couple of weeks before. Where she had read to him. Where he had kissed her.
He swallowed, the bitter taste of old coffee lingering in the back of his throat. It mingled with regret, nearly choking him. It had been wrong of him to ask her to stay with him the night before. He knew it the second the words left his mouth and she pulled away from him.
Max walked over to the study table and traced the shining grain of the wood with his index finger. He wondered if that was what passion was all about—letting your heart speak before your head can get a word in edgewise.
And regret. Passion was all about regret.
His gaze wandered over to the rotating bookshelves near the windows. Squinting against the sunlight, he surveyed the section until he found what he was looking for, and made a beeline for it.
A short while later, a small stack of books was balanced in the crook of his left arm, and he bit his lip in concentration as he scanned the back cover of each book he grabbed off the shelf. He blew his hair out of his eyes and looked around. When his gaze lit on a woman nearby, he juggled the books in his arms and walked over to her.
“Excuse me, but have you read any of these?” He twisted his upper body to show her the spines of the books. She smiled at him and glanced down. “A few.” She pointed to one. “I love her.”
“Really? So you’d recommend it?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Recommend it for what?”
“Reading, I guess.” Max lurched to the right as one of the books started to sl
ide out of the stack. “Research.”
“Research,” she repeated, grinning. “Buddy, your wife’s a lucky woman.”
“Oh, I’m not...” The wayward book finally broke free, and the rest of the books collapsed in on themselves as though he were shuffling cards. “...Married.” Max sighed and kneeled to gather the paperbacks. When he glanced up again, the woman was gone. He hoisted the books and headed for the circulation desk.
When he dropped the stack on the counter, the small mountain crumbled again and half a dozen paperbacks slid away from him to teeter on the edge of the desk, then plummeted over. The glare the librarian gave him went unnoticed as he rummaged through his pockets for his wallet. When he slapped his library card on the counter, he glanced up to find an amused expression on the face of the librarian.
“Something funny?” He wasn’t really in a laughing mood. Now that he had decided to do this, he wanted to escape as quickly as possible.
“Not at all, sir.” She ran his card over the scanner and picked up the first book. She flipped through it quickly to make sure there wasn’t any damage to the book, and the scanner beeped as she swiped the book underneath it. The amused smile still lingered on her lips as she thumbed past the cover brandishing a half-naked Native American and a long-haired pioneer siren.
Max wished that the clerk wouldn’t be quite so methodical; a small line was forming behind him, and the book covers were completely visible to the vaguely familiar titian-haired college student behind him. He thought he heard a giggle, and he frowned. “I don’t need to take all of them—” he protested.
“Don’t worry,” the librarian assured him. “This won’t take a minute.”
She flipped through the seventh book on the stack. Max cocked his head, for the first time noticing a small picture in the top right hand corner of the book’s pages. When the librarian flipped through the book again, he gulped, astonished to discover the design turning into a small cartoon.
A very X-rated cartoon.
Swallowing tightly, he turned his head slowly, hoping that the girl behind him hadn’t seen it. The lascivious grin on her face was all he needed to see.
His gaze snapped back to the librarian and his chin dropped onto his chest. “Oh god,” he moaned.
“Oh yeah,” the redhead piped up from behind him.
Finally the last book was scanned, and Max gathered the pile up in his arms.
The librarian frowned. “Did you want a bag for those?”
“No!” he fairly shouted. He just wanted to get out of there. As he stepped away from the desk, he heard the young woman’s voice again.
“See you next semester, Dr. Wright!”
Yes, passion was definitely about regret. Deep regret.
* * *
Sophy’s night was equally restless, but for different reasons. As soon as she had got home, she opened her laptop. Her fingers had flown over the keyboard until nearly four in the morning, her block surpassed. It was beginning to look as though Clarissa was a very lucky young lady. At least she got extremely lucky last night. It was the best way that Sophy could think of to relieve her own sexual frustrations—give them to someone else.
“What do you think, Herc?” Sophy glanced down at the cat curled up in her lap. It made it a little difficult to type, but she worked around the sleeping beast. She always had. The cat opened one eye and closed it just as quickly.
Sophy smiled. “Looks like Clarissa had a better time than I did last night.” Hercules flicked his tail twice, but otherwise ignored her. “But lucky Clarissa doesn’t have to deal with the consequences,” Sophy continued. “At least not until the next chapter.”
After a few hours catnap, Sophy was back at the computer, editing the previous night’s work. When the words started to blur in front of her, she tucked her t-shirt into her jeans, and headed for the door.
She stopped on the way to pick up some fresh croissants from a local bakery, suddenly realizing that she had forgotten to eat breakfast. Or dinner the night before, for that matter. The smell floating up from the waxed paper bag was driving her nuts as she leaned on the doorbell.
“I brought breakfast,” she announced as the door opened.
“Oh, thank you, but—”
Sophy glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle and frowned. “I guess it’s closer to lunchtime.” She shrugged. “Oh well.”
Her mother closed the door behind her and adjusted her scarlet satin robe. “Thank you, dear, but it’s really not—”
“Oh, you’ve already eaten. I’m sorry, but I’m starving.” Sophy opened the bag and pulled out a croissant. “Do you mind?”
Maura Hadden sighed and her mouth quirked in a smile. “Not at all. But wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the kitchen?”
Her mother looked pointedly at the plush carpet beneath Sophy’s feet.
“Right.” She held a hand under her chin to collect any crumbs and munched on the way to the kitchen, mother in tow. She settled into a chair and brushed some crumbs from her lower lip. Her mother pulled out the chair opposite and sat down.
“What’s wrong, Sophy?”
Sophy’s eyes widened. “Does something have to be wrong for me to visit my mother?”
“Without calling first, yes.”
Sophy swallowed the last bite of croissant, looking at her mother for the first time. Really looking. “Why aren’t you dressed? Were you in bed? Are you sick? Why didn’t you tell me?” She scowled at her mother. “Your cheeks look awfully red. Do you have a fever?”
Maura lay the back of her hand across her cheek. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“Have you seen a doctor? Can I get you anything?”
“Sweetie, I’m fine. I just don’t feel like getting out of bed today.”
Oh no, it was worse than she thought. Her mother was depressed, Sophy realized with a sinking heart. And it must be pretty far gone if she wasn’t getting out of bed in the mornings.
She sat down and reached across the table to take her mother’s hand. “Have you seen anyone, Mom? Maybe I can ask Max—”
A short bark of laughter erupted from her mother’s lips. “No, that’s okay. Really, I’m fine.” She squeezed Sophy’s hand. “Now what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. Everything.” She sighed. “Men.”
Maura raised an eyebrow. “Anyone in particular?”
“Not really.” Sophy averted her mother’s quizzical gaze and peered into the empty bakery bag.
“Not even a tall, dark, handsome psychology professor?”
“Uh, no.” Sophy lifted the bag and tipped the open end towards her mouth, hoping that it would hide the fire she was sure was creeping up her cheeks. A few crumbs tumbled into her mouth, and when she was sure that she was no longer blushing, she put the bag down. “Why would you say that?” She tried to sound surprised at the suggestion, but knew she was failing miserably.
Her mother patted her hand. “Sweetie, I’m not stupid. Or blind.”
“I like him, Mom,” she admitted. Her tone was funereal; she could just as easily have said that she was planning on killing a few squirrels this afternoon.
“So what’s wrong with that?”
Sophy tugged her hand away from her mother’s incessant patting. A few times was comforting; a few dozen times started to feel like Chinese water torture. “I don’t want to like him. He’s a pompous, prejudiced, stick up his ass—”
“Fantastically good looking,” her mother interjected.
Sophy frowned, her train of thought permanently derailed as she pictured his flashing blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “That’s beside the point.”
“What’s wrong with being attracted to an attractive man?”
“Well, for starters, he doesn’t respect my work.”
“What about your reaction when you found out he used to be a marriage counselor?” Sophy opened her mouth, but her mother continued before she could get a word out. “Don’t ‘but’ m
e, Sophy—I saw the look on your face. You thought his ex-profession was one step up from debt collector.”
Sophy slumped in her chair and toyed with the empty paper bag on the table. What was wrong with her? Did she like him or not? Okay, so she liked him. Was she attracted to him? Boy, was she! Did she love him? No way, not in a million years.
“Just what is going on between you two?” Her mother raised an eyebrow again and tried to look threatening. Fortunately, Sophy had known her mother for a while, and wasn’t fazed.
“Nothing. I’m helping him with a study he’s doing on romance novels.”
The eyebrow arched closer to the ceiling. “And what’s he helping you with?”
“Research for the book I’m working on now.”
The eyebrow nearly collided with the ceiling fan.
Sophy glowered at her mother. “Not that kind of research.”
The eyebrow finally descended with a relieved sigh. “Well, you can’t blame a mother for worrying. But it’s too bad.”
“What is?”
“He’s a nice, successful, handsome man. I think you should do him.”
“Mother!”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Maura challenged.
Sophy wondered if she should start breathing into the paper bag; perhaps it would ease the sudden tightening in her chest. “Yes, I’ve thought about it.” She paused. “Mom, don’t you think that two people should be in love before they...”
“Do the horizontal mambo? Ride the percale rails?”
“Ride the percale rails?” She gaped at her mother, not sure whether to laugh or cry. She shouldn’t be surprised at her mother’s audacity; she was used to it. Maura Hadden wasn’t exactly your typical suburban housewife. Sophy sometimes wondered if the reason she wrote about true love and happy endings was because her mother wasn’t that great at providing either for her own daughter.