The room was dark except for the red light on her answering machine. Answering machine. He couldn't believe they'd forgotten about the answering machine. Well, yes, he could. The prospect of oral sex trumped checking messages on an answering machine every time.
With a sigh, he threw back the blanket and climbed off the couch. Might as well find out if the creep had struck again. Putting on his glasses so he wouldn't stumble over the furniture, he walked over to the desk, and discovered that one message had been left. He punched the button on the machine and waited.
Just as he was beginning to think there would be no message at all, he heard the opening bars of the Police and "Every Breath You Take." Shuddering, Will listened to Sting describe in detail the surveillance of some poor ex-girlfriend. If this wasn't a stalker theme song, he'd never heard one.
He hit the delete button and the cultured female voice informed him that the creepy message had been erased.
"Were you going to tell me about it?"
He glanced toward Amanda's bedroom door. She stood there, a shadowy figure wrapped up like a mummy in her quilt. He wondered if she was still naked under it. Probably not. She'd come out earlier to bring his pillow and blanket, and he doubted she'd streaked through the apartment to do that.
That meant she was using the added bulk of the quilt as a suit of armor. Yep, the drawbridge was definitely closed and barricaded.
"Would you want me to tell you?" he asked.
"Yes. I can't assess the danger unless I know everything." She hesitated. "That song ... it sounds as if he's upset that you're in the picture."
Will's muscles tightened. "Let him be upset."
"I didn't consider all the implications of having you do this. What if he's crazy enough to retaliate against you?"
"I'd love to see him try. Then I'd have him out in the open, where we could identify him."
She met that remark with silence. Finally she spoke again.
"I've thought about all the guys that come to Geekland, and I don't think he's one of the regulars. I think it's more likely he's one of Gloria's clients."
"So do I." But he thought they might do better discussing this in the daylight. Standing in a dark apartment with a bed not far away wasn't the wisest venue. The memory of her cries at the moment of orgasm came back to him in vivid detail.
She seemed to be ready to ignore that episode. He needed to take his cue from her and pretend it never happened. That wouldn't be easy. He could still taste her. His fingers remembered the texture of her skin.
"I have a key to Gloria's office."
At first he thought she was suggesting they go there and play with the toys. And damn it, he was ready and able to do that. Then reason prevailed. She had that quilt clutched tightly in both hands. She didn't want to invade Gloria's office to play games.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out that her hair was tousled the way it would be after sex. He did his level best to talk like a man who wasn't focused on that subject. "Did you want to take a better look at Gloria's files?"
"I do. It could wait until Monday, but I feel a sense of urgency."
Earlier she'd felt a sense of urgency, too, for an entirely different goal. She'd wanted him to make her come. She couldn't have forgotten what that felt like. If she could, he hadn't done nearly the job he'd imagined.
"Are you suggesting we go now?" He would do it, but he thought she needed sleep. He wasn't going to say that, though, and risk coming off as a patronizing gatekeeper. That would be hypocritical, given that not long ago he'd had his head between her thighs, and that he wanted to do it all over again.
"Not now." Her voice gentled. "We both need sleep." "Right." He hoped sleep was a possibility, but he doubted it. "Tomorrow."
"I thought you had to study."
"I do, but if some maniac is out there waiting for me with God knows what on his mind, then my degree becomes a little less important, doesn't it?"
He couldn't argue with her logic. "And if I help you go through the files, we can be done sooner."
"Exactly. Good night, Will."
"Good night, Amanda."
"By the way, cute pajamas." Then she walked into her bedroom and closed the door.
Amanda slept better than she had in months, but she woke up with a huge case of the guilties. What kind of woman would reject the idea of a boyfriend and then invite a man to give her oral sex? Amanda knew exactly what kind—the Gloria Tredway variety.
Now that was humbling. Amanda couldn't condemn Gloria for taking her sexual pleasure where she could find it when Amanda had done the self-same thing last night. At the time she'd loved every second of the pleasure Will had served up. That man could do amazing things with his tongue.
Lying in bed thinking about Will's tongue was liable to land her in the same fix this morning, and that would be selfish and unwise. She had no intention of taking what had happened last night and expanding on the theme. She had enough problems without adding full-blown sex with a man who had big thumbs.
Dim light seeped around the edges of her bedroom curtains. She glanced at the clock and discovered it was almost eight. Even disregarding a trip to Gloria's office to check through the files, she had a ton of things to accomplish this weekend. A paper on antidepressants was due Monday and a test was scheduled for Wednesday.
She needed to get up, but that meant facing Will. She wasn't sure how to do that in the light of day. Darkness had protected her last night when they'd talked about the song on the answering machine and the trip to Gloria's office. This morning there would be no hiding.
As she procrastinated, the aroma of coffee drifted under her closed door. Damn. First he gave her a stupendous climax and now he was making coffee. He had no mercy.
She didn't crave the coffee quite as much as she'd craved the orgasm, but it was a close call. Weekday mornings she didn't allow herself the luxury of making a pot, but she treated herself on weekends. Having coffee made for her was wonderful beyond belief. Having it made by the same man who'd given her the orgasm bordered on embarrassing.
How would she balance the scales? The obvious wasn't a possibility. That moment of indiscretion last night had to stand as her only lapse where William was concerned. She'd put it in the same category as the filet mignon she'd ordered when she'd aced her finals last semester—tender and juicy, but not something she could afford again anytime soon.
So if she couldn't offer Will sex, what could she do for him? Anything other than a good roll in the hay seemed piddly by comparison. In her current state of mind, sex presented itself as the perfect one-size-fits-all gift. No doubt Will would love it. Unfortunately, she might, too.
Maybe coffee would help her think better. But in order to score some coffee she had to deal with Will. Guaranteed that he would look at her and remember last night's event. Then he'd get that certain look in his eyes, and she would go all squishy and warm, and they'd be in a mess.
Time to deploy the Bathrobe. She pulled it out of the closet and put it on over her flannel pajamas. She'd bought this blue terry robe on sale at Kmart ten years ago, and it hadn't been very attractive then.
Many washings and long study sessions later, it had morphed into the ugliest bathrobe in the universe. Blue had faded to gray, both pockets were ripped, and there were holes at the elbows. Cal, her ex, had called it the best birth control device he'd ever seen.
For the clincher, she rummaged through her closet for her fuzzy white slippers, which were no longer white or fuzzy. Some might say they were gray and balding. She'd bet that if all women wore a bathrobe this disgusting and slippers this moth-eaten and dingy, overpopulation would cease to be a problem.
Armed with the bathrobe and slippers, she opened her bedroom door and peeked out. Will had opened the living room drapes and the apartment was filled with the soft light of a cloudy Chicago day. Coffee dripped into the carafe as she'd expected. But she hadn't anticipated the way her heart would swell with happiness when she saw Will sitting a
t her little wooden table.
Dressed in black sweats and a black sweatshirt, he was reading the Tribune. She recognized the box in the middle of the table, too. He'd not only made coffee, he'd gone to the German bakery down the street and then to the newsstand on the opposite corner.
Now she felt really guilty. But even more than that, she felt hot and achy, just the reaction she'd been hoping to avoid. He hadn't even looked at her yet, and she was in trouble.
Then he glanced up and smiled.
Heaven help her, she wished that she hadn't resorted to the Bathrobe. Gazing into his green eyes made her long for silk negligees and high-heeled mules decorated with rhine-stones. She wanted him to want her. Desperately. She was hopeless, not to mention mean and cruel.
He took in the bathrobe and the slippers without comment, but his smile widened. "Good morning."
"Good morning." No man should look this good at eight o'clock and be able to make coffee, besides. "You've been out."
"Borrowed your keys. I hope you don't mind."
"No, of course not." She glanced at the box. "But you shouldn't be buying food. Let me pay you for—"
"I don't think streusel counts as food. I'm sure it's bad for us, but I can't pass a German bakery without buying streusel."
"I love streusel." This wasn't fair. She was so close to her goal, and the perfect man had dropped out of the sky. What were the chances that she'd ever find someone who would provide her three favorite C-words—climaxes, coffee, and cake—without any prompting from her?
"Then have a seat and we'll load up on caffeine and carbs. It's the American way."
"I'll get the coffee." She started toward the small kitchen.
"Nope." He pushed back his seat and stood. "I'll get it."
"That's silly." She kept going. "While I slept in like a princess, you went out and picked up the paper and the streusel. Then you made the coffee. The least I can do is serve it."
He caught her by the arm. "Sit down. Really. I need something to do, and the more stationary you are, the better." He let go of her immediately.
"Why?" She glanced at the open drapes and her lust disappeared as she remembered why this cute nerd was in her apartment in the first place. "You haven't seen anyone prowling around, have you? Maybe we should close the curtains."
"No, no, I haven't seen anybody. I didn't mean to scare you. I opened the curtains on purpose, though."
She looked at him in confusion. "I don't understand."
'To keep me honest." His gaze, flickering with heat, probed hers. "Do you need me to explain that?"
Her nerve endings sizzled. They had no condoms. She recited that as a mantra. No condoms, no condoms, no condoms. Unless he'd bought some along with the newspaper.
"In case you need any more clarification, I came dangerously close to buying condoms when I picked up the paper."
She gulped. 'That's why I wore my ugly bathrobe and my bald slippers."
"And you thought that would make a difference?"
Her heart thumped faster. "It always worked with my ex."
"I can't speak for him. As far as I'm concerned, the bathrobe and slippers have zero effect on my problem. They might make it worse, because I'm dying to pry you out of that hideous thing."
"I'll get dressed."
"Hey, you don't have to do that. Just sit down and let me run around serving coffee and streusel. I'm sure I'll be able to control myself if I stay busy."
He might be able to, but now that she knew what he was thinking, she couldn't trust herself. "We need to get out of here."
"There's an idea. But do we just leave the coffee and streusel?"
"There are two travel mugs in my cupboard. We can eat streusel and drink coffee on the bus. I'll be out in ten minutes."
"And where would we be going?"
Crazy. "Gloria's office. Maybe looking through her client files will help us remember why we're in this ridiculous situation to begin with."
TWENTY-TWO
Managing the coffee and streusel on the bus gave Will something to deal with besides his libido, so from that standpoint leaving the apartment had been a great idea. But when Amanda locked them inside the office and took off her coat, he began to wonder if they'd made the right move.
The way he figured it, they'd be fine if they stayed out here in Amanda's area. After all, that's where the file cabinets were located, so logically they had no reason to go into Gloria's office. Her door stood open, though, and he could see the red leather love seat from here.
If that love seat could talk, the conversation would be X-rated. Will felt the pull of that office with its framed prints from The Joy of Sex. Gloria kept her supplies in there—vibrators and flavored oils and videos and, probably, condoms.
"I'll take the As and you can take the Bs." Amanda turned from the lateral file drawer she'd opened, a stack of hanging files balanced in both hands. "Will? Is something wrong? You're still wearing your jacket."
He shook himself out of his sensual daze. "Sorry." Taking off his jacket, he hung it on the coat tree next to Amanda's. "Daydreaming."
"You're worried about Justin, aren't you?"
He hadn't given a thought to Justin since they'd left him at Geekland. But it was as good an excuse as any. "Yeah, a little bit."
"I don't think you have to be. Gloria's not really evil, and she might be therapeutic for him."
Will hoped that he'd served a therapeutic purpose for Amanda last night. They still hadn't talked about it, and he would guess she didn't want to talk about it, ever. That was beginning to bother him. He didn't like the idea that she could ignore what had happened when it was all he could think about.
"Sexual release can be therapeutic, I guess." He said it on purpose, to see how she'd react.
She flushed, which made her blue eyes even more blue. "Yes, it can." She cleared her throat. "Listen, I'm not proud of taking advantage last night."
Finally. "I don't look at it that way. Nobody had a gun to my head." He wanted her to know that he'd enjoyed himself, despite the frustration involved.
Her face was so red she looked sunburned. "It wasn't exactly a fair exchange, Will."
"I didn't expect that. You're the one with the extra dose of stress." He'd wanted her to acknowledge what had happened, not heap blame on herself. "If I was of some help, then—"
"You were, but I—oh, God, this is so embarrassing. I just took what I wanted with no thought to mutual satisfaction. That was a Gloria move, and I like to think of myself as being more ... more ..."
"Hey, you are more. More of everything." He longed to hold her close, but that would lead them to places she didn't want to go. "You've been pushing yourself for months, and now this stalker comes along to add to your troubles. You needed to get rid of all that tension."
She swallowed. "I should have kept the red vibrator. Then I wouldn't have had to bother you."
"It was no bother, and I'm glad you did."
She gazed at him for several seconds. "That has to be the one and only."
"I know." Intellectually he knew that. Convincing his body was another matter. "Now let's put all that behind us and get some work done."
"Right. Now remember that we're breaking the client confidentiality rule by doing this." She handed him the files. "But I can't wait for Monday, and Gloria might want to help, but she'd be bored in the first five minutes and give up."
As he took the files, he was careful not to touch her. "I promise to forget everything I find out. Now, where should I go with these?"
"You'd be better off with a desk. Do you want to use Gloria's or mine?"
No contest. He had to stay out of that steamy den of Gloria's at all costs. "Yours." And he wouldn't think about Amanda sitting in there surrounded by all those sexual aids and sexy pictures. He'd concentrate on the task at hand. "What am I looking for?"
"Any notations that indicate deviant behavior. Sadism or masochism, fetishes, especially if they seem especially weird, anything that seems sex
ually aggressive, I guess. Unusual autoerotic methods."
"Say, what?"
"Masturbation."
"Oh." He prayed that his expression didn't give away that he'd engaged in some autoeroticism last night. So far as he knew, it wasn't the least bit unusual in nature, though. Same technique he'd used since puberty.
"Make a note of any suspicious ones, and when you're done, put those back and start on the Cs." She picked up her stack and walked into Gloria's office.
He took up his position at her desk, and there was the little hummingbird staring him in the face. He picked it up and cradled it in the palm of his hand. The hummingbird image got to him. He wanted to do something to make Amanda's life easier so she didn't have to flap her wings so damned hard.
Years ago he'd seen a hummingbird's nest—this tight little golf-ball-sized cup, extremely neat, barely large enough to hold the tiny bird hunkered down in it. No birdhouse. No protection from the wind or the rain. Will had wanted to build a tiny roof over the nest, and he felt the same urge now with Amanda.
Finding her stalker would help, and he could start with that. He put down the hummingbird and flipped open the top file.
Twenty minutes later, he looked at his list of suspects. Every damned person in the As sounded like a deviant to him. He found guys who liked to do it in a vat of noodles, guys who couldn't get it up unless they were watching CNN, guys who admitted to owning more than one anatomically correct blowup doll.
Gloria must draw nothing but wackos, which meant that almost anyone in these files could be the stalker. Even when he separated out the ones Amanda and Gloria had already identified as having no contact with Amanda, that eliminated only five. Twenty-two potential valentine crazies were left, and he was only in the As.
Maybe Amanda was better at weeding out the super-weird from the marginally weird. If not, they were wasting their time.
My Nerdy Valentine Page 22