by Ginny Glass
Nora groaned and buried her face in her hands. Her deadline breathed down her neck as hotly as a dragon on an all-garlic diet. How could she have misplaced two vital components of her research? Why hadn’t she transcribed the tape as soon as she made it? Her notes were worthless without the transcript, just idle bits of thoughts jotted in response to nothing.
The timers sounded on the washers across from her, each buzzer blasting nasally into her annoyance, and she jumped. She really had to get a grip. The low sound of footsteps in the hall raised her head. Tension crept back into her spine and each muscle tightened.
The door knob rattled and she held her breath. The painted green door opened an inch…two…A paper slid in held in a masculine hand. A crude flag had been drawn in ink.
“Requesting permission to enter without risk of bodily harm.”
The deep voice raised the corner of her lip in a reluctant smile. Okay, that was cute. There was no question who it was outside the door. She was way too paranoid since the car break in.
“Permission granted.” She straightened and tugged her lab coat across her pounding heart, crossing her arms and fixing a stern look on her face.
Quad guy stepped in with his hands deep in his pockets. He lingered on the threshold. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That spill looked nasty.”
“Thank you, I’m fine.” The strain relaxed from her shoulders. “Sorry about the pepper spray. I’m a little jumpy.”
“No problem.” Light from the harsh overhead bulbs glimmered in his eyes. They were really pale for his coloring, almost sea foam. “I’m Jarod Reed. I’m filling Doc Santori’s spot.”
He held out a hand and she shook it, smiling slightly at the formality. He was cute. “Oh yeah? How is Doc?”
“Don’t know him personally.” Jarod shrugged his lean shoulders. The corduroy of his coat wrinkled. She had the sudden urge to bury her face in the fabric, wondered if he smelled like dried leaves.
“He was one of my professors.”
“You’re a student?”
“Was. I’m credit-crawling toward my doctorate. I work in the biology department right now, so I’m kind of a mutant.”
He smiled and it did something flip-floppy to her stomach.
Chemicals and neurons and he has really nice teeth…
His nostrils flared as he slowly blew out a deep breath. “I’m going to take a risk and just go for it, okay? Would you like to get some coffee or something some time?”
Nora froze. You’d think a guy had never asked her out. An impolite length of time ticked by, the rolling hum of washing laundry loud in the dead space.
Jarod raised his brows and nodded. He took a step backward. “Okay, it was just a thought.”
“Sure,” she blurted. “I mean, I’m busy, I have a paper due and classes and—coffee, yeah, I could do that.”
Hello, my name is Nora and I am a social idiot.
Jarod smiled again, a gentle widening of his mouth that deepened the lines around his eyes. Her mind went blank. “Great, how about tomorrow? There’s a little shop down on Fullerton that has decent cappuccino.”
Nora felt a sudden spike of worry. She had to take control of this situation. She didn’t know this guy from Adam. He could be the car stereo creep. “How about the library café?”
“Works for me.”
She pushed more, lying through her teeth. “Wednesdays are full for me, so it would have to be a quick one. Say around one?”
He dipped his head, but she caught a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Library café, in full view of the public, unarmed. One o’clock.” He turned to go. “See you there, Nora.”
“Wait!” She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t tell you my name.”
When he turned back, the lines had deepened and a flicker of laughter burst into his eyes, making them dance. “No, but I can read.” He pointed to her name tag, and a hot blush worked up from her neck. “See you tomorrow, fraidy cat.”
He left. The doorway seemed to shrink without his large, lean frame filling it. Nora sagged on the washer and hung her head. Could she have acted any more suspicious? Still, he had asked her out. And she’d accepted. It was a start.
“Describe an orgasm for me in your own words. What is going on in your body?”
“There’s a slow buildup. Anticipation…tension…Everything inside me gets tighter, tighter, tighter…”
Jarod let the feminine voices wash over him, closing his eyes. His body tensed, the urge welling from deep inside him. It built. The need grew stronger and stronger. Every muscle poised, waiting. Almost there…
He sneezed. Blinking, he rubbed his watery eyes and clicked off the recorder, silencing the interview before reaching for a tissue. Damn, neighbor’s cat had his allergies working overtime. That thing must have a bed next to the air ducts or something. He was fine during the day but had resorted to OTC medication to breathe while home, and he was waiting for the damned stuff to kick in. He would be happy if he could breathe within the next twenty minutes.
Settling deeper into couch, he turned back to Nora’s book. The volume was a study on sex—women’s fantasies, their reasons for certain kinks, and the psychology behind sexual proclivities. Nora had made notes in the margins.
A good hour slipped by as he read her notes, the printed fantasies, her thoughts on those women’s dreams. His cock hardened, and he idly shifted it a few times, trying to get comfortable. Damn, Nora had some interesting theories on sexual responses. Not all of it he agreed with, but the glimpse into her mind was like an erotic trip through the nightlife in downtown Wet Dreamland.
Her sultry voice had carried over the cheap quality of the cassette. Although her interview questions were professional, nearly clinical in wording, the timbre of her words slipped over his skin like a slow tongue. The women she spoke with had accents from all over the country, from Boston nasal to Texan twang, but Nora—Nora’s soft smoky voice piped heat directly into his blood. By the second interrogation Jarod could easily make out the subtle inflections, could tell when she was amused or bored.
After a quick glance at the clock and a rub at his still-stuffy chest, Jarod set the book aside and decided to call it a night. The medication was obviously not up to the task of battling Furball McDander’s massive case of the sheds and he was tired. Besides, he’d had a nice bedtime story to ease him into sleep.
Passing through the kitchen to turn off the light, Jarod paused and snagged a scrap of paper lying on the counter.
Nora MacGregor—603-555-5782
He felt like a creep for copying her number out of the staff directory, but not enough of a creep to stop him from wondering what she was doing right now. It wasn’t so terribly late. If he just called her for a quick chat…Nora, with her fierce flashing eyes and pepper spray, her timid, terrified stance in the laundry room, her flubbed and fumbled acceptance of a coffee date.
He’d wanted to ask her to dinner but pulled back at the last second. She seemed the cautious type. A short public meeting was better at first. So he’d start with coffee. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think about more…like her riding him cowgirl style, full breasts swollen and capped with tight nipples wet from his mouth.
Her notes in the book’s margins were mostly detached commentary on the fantasies. She was brilliant, often seeming more excited by biological theory than by the explicit descriptions of the various kinks in the text. He couldn’t wait to have coffee with her, to eventually see if some of her chillier ideas about men and sex could be put to the test.
Note absence of hetero partner features. Minimal concentration on partner suggests the male is unimportant except in the biological function of penetration. See dildo/vibrator notes.
Jarod grunted. Unimportant his ass. He didn’t care if his partners used toys—they could be fun, heightening the experience—but to chalk all men up as unimportant except in penetration? Miss Nora needed to be fucked good and proper. Some things batteries just couldn’t replace.
; And why hadn’t she finished that fantasy of hers she’d started writing on the inside of the back cover? Reading that had sent his imagination tumbling through erotic space. It was only the beginning, the setup. Dark and quiet room, a voice whispering naughty suggestions, her pussy aching in emptiness and her breasts tingling from her own fingers…Damn, he was horny. And intrigued.
His erection poked straight out in his sweats and he contemplated taking care of it, but the slow burn of arousal was a powerful drug, one he didn’t want to let go of just yet.
She was the most interesting thing he’d encountered in months. The allure was simply too great.
The phone was in his hand before he could have second thoughts. He carried it into his bedroom and put it on the comforter, looking at it and rubbing at his chest. He sneezed once, twice before stripping down to his boxer briefs.
You are a low-life. You are a stalker. You haven’t even had your first date yet.
His finger acted without consulting his brain. The number rang through. Just as the ringing stopped, he sneezed and coughed. He reached for a Kleenex as a whiskey-tinged voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Nora.” His voice was scratchy, gruff and thick.
“Who is this?”
A dawning realization made Jarod grin. Nora didn’t know who he was. He thought she would figure it out, know it was him, but she had no idea. He didn’t sound like himself thanks to Puffball Meowser.
Oh, he could have fun with this. He deepened his voice to a growl. “Guess.”
“This is an unlisted number.”
“I’ve got your number. You, sweetheart, have a very dirty mind.”
Her gasp over the airwaves sent a direct current of electricity to his balls. He wanted that breath in his ear as he showed her how much better a hard cock was compared to some latex dildo. Jarod heard low voices in the background and, after a moment, silence. The TV? Her voice came as cool as the underside of his pillow and he sprawled back on the bed, one arm tucked under his head.
“I assume this means you found my book and my recordings. I’d like those returned, please.”
“Sure, once I’m finished reading it. I already listened to the tape. ‘Women on Sex ’ isn’t a great title though. You should have labeled it ‘Getting Deeper.’”
“How much do you want?”
“How much what?”
“Money. That’s what this is about, right? You want a reward or something. Fine, how much?”
Jarod let his smile spread wide and chuckled. “We’ll talk about my reward in a minute. Do you really think batteries can replace a man?”
“I am not discussing my theories with an obscene caller.”
“Obscene caller? No. Consider me an editor. Some of your thought processes are flawed.”
“Flawed?” Even her indignant snort turned him on. “And you are, of course, qualified to judge something like that. Where did you get your biology degree?”
“Backseat of my dad’s Ford. Some of what I read is spot on and fascinating but other parts…Let’s just say it’s obvious you’ve never had a multiple orgasm.”
“That is none of your business!”
“Nora, I’m trying to help you, sweetheart. You’re not a dimwit. You know your biology, your chemistry and your physiology. You’re just way off base on the sexual angle. If I hadn’t read page 376, I’d swear you were a virgin.”
“I want my stuff back, asshole!”
There it was—Nora had fire. He knew it. That fire sizzled from the receiver directly into his bloodstream and ignited a white-hot flame. “If you want it so bad, it will cost you.”
“I cannot believe some arrogant, obscene caller is blackmailing me! Poorly, by the way. You really need to work on your technique.”
I’ll show her technique.
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give your things back. No charge. Just talk to me. Share with me. Let me see inside that pretty head and help me understand how a total and complete knockout has never had one mind-boggling experience with a man.”
“How do you know what I look like? Who are you?”
“Call me Cyrano.”
“Oh hell no. What are you, twelve?”
“Twelve inches, no. A good eight maybe.”
A soft snicker caressed his ear. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. But let’s leave measurements alone. You can call me whatever you want.”
“I can also hang up.”
“James.”
“What?”
“You can call me James. Have you ever read James Joyce’s erotic letters to his wife? Her name was Nora, too.”
“Does being a psycho stalker get you off or something?”
“If it did, would you put me in your notes?”
There was another pause. “Okay, James, how do I get my things back from you?”
“Just talk to me, sweetheart, that’s all. Have you never really lost it during sex? Just let go and let the good times roll?”
The silence on the line crackled with static and he sat up, worried he’d crossed some line. “Nora?”
“No way. I am not talking about something so private to a man I don’t know, and whose number shows up as out of area.”
That’s right, his cell was still registered in New York. He closed his eyes and took a stab in the dark, praying she understood or at the very least wouldn’t hang up on him. “Maybe because I am some stranger, someone you don’t have to face but who really wants to know. I wouldn’t laugh or judge. Hell, I’ll share anything you want me to, just talk to me.”
“I just want my stuff back.”
“Three pages.”
“Excuse me?”
“Every question I ask that you answer honestly, I’ll return three pages of the book.”
“And I don’t get it until I’ve amassed enough credit for you to return the copy? The thing is almost six hundred pages.”
“So we’ll talk a long time.”
“And the interviews?”
“Those I keep until we’re finished. Come on, you’re intrigued and you know it. Start talking.”
What the hell was he doing? He was insane. He was asking for carte blanche into her head. If pepper spray could come through phone lines, he’d be royally screwed right now.
“You’re an asshole and no, I’ve never lost it in bed,” she snapped.
Hot smoking hell, she answered me. Jarod blew out a breath and blood surged anew to his cock. “Why not?”
“Three pages.”
“What?”
“I get three pages. You ask another question, I get three more, right?”
“Sure. Give me what I want and you can have whatever you want.” Jarod wanted to sprint out of bed, find Nora and watch that full mouth spill out the answers to his deepest, dirtiest questions. The phone was suddenly too impersonal, and yet he couldn’t hang up. It was a connection, a meeting place, stripped bare of social niceties and manners. Communication, words, the very basics of human interaction.