Talk Dirty To Me

by Ginny Glass

  “I have an apartment that’s really close. I can walk if I want. My parents live nearer to downtown.”

  “You didn’t want to stay with them until you were finished with school? You could have saved a lot of money.”

  Nora shook her head. Her bear of a father and petite apple-cheeked mother were the very picture of middle-class Americana, but…

  “No amount of money was worth me living at home. I mean, they’re great, but I just turned thirty. I grew up here. Autonomy is a hard-won thing in this town.”

  “Thirty. Wow. I feel like I’m cradle-robbing here.”

  Nora snorted. “Right, you’re not exactly ancient, Professor.”

  “Almost a full decade older.”

  “I’d like to think I’m not the typical thirty-year-old. I mean, if you were twenty and I was ten, we’d have a problem. But as mature adults with similar interests, I see no problem with our ages.”

  “Logical and lovely.” His murmur was like buttered rum, rich and decadent. “So what do your folks think about your staying here and teaching at the old alma mater?”

  “Mama just wants me to find a nice boy and settle down. Dad knows with certainty that no man is worthy of his princess.” Jarod chuckled as she shuddered exaggeratedly. “Don’t get me wrong. I love them but I have to live my life for me.”

  “Good for you.”

  A small smile haunted the corners of his lips. What did Jarod’s kiss feel like? Was he a wet, sloppy St. Bernard of a kisser or was he a nibbler? Down, girl. One U.S. Cellular-induced orgasm and you’re a walking hormone. Nora took a few gulps of her coffee to distract herself. Why was she suddenly so damned nervous? She scrambled for something to say as they lapsed into silence.

  He teaches English Lit.

  “Have you ever read the letters James Joyce wrote to his wife?”

  Jarod fumbled with his cup, nearly upsetting it. Only a fast jerk saved it from toppling to the tabletop. A splash of the liquid splattered Nora’s knuckles. Beneath his open collar his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. His eyes met hers and sparked with something—amusement? Shock?

  “I have,” he answered, his eyes dropping to his coffee cup. “They’re a bit racy. This is only our second date, Nora.”

  Nora laughed. Jarod was adorable. “I…A friend sent them to me. I guess they’re supposed to help with my dissertation.”

  Jarod’s eyes sparkled in the dim light and he reached over, rubbing his fingers over the back of her hand. “You can’t explain away passion like that with DNA sequences, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart.

  Nora’s heart hit a speed bump and last night’s conversation came roaring back into her head. A tremor of suspicion narrowed her eyes. What was the likelihood that two men would call her sweetheart in the same twenty-four-hour period? Her throat tightened reflexively before a chagrined exhale relaxed it.

  His voice carried the rich notes of a cello, not the sultry smoke of a saxophone. No, Jarod was too proper to engage in the wicked debauchery she and James had gorged on. From the neat edges of his classic-cut hair to the pressed pleat of his trousers, he was the epitome of debonair. She could easily see him sipping chardonnay and making polite small talk at faculty gatherings.

  Her gaze dropped to his fingers stroking her hand. They were long, lean, like a piano player’s. The short-clipped nails and hidden strength in his touch churned through her blood. She was instantly hotter than the steaming liquid she lifted to her lips.

  Maybe James was right. Maybe she wasn’t broken. And maybe there was more to Jarod than Shakespeare and Dickens.

  “Passion like that…What do you know about passion like that?” She was toying with him. She lifted her gaze over the rim of her cup and locked her eyes on the warming green of his.

  He set his coffee aside. His narrowed gaze raked over her. “Miss MacGregor, are you flirting with me?”

  The fingers on the back of her hand curled and she rolled her palm, clasping his. The simple act of holding hands burned with eroticism. Long, slow arcs of his thumb on her skin sizzled, and her breath caught. She leaned forward, propping one elbow on the table edge, knowing the move would give him a small glimpse into the soft grey V-neck of her sweater. “Maybe.”

  Interest flared like a match, and his eyes traveled slowly from her face down to her collarbone. She could almost feel the slide, the path of the emerald fire as his lashes lowered. A thrumming under her ribs spread heavy yearning through her body.

  “‘My true love for you, the love of my verses, the love of my eyes for your strange luring eyes, comes blowing over my soul like a wind of spices…’” Nora stared steadily as she quoted.

  Jarod’s eyes flicked up to hers. A challenging gleam brewed behind his glasses and his smile bordered on wicked. “James Joyce loved his wife, mind, body and soul. How would you explain that as anything other than purely of the heart? Passion and love aren’t an equation. They simply are.”

  She fought not to get lost in the simmering sea of his gaze. “I don’t know that I believe in the intangible, and any teenager can feel passion.”

  Jarod shook his head. “No, teenagers feel the rush of hormones they can’t control. Lust is temporary, easily satisfied and forgotten. Passion consumes you.”

  The moment stretched, thickened. Nora’s pulse beat hard in her throat. She wanted to drown in those beautiful eyes. The waitress bustled up with their burgers. Nora pulled her hand away and Jarod leaned back, the moment broken.

  His voice was light. “These look great.”

  They started in on their meal and their conversation relaxed as Nora shook off the electric sensitivity skating along her nerves.

  What’s happening to me?

  Lunch was not supposed to be torture. It was supposed to be a burger and fries and a walk to Nora’s lab. Jarod jammed his hands into his pockets as he kept pace with her on the brick path, willing himself to keep them there. Every step he took had him inwardly switching between excitement and frustration.

  James had rattled her, shaken up the notion she was frigid. When she’d held her hands out to him, it was like a gift. He couldn’t help tugging her into a light embrace and she hadn’t balked. She fit perfectly against him. Her skin smelled like ripe summer apples. He liked her. He genuinely liked her—her dry humor, her intelligence. The open flirtation over lunch only fueled his interest. Just when he thought he grasped the way her mind worked, she threw him a curve ball.

  He’d nearly dumped his coffee in his lap when she’d asked about Joyce’s letters. For a minute he’d thought the game was up, that she’d figured out he was her mysterious James. His quick off-the-cuff response had made her laugh. She laughed easily, a burnt-velvet, feminine sound that stirred his gut and tickled his skin. He wanted to feel that laugh on his bare chest, with sweat-damp sheets pooled around them and the moist sheen of lovers all that separated them.

  They neared the arched entrance to the Sciences Building and they both paused. Nora had put her jacket back on for the walk, but Jarod carried her lab coat draped over the crook of his elbow. She reached for it and her fingers slid over his arm. It was more than a brushing contact. Even through his clothes the lingering touch scorched him.

  “Well,” Nora said, “I have to get back to work.”

  She waited, and he pictured her arching in her bed, climaxing alone to the sound of his voice. His stomach flipped nervously. Could he kiss her? He had growled filthy things to her through the safety of anonymity but now, in person, just thinking about pressing his lips to hers had his palms sweating.

  “Lunch tomorrow?” An arch of her brow put a sassier slant on the question than the words intended. How could eyes the shade of Tennessee whiskey glow? Was it a trick of the light or was she as interested as he was?

  “Definitely. How about dinner as well?”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly. “I have a late lecture tomorrow. How about Saturday night?”

  “Perfect. Where do you want to go?”

&n
bsp; “Surprise me.”

  Oh, I could do that in more ways than one.

  Bless the autumn wind. Not only did it do marvelously teasing things to her long dark hair, but it seemed to sway her close to him with its sharp chill. Jarod reached out and cupped her elbow, drawing her the rest of the way. The barest slice of air separated them. The apple scent of her skin teased on the brisk breeze and he breathed deeply. He didn’t want to leave and she seemed in no hurry either.

  “You have to go back to work, Miss MacGregor.”

  “So do you, Dr. Reed.”

  Bravery comes from many places. His came from her pink tongue touching her top lip in anticipation. Jarod brushed back the stray tendrils that swept her face. “I have to do this, Nora.”

  Despite his nerves, despite the fact he’d already brought her to a panting, hardcore climax, Jarod tipped up her chin and indulged in a soft, barely-there brush of Nora’s lips. It was ten times more potent than her voice across a phone line.

  Once, twice he pressed his mouth to hers. The soft skin of her jaw slid under his fingers. Her hands crept up to clutch his jacket. She parted her lips and kissed him back, a slight flick of her tongue thrilling him.

  “Way to go, Prof!”

  The intrusive male chuckle yanked her mouth from his. She stepped back, her head dipping and a soft flush creeping along her cheeks.

  Jarod bit back a curse. He glared at the undergrad with the sarcastic sneer and a snarl flew from his mouth. “Zacot, get to class! Don’t you owe me a paper?”

  The arrogant smirk fell away. “Sorry, Dr. Reed. Sorry, ma’am.”

  Zacot slunk away like a whipped pup. Anger churned in Jarod’s gut, damning the student to Remedial English hell for interrupting their first kiss. He hoped it wasn’t their last. Nora blinked, clutching her lab coat. Her mouth hung open the slightest bit as she gawked at him. Had he scared her?

  “I’m sorry about that,” he muttered, already planning to fail the little shit who couldn’t tell a sonnet from a soliloquy.

  “It’s okay. Talk to you tomorrow.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and dashed up the stairs. The kick of her skirt flashed her knees and he swallowed a groan. At the double glass doors at the building’s entrance, she paused and waved down at him before slipping inside.

  His soft chuckle was heard only by the wind. “Talk to you tonight, Nora.”

  WEDNESDAY Addendum: Afternoon.

  Unable to monitor vitals (late for class)

  Increased heart rhythm, inability to concentrate and heightened physical sensation. Physical interaction increased.

  Agreed to continue lunch meetings.

  Also to dinner.

  Unexpected aggression from J.R.—flashed on James—

  some sort of aural sexual trigger?

  J.R. kissed me.

  I kissed him back.

  Herbal tea sloshed in Nora’s mug as her shoulders trembled with laughter. Jarod’s e-mail listed five restaurants in the area, complete with specialties, and told her to take her pick. He also offered to cook, if she would be interested in the one thing he didn’t burn, penne pasta and sausage. A strange craving for pasta took root, but that would be too intimate, too fast. Cooking dinner, or even inviting each other into their homes, would come in the future. She hoped.

  She perused the list carefully. She’d grown up in the area and could rank most of them on price, atmosphere and food quality. The three didn’t always go together. She picked two and typed an e-mail asking him to make the final selection. In less than a minute, his reply pinged her inbox.

  Nora, I bow to your home field advantage. Marcuso’s it is. Is seven too late? I also need your address to pick you up. I admit I checked the faculty directory. Your address is a post office box. I refuse to believe you live in such cramped quarters. I await your reply.

  ~Jarod

  A smile plumped her cheeks as she typed.

  Jarod, seven is fine, but I’ll meet you there (sans pepper spray). My apartment is pretty small, but certainly not within postal regulations. I think you will like Marcuso’s. Their seafood bisque is wonderful, or it was several years ago. When all else fails, choose the crab. That’s what I do, anyway. You know I checked the directory, too. Mullen’s Drive, that tells me you probably rent one of Claire Harper’s places. I hope you like cats! ~N

  She could nearly hear his rolling baritone when she opened his response.

  Nora, ever the cautious lady. Will meet you there. Saturday seems further away than day after next but at least I can see you tomorrow at lunch. Your powers of deduction are amazing. I despise the little rat-chasing critters. Remember my allergies? It’s late and I should let you work.

  Goodnight, fair lady, ’til the morrow.

  ~Jarod

  A sigh expanded her chest. He was so sweet, not at all like the crude, beer-chugging men who occasionally asked her out or the insipid students who insisted CUL8R was a correct farewell.

  One finger traced along the computer screen, across his name, before she pulled her hand away. She clicked offline and pulled up her dissertation notes. The script danced in front of her eyes, blurring and smudging. The power-down cycle whirled in the empty apartment and she let her head fall back.

  She had a date. A real, honest-to-God, shave-your-legs-and-wear-eyeliner date. With an incredibly dashing man who had as many brains as he did manners. One who kissed like caramel—soft, addictive and with a lingering sweetness she tasted hours later.

  That growl.

  A shiver worked her spine. When he’d snapped at that student, his voice had filled with command, with aggressive authority. The timbre and inflection throbbed low in her belly and her thighs had clenched in sudden sexual awareness. She closed her eyes and tried to summon exactly what Jarod’s voice would sound like when sated.

  Thinking of sated voices threw her suddenly into a bad mood. James. She’d nearly forgotten about the stunt he’d pulled today, she’d been so wrapped up in Jarod. Of all the stupid, childish, arrogant, high-handed, macho, ridicul—

  The cell phone’s chirp interrupted her mental tirade. She glanced at the screen then flipped it open with a snap.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  A sharp masculine inhale rang loud in her ear. “Nora, let me expla—”

  “How dare you send me something like that to my office! Anybody could have opened that package.”

  Seductive laughter poured over her, richer than imported chocolate. “So you got my little gift? I was wondering. I did include thirty pages. I sort of lost count how many I owed you and took a wild guess.”

  She flopped back on the futon and picked up the hard plastic package. “I got them and a surprise. I almost opened the box in front of Dr. Salih.”

  The laughter turned wicked, a razor-fine edge of devilment that scored along her irritation and carved it away. She palmed her forehead. “James, what in the hell were you thinking, sending me a vibrator?”

  “Come on, sweetheart, I’d think the purpose is obvious.”

  “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Why? You enjoyed it. I enjoyed it.”

  “I’m kind of…seeing someone.”

  Dead silence filled with the barest static. There was a slow exhale and a creak. A leather chair? Leather pants? “I see. And you feel what, guilty?”