Irene leaned back, her hands still dug into his hair, and stared up at the ceiling. The man licked and sucked, taking his time. Irene kept hearing whimpering and finally realized it was her.
“God, Irene. You taste so damn good,” he groaned.
Irene frowned. “In what sense?”
Van looked up at her again, one eyebrow raised.
“What’s that look for? I’m just asking. Seems an odd thing to say.”
“You think too much.”
“Yes, well—”
“We need to put a stop to that.” Van grabbed hold of her ankles and bent her legs back to her chest, then pushed them wide open and went back to what he was doing. Another orgasm, more powerful than the last, tore through her and Irene cried out, incoherent words and some ancient Greek spilling from her lips. She didn’t pass out but there were definitely some nonsensical moments there.
When she could think again, she realized Van Holtz had taken off all her clothes and had removed his as well. Now he lay next to her, his head resting in the palm of his hand, while he stared down at her.
“You okay?” he asked, his free hand idly tracing circles across her stomach and chest.
“You need to go.”
Van Holtz tensed but he didn’t leave. “Why?”
“I’ve got so much work to do,” she admitted honestly, even if it still was an excuse to outright panic. Now that the passion had died, Irene didn’t feel comfortable with the whorish creature she’d become only minutes before. She had responsibilities. Commitments. She couldn’t shirk them simply to have mindless, useless intercourse with this man and his perfect body.
“I see,” he said simply. “How about we do this.” He reached down and pulled the comforter over their bodies. “Let’s take a quick nap.”
“And what will that do exactly?”
“You look burned out, doc. A few minutes’ sleep will do you good. And I’m still a little too wound up to drive. Okay?”
Irene turned on her side, away from him. “Fine. Although your twenty seconds were up ages ago.”
“Duly noted, doc.” Van Holtz chuckled as he settled in behind her.
Irene woke up and immediately glanced at her clock. Not even eleven o’clock yet. Perfect. She could get a ton of work done now. She stretched and Van Holtz moved beside her. Although she might be tempted, she wouldn’t rush him out into the night. Instead she’d leave him to get some sleep while she went back downstairs and…
Grabbing hold of the big hand slipping between her legs, she turned and faced a wide-awake Van Holtz.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t bother answering her as he latched onto her nipple and sucked while a probing forefinger slipped inside her and began to stroke in and out.
“Wait—”
Two fingers were enthusiastically pushed inside her and Irene’s back arched, her hips desperately rocking against his hand. Then his thumb pressed against her clitoris and she exploded, her entire body shaking and heaving against his.
By the time her head fell back on the pillow, she’d fallen fast asleep.
Irene opened her eyes and realized that Van Holtz had turned off the lights. No matter, she often moved around in the dark. Moving slowly so as not to wake him up again, Irene carefully threw her legs over the side of the bed but she froze when her foot slid over a warm, and standing, moving surface.
“Uh…”
“Going somewhere, doc?”
“Wait,” she begged. But he already had her flat on her back and was inside her, fucking her while he kissed her neck and licked and stroked her nipples.
“Van Holtz, you bastard! You’re doing this on purp…on…oh! That feels very nice. Do that again.”
She’d just come out of the bathroom and was about to sneak downstairs when he caught her around the waist and carried her back to the bedroom. Setting her at the foot of the bed, he used his legs to push her thighs apart. Then he took her from behind, his teeth gripping her shoulder while his hands played with her breasts. His weight kept her pinned in place and she wished she could say she didn’t like it. But she kind of did.
He released her shoulder, pulled her head back by her hair and kissed her while he continued pounding away inside her. But the way he kissed her always seemed so tender. Even when things went out of control, his kisses never seemed brutal or vicious. Just…determined.
The bastard.
Irene yawned and turned over, snuggling back under the covers. Big hands pushed her onto her back and she groaned. “No, no. I’m not awake. I swear! I was just getting comfortable!”
“So am I,” he gasped, embedding himself deep inside her yet again. And dammit, but it felt wonderful.
Van pushed her hair off her face and Irene groaned in defeat. “No. Not again. I can’t.”
He grinned, almost ashamed of himself—but not really. She’d tried to throw him out. Like he’d ever let that happen.
“Not again. I have to go,” he whispered and she finally opened one eye. And who knew a person could glare out of one eye.
“Good.”
He’d be angry if she didn’t sound so cute…and worn out.
“I’ll be back tonight. We’ll go to dinner.”
“I can’t,” she said simply, closing her eyes. “I have a previous engagement.”
Overwhelming jealousy washed over him. “Previous engagement? With who?”
“It’s ‘whom’ and that’s none of your business. I had these plans weeks ago. I’m not changing it for a wild romp in the hay.” She pulled the comforter up to her chin. “You got what you wanted, Van Holtz. Now you can go back to your regular life and I’ll go back to mine. After last night, you must have gotten what you needed.” She turned on her side, shutting him out. “So go back to your supermodels and your country club elite. And I’ll go back to men who actually know what the Algorithmic Information Theory is.”
Van gritted his teeth and stared at the back of Irene’s head. Fuck if he knew what goddamn Algorithmic whatever whatever was. And fuck if he cared. Because in the long run it didn’t matter. Not to him. And it shouldn’t matter to her. But did she really think she could make him walk away that easily? Did she really think it would be that easy to get rid of a Van Holtz? Yeah, the Romans thought that too in 52 B.C. True, Irene Conridge was a hell of a lot tougher than a battalion of well-trained Roman soldiers, but he was a descendant of barbarians…he’d get what he wanted.
And he wanted her. So he’d have her—and she’d better be goddamn glad about it, too.
Six
“What?” Irene asked again, turning her office chair around to glare at her TA. He’d been getting on her nerves all day.
“I said do you need anything else from me before I leave?”
“No.”
Irene started to turn back around but stopped and asked, “Were you on my computer earlier?”
Mark nodded while pulling his backpack together. “I had to pull your latest draft on Sharkovsky’s theorem for your publisher.”
“Well, be careful when you use it. I keep finding all my files mixed up.”
“I was trying to organize—”
“Well, don’t. Don’t organize. Don’t move. Don’t touch my files, Marcus. Understand?”
Mark stood up and for the first time Irene noticed how tall he was. Not in a skinny, awkward way either, but in a well-developed, “I’ve played football all my life” way. “Sorry, Dr. Conridge. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”
Irene shook her head. “Forget it, Mark. Go. I’ll see you on Monday.”
It was one thing when she picked on her students for her own amusement, but picking on them because of one man simply disgusted her beyond all reason.
How had she allowed this to happen? How had she allowed one man to eat his way into her brain like a vicious virus? All day she’d thought of nothing else and it horrified her. She’d always prided herself on being able to block out nearly everything so she could focus on a problem
or a task. Jackie actually had access to Irene’s bank accounts because she made sure to pay all the bills. When Jackie went on her European tour two years ago, they’d almost lost their home and poor Jackie came back to a dark house because Irene had forgotten all about the electric bill. Now if Jackie wasn’t around, Paul took care of it.
But, for the first time in her life, Irene wasn’t completely focused on one theory or mathematical problem. For once she wasn’t focused completely on inanimate objects or thoughts. Instead, all she could think about was having sex with Niles Van Holtz.
Her weakness disgusted her. Irene’s flesh and bones had never been more than a device to haul her brain around in. Now they were alive with needs and feelings.
Bastard.
A knock on her door jolted her and she had to calm her breathing before she said, “Yes?”
The door pushed open and one of her grad students stuck her head in. Jenny Fairgrove. Or, as Irene privately called her, the Perfect Jenny Fairgrove. Long blond hair and warm blue eyes, Jenny was everything Irene was not. And, unlike Irene, she’d never have to fight for a damn thing. Because pretty people never had to.
“Hi, Dr. Conridge.”
“Miss Fairgrove.”
“I just wanted to drop off my paperwork for the TA position for next year. I wanted to get it in early.”
Irene was one of only eight professors in the university who handled their own TA program. Students submitted for the position directly to her and she chose however many students she wanted or needed. The other professors who had to share TAs or couldn’t choose their own hated her for it, too.
“Put it in the bin over there.”
Jenny walked in and dropped the forms in the basket. Irene watched the girl from the corner of her eye. Jenny had on a short denim skirt with leather boots and a tight T-shirt and short denim jacket. She actually looked her age of about twenty-three. Irene always felt like she looked forty. Hell, she felt forty. Until last night. Last night she’d felt her age for the first time in her life.
“Wow. Is that the new IBM PC AT?”
Irene glanced at her computer. She’d practically had to put a gun to the dean’s head for him to authorize the damn thing. “Yes.”
“Wow,” Jenny said again, with annoying enthusiasm. “I heard it had a color screen but that looks great, huh?”
Perky and blond. Any more annoying a combination, Irene didn’t know of.
“Yes.”
The girl stood in front of her desk. “Um…Dr. Conridge, I just wanted to say that I would love the opportunity to work for you. I’ve really kept up with your career and I think you’re just amazing.”
Irene turned back to her computer and started to run her programs. “You all say that…in the beginning.”
“Wow, Dr. Conridge!” If the woman said “wow” one more time…“Is this your boyfriend?”
Irene’s head snapped around. “What?”
Jenny handed her a picture frame and Irene gazed into the smugly grinning face of Niles Van Holtz.
“Where did you get this?”
“Right here on your desk.” Jenny wiped her brow. “He’s gorgeous, Dr. Conridge. How lucky are you?”
When did the man even get into her office? Then it suddenly occurred to her that he’d put a framed picture of himself on her desk. Like somehow his big, gorgeous, worthless face belonged on her desk.
Irene gripped the sterling silver frame in both hands and snarled, “Bastard!”
By the time she looked up again, Jenny Fairgrove was long gone.
“Is that the best you could do, Reeny?”
Irene smirked and stared after the retreating form of her date, Bradley St. James of the Boston St. Jameses. “He’s quite knowledgeable on art history and has tenure.”
“Oh. Well, there you go.” Paul snorted. Irene had cared for Paul since Jackie brought home his drunk hide after a Devo concert one night. Jack said she couldn’t just leave a shifter lying in the middle of the road like that. The next morning, Irene found them huddled up on the couch having one of those painfully long personal discussions over coffee that people liked to have. Irene knew then they’d be together forever. Because he was so good for her friend, Irene actually allowed him to refer to her as “Reeny.” He was like the big brother she’d never had or even wanted. But if she’d been forced to have a brother, she’d have wanted Paul.
“You know what I just realized, Reeny, my love?”
“What, my sweetness?”
Paul motioned around the enormous room packed with people in their finest clothes and jewels, waiting for the lights to signal that the concert was about to begin. “All these people are here to see my woman.”
“Yes, they are.” Irene glanced at him. The man had been in an awfully good mood all night. “Your woman, eh?”
Paul shrugged, but he couldn’t stop the grin. “She is now.” He leaned in and whispered, “I marked her last night.”
Irene clapped her hands together before throwing her arms around Paul’s neck. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Thanks, Reeny. I was so nervous she’d say no.”
“Are you insane?” Irene leaned back to look into his face. “She loves you. Of course she said yes.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m very happy for you both. And I’m glad you asked her first.”
“Of course I did. I’ve gotta make it right for m’lady.”
Irene stepped back and readjusted her dress. She hated it but Jackie had picked it out for her and insisted it looked good on her. She felt…exposed.
“How much do you hate that dress?”
“A lot.”
Bradley returned from the men’s room just as the lights flickered twice, letting them know the concert would begin soon. Together they all walked into the hall and took their seats. Because of their connections, Irene and Paul got to sit in the ridiculously overpriced box seats.
As the accompanying orchestra tuned up, a page stepped into their box and whispered into Bradley’s ear.
“I’ll be right back,” he said and squeezed her hand. Eeew. Sweaty palms. She hated that.
Once he’d left and she’d wiped her hands on her dress, she turned back to Paul. “Okay. So just tell me straight. When are you two moving out? I need to know so I can set up some overly elaborate system to remind myself to pay my bills and eat.”
“Perhaps you failed to remember that I live in a house with four other guys.” He stuck his hand out. “Say hello to your new roommate.”
Irene let out her breath. “I have to say I’m relieved.” She teasingly slapped his hand away.
“This is you relieved?”
“Yes. Can’t you see that I’m brimming with emotion?” she asked flatly.
Paul laughed. “Sure. Your brimming emotions are crystal clear. And why are you relieved?”
“I thought you two were going to leave me alone.”
“No way. You’re her best friend. And one of the few people she actually tolerates…besides me, of course.”
The lights dimmed and the conductor stepped out on the stage. The audience applauded loudly since he was quite famous, but it wasn’t until Jackie walked out onto the stage holding her Stradivarius violin that the entire theater erupted into applause, including Irene and Paul.
Jackie grinned and nodded, waiting for the applause to stop. As it did, Bradley came back to his seat.
“Where did you—” Irene stopped speaking when she realized it wasn’t Bradley sitting next to her but Van Holtz—in a full tux, no less.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Sssh.” He pointed at Jackie. “She’s about to start,” he whispered.
She leaned in and hissed, “Where’s Bradley?”
“I had my driver take him home.”
Irene blinked. “Alive?”
Van Holtz shook his head, apparently refusing to be goaded.
Jackie began to play and Irene forced herself to listen and enjoy the incredible talents of her friend, rath
er than notice the idiot sitting next to her. Five minutes into the concert, when he took her hand and then wouldn’t let it go, she didn’t even throttle him.
Although she really wanted to. Especially when she noticed that his hands were dry and damn comfortable.
Van almost felt guilty for scaring off Irene’s date, but pudgy, middle-aged men named Bradley were not for her. Besides, it really hadn’t taken much. If he were worthy of her he’d never have let anyone buy him off. But Bradley took that cash and followed Van’s driver out the front door. Prick.
And, more important, could she be any cuter than when she silently seethed? He thought for sure she’d tell him off during intermission, but she didn’t. She just drank her scotch on the rocks and fumed. But Van took the time to learn he didn’t have to worry about the jackal hanging around her. He belonged to her friend Jackie and that was all that mattered to Van. He’d been a little worried when he saw the two of them hugging before the concert started. Van’s eyes had narrowed and he wondered how hard it would be to twist a jackal into a pretzel.
Pushing through the mob of people hanging around backstage after the concert, the trio made their way to Jackie’s dressing room. Another mob of people stood there as well and they decided not to push their way through until Jackie had finished greeting her fans and well-wishers.
“Fuck,” Paul muttered, turning toward them.
Irene glanced up. “What’s wrong?”
“That old professor of Jack’s is here. And his flowers are bigger than mine.”
Both she and Van leaned around Paul to see an older man kissing Jackie’s cheeks and holding a dozen roses.
Irene snorted. “I don’t know why you worry about that. It happened a long time ago and that prick doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
“He was her first love.”
“Not even. Besides, she was only eighteen at the time, which is creepy and disgusting all on its own. He took advantage of her. Trust me when I say she’s definitely over it.”
Paul glanced at his little bouquet of a half-dozen roses. He acted like he’d grabbed weeds from outside the building.
When He Was Bad Page 7