Beyond the Ivory Tower (8 page)

“Like what?”

“Like sleeping with someone else’s wife.”

She shivered as his fingertips lightly traced the bare skin from the nape of her neck to her shirt collar. “So you never…”

His thumb tested the pulse beating just below her jaw. “Ancient history, Anna. Before either of us was married.”

“Oh.” The sound morphed into a sigh as his lips found the curve of her ear, the angle of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. She turned her head toward him, blindly seeking full contact, and he took the final step, sealing their mouths together.

The banked flames that had been smoldering for days—weeks—flared to brilliant life. Heat engulfed her. She swayed, letting go of the door handle, and he caught her, one hand cradling her face, the other settling on her hip. Beneath her, the ground shifted. She reached out, searching for something to hold onto, and found his shoulders, a solid anchor amid the turbulent sensations that threatened to consume her.

Dimly, she heard a phone ring. It cut off abruptly, and then she felt the vibration against her stomach. She jerked back, only to come up against the solid wood door behind her. Her eyes flew open.

“Ethan…”

“Ignore it,” he said, dipping his head to nuzzle the sensitive skin just below her ear.

“I can’t.” She pushed against him, relieved when she felt the tension in his muscles ease.

The phone rang again, and this time he sighed and stepped away, reaching inside his jacket to retrieve the offending item.

Anna skirted around him and made a beeline for the safety of her desk, giving him the space and privacy to take his call. She shuffled some papers from one pile to another, then picked up a random page and pretended to read. It might as well have been in Sanskrit.

She sighed. What the hell was wrong with her? It was the middle of the afternoon, for crying out loud. Any minute now there’d be a knock on the door, and her grad students would troop in, ready to tackle a new distributed min-cut algorithm for sparse graphs.

“He did
what
?” Ethan’s angry tone drew her attention. “Does he realize he’s in breach?”

Anna gave up all pretense of reading and watched as Ethan paced the floor.

“Make sure that Jensen’s on board with this,” he said. “I’ll be there Monday, but we can Skype before then.”

He hung up and pocketed the cell before glancing at Anna.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He made a visible effort to relax. “Now, where were we?”

“You were about to leave so I could get back to work.”

His lips quirked. “No, I don’t think that was it. We were about to make dinner plans and then somehow we got sidetracked.”

She flushed. “Right. Dinner. I can cook, if you want.”

“I want.” If his heated gaze was any indication, food wasn’t all he wanted. “What time?”

“Seven? I’ll text you the address.”

“Great. I’ll bring wine.” He paused. “On second thought, maybe we should skip the wine.”

Anna bit her lip. “About that…I don’t usually drink.” She straightened the nearest stack of papers, making sure all the edges aligned. “I mean, maybe some wine with dinner, but never to the point of getting drunk. I don’t know what happened that night. I guess I was nervous. You were very kind, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you…”

“You didn’t embarrass me.”

“I didn’t?” She frowned. “But you left…”

“Yes.” He sighed, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t trust myself to stay and not take advantage of you.”

“I wanted you to take advantage.”

His nostrils flared. “Anna…unless you’re ready to finish what we started—right here, right now—”

A knock on the door dispelled any notion of that happening.

Ethan shook his head. “I’ll see you tonight. And this time, unless you kick me out, I’m staying.”

Her pulse fluttered at the intent in his eyes. She thought she’d messed up, that there was no going back.

Thank God for second chances.

Ethan wasn’t sure what to expect when he parked on the quiet street in front of Anna’s building. It was a three-story complex built around a central courtyard, with a wrought-iron external gate. Anna buzzed him in through the intercom system, and met him at the front door to her apartment.

Her hair was down, and she wore a short wrap-around dress partially covered by an apron that read “Kiss the cook.”

He grinned and did just that, leaving her pink-cheeked and flustered when he finally let her up for air.

“These are for you,” he said, offering her the box of See’s chocolates he’d picked up earlier that day.

“My favorite!” She smiled. “Thank you.”

She led the way into a living/dining area, where the low lighting and soft music set the tone for what turned out to be one of the most memorable meals he’d had as an adult. Anna had clearly put a great deal of effort into the presentation: an Italian antipasti platter with marinated peppers, sundried tomatoes, olives, and assorted cheeses, followed by roasted chicken breast with pancetta, leeks, and thyme, and topped off by berries with sweetened crème fraiche, along with the chocolates he had brought.

What made the evening so extraordinary, though, wasn’t the food. It was Anna herself, and how comfortable he felt in her unassuming company. Unlike his ex-wife, and the countless women who came after, Anna didn’t seem to crave the social cachet or media spotlight that came with dating him. Nor did she appear interested in his net worth. If anything, she went out of her way to avoid the perks of wealth he took for granted. In San Francisco, she’d insisted on paying for their dinner. And now, instead of jumping at the chance to go out on the town, she’d invited him to her place for a home-cooked meal.

Their conversation drifted from books to politics to immigration. It turned out her family had left Russia when Anna was nine—which explained the faint hint of an accent he sometimes detected, and the unfamiliar expressions that occasionally peppered her speech.

“It was touch and go for a while,” she said, in response to his question about the early years following their arrival in the U.S. “Dad managed to get a soft money position at Penn in the physics department. And Mom got a job with Concord Engineering, in their Philadelphia office.”

She rose and started clearing the table. Ethan snagged their glasses and a nearly untouched bottle of dessert wine, then followed her into the kitchen. “Is that where you grew up?”

“Sort of. There’s a huge Russian community in northeast Philadelphia, and for a few years we lived there. When Klara was born, we moved out to the suburbs. Better schools, safer neighborhood.”

She reached into an overhead cabinet for a plastic container. Even on tip-toes, she was a couple inches short of grabbing it. “Could you…?”

Before she could complete the request, Ethan stepped up behind her and brought the dish down.

“Thanks.” She transferred the leftovers from the serving platter, sealed the lid, and turned in the direction of the fridge, only to find that Ethan hadn’t moved. The seconds ticked by. He watched in fascination as color rose up her neck and into her cheeks. Her eyes widened and the pupils dilated as he slowly bent his head to capture her mouth. The container dropped, unheeded, to the counter.

Her skin was soft, her body supple as he turned her in his arms and molded her against him. She sighed into him, and he drank in the sound. Her fingers slid around his waist, up his back, and she pressed closer. The dress was thin enough that he could feel the unmistakable hardening of her nipples. He swept a hand up her ribs, palming her breast and stroking a thumb over the tight peak. She shivered.

Damn
. If he didn’t slow down, this would be over before it even began.

He pulled back slightly and nearly changed his mind when she made a soft sound of protest.

“Anna,” he groaned, and couldn’t resist dropping a soft kiss on her swollen lips.

She opened her mouth and lured him back in, sucking on his tongue. The sensation shot straight to his groin. Without even meaning to, he clamped his free hand on the sweet curve of her ass and lifted, bending his knees so that his erection aligned with her pelvis. And then he rocked against her, and she gasped, releasing his mouth, arching her head back, exposing her neck. He kissed the pulsing hollow between her collar bones and moved down, burying his nose between her breasts.

“Wait,” she murmured. Her fingers found the back of his head, burrowing into his hair.

The word was so at odds with the continued movement of her body that at first he didn’t react. But then she repeated it, tugging on his hair. “Ethan, wait.”

He lifted his head, panting. “What?”

“The bedroom,” she said, and he felt such a surge of relief that he had to lean against the counter to avoid dropping her.

“Yes,” he said, and let go of her breast so he could pull her thigh up around his waist and carry her out of the kitchen, past the dining room table they hadn’t finished clearing, and down the hall toward the open door she pointed out at the end.

There was enough light from the hallway for him to see the bed and get a vague impression of utilitarian furnishings—a single nightstand, bureau, walls lined with bookshelves.

The mattress was soft, large enough to accommodate both of them, but small enough that regardless of position, he would be able to reach out and touch her as they slept.

Not that he planned on getting much sleep tonight.

She was obviously of the same mindset, twining her arms around him as soon as he lowered her to the bed, pulling him down on top of her and softly biting his lip until he opened and let her tongue sweep inside.

He rolled to avoid crushing her, bringing her with him, so she ended up on top. That left his hands free to explore: her back, the narrow span of her waist, the squeezable globes of her ass, the sleekly muscled thighs. Briefly, he wondered what she did to stay so fit. But as soon as the thought surfaced, it vanished again beneath the double stimulation of her tongue sliding against his and her stiff nipples pressing into his chest.

The hem of her dress caught on his wrist as he smoothed a hand up her thigh, and his fingers encountered bare skin. A tiny shiver, and then she parted her legs, drawing her knees up until they rested on the duvet on either side of his hips, leaving her open to his questing fingers.

He took advantage of the position, stroking beneath the flimsy excuse for panties. She was hot and wet, the folds of her sex so slick that he was able to ease first one, then a second finger inside her. Her inner walls closed tightly around him, and he groaned, bucking up against her, pumping his fingers in a pale imitation of what he really wanted to do.

She reared up, forcing him to let go, and settled herself directly over his straining erection. He cursed the layers that still separated them, searching with shaking fingers for the quickest way to divest her of her clothes. The dress separated with the pull of a tie, and then she was scrambling out of her panties and bra while he stripped off his own clothing, pausing only long enough to snag a condom from the pocket of his jeans, tear open the packet, and roll it on.

And then he was settling over her, thumb finding and circling her clit, until she bucked against him, wrapped her fist around him and guided him inside.

Jesus
, she was tight. Sweat beaded along his brow as he resisted the urge to drive into her, advancing instead by steady degrees, feeling her muscles relax bit by bit until he was finally home.

His forehead touched hers. He breathed her in—vanilla and citrus, blending with the spicier scent of his own cologne.

“Okay?” he asked.

Her eyes met his. “Okay.”

And that was all the permission he needed to start moving again, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back inside. Again and again, until they were both panting, and he felt the pressure gathering at the base of his spine and the tightening sensation that signaled he was a hairbreadth away from coming. He arched back, flicking his thumb over her clit, and then she was gasping, contracting around him, pulling him over the edge.

~

He returned to bed after a quick trip to the bathroom, only to find her wrapped in a cocoon of covers, eyes closed. She’d left enough space for him to climb in beside her, which he did, drawing her into his arms so she was curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

She smiled without opening her eyes. “Mm, this is nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for. Before he could ask, her hand slipped beneath the duvet, and her fingers found the thin line of hair bisecting his abdomen. He held his breath as she strayed farther down. He wasn’t a teenager—was, in fact, old enough to be the father of a teenager—but already he was stirring.

The woman was magic. Intelligent, self-assured, a brilliant cook, and sexy as hell. Oh, yeah. Definitely sexy.

He caught her wandering fingers and guided them down, showing her in a few quick strokes how to bring him fully back to life. She opened her eyes and licked her lips, all the while continuing to stroke him. “Again?”

“Yes,” he rasped. “Again.”

She leaned over him, breasts brushing his chest, and reached into the nightstand drawer with her free hand. “Good thing I kept the condoms.”

~

They spent the weekend together.

Laughing, talking about everything—except for the two things that loomed ever larger in Anna’s mind. The Talbot Fellowship. And what would happen once Monday rolled around and they returned to real life, going their separate ways.

Saturday morning she dragged him to the farmer’s market on Arizona and 3rd, where she showed him how to pick out fresh produce. It amazed her that he’d never done that until now.

“I don’t cook,” he pointed out in his own defense. “So I never had to shop for ingredients.”

“Don’t tell me you eat out all the time,” she said. “Or buy everything pre-made in those frozen microwavable containers.”

He shrugged. “Maria cooks, so I don’t have to.”

“Ah. Of course,” Anna said. Because a man with a personal chauffeur couldn’t do without a cook, or housekeeper, or whatever Maria’s official title was.

She put him to work chopping vegetables for a stir fry, explaining that newbies always scored the lowliest tasks in the kitchen. He took the ribbing in good humor, watching carefully as she showed him proper technique. At one point he put aside the knife, turned off the burners—ignoring Anna’s protests that the food wasn’t done—and put the free counter space to better, or at least more satisfying, use.

After a late lunch, with the dishes washed and the leftovers put away, she glanced at the kitchen clock and frowned.

Ethan finished drying his hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the recycle bin. “Have I overstayed my welcome?”

“No,” she said. Then decided if he could be forthright, so could she. “But I promised to go through a proof by tonight, so my co-author can work on it tomorrow. The deadline for submission is Monday.”

“I can sit in the corner,” he offered, dimples flashing. “And be very, very quiet.”

She considered the suggestion. “I need a few hours without any distractions.”

“Do I distract you, Anna?” He stepped closer.

She backed away until she stood flush against the kitchen counter. The same kitchen counter they had deployed so creatively just a few hours before. Her pulse quickened as he advanced.

“What do you say, Anna?” He reached out, bracing his hands on the counter, boxing her in.

She was barely breathing, eyes glued to his mouth. “What was the question?”

He leaned down, stopping at the last moment before their lips met. “I have plenty of work to keep me busy, back at the hotel. Text me when you’re done. I’ll bring take-out.” He stepped away and grinned. “Thai okay with you?”

She blinked, as if coming awake from a dream. What just happened? She glanced down, her gaze snagging on the blatant evidence of his arousal.

“Thai,” she said. “Okay. Sure. The spicier, the better.”

His chuckle vibrated through her. “A woman after my own heart.”

Later, while trying to concentrate on the computer screen, she kept replaying his words. It was just an idiom, a silly turn of phrase. Said in passing, without thought. She’d be foolish to read anything deeper into it.

Besides, the fundamental differences between them hadn’t changed, just because they enjoyed each other’s company and were compatible in bed. Okay, more than compatible. Amazing. Phenomenal. Stupendous.

And the fact that she’d pretty much agreed to mentor a couple Talbot Fellows didn’t mean she was weakening in her convictions, or ceding the argument when she still believed she was right.

It was pointless to waste time speculating or wishing for things that were about as likely to happen as her getting elected President. Last she’d heard, the Constitution still stipulated that naturalized U.S. citizens weren’t eligible to run. Too bad. If she really put her mind to it, she’d probably do a better job than most of the candidates who vied for office.