My Nerdy Valentine (Nerds, #7)(28)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

Looking into her eyes, he peeled off her jacket and let it fall to the floor. "Just relax."

She took a shaky breath but didn’t respond.

He undressed her quickly, but with care. The softness of her skin, the sweet curve of her br**sts, the aroma of her lust all tested his control, but he couldn’t lose himself in this experience. He would give her what she needed—nothing more and nothing less.

Once she was standing nak*d and flushed before him, he allowed himself one sweeping look at paradise. Then he took off his glasses and propped them on top of the coat he’d laid on the arm of the couch. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her into her darkened bedroom.

Holding her this way and cradling her warmth almost destroyed his resolve to make this fast, memorable, and all about her. But it couldn’t be about him. He hadn’t come prepared for that, and she had to know he hadn’t. When she’d asked for his help, she hadn’t been suggesting they take silly chances. She was too smart.

He could see well enough to find the bed and ease her down onto it, but not well enough to decipher color and patterns. The quilt was cool and satiny against the backs of his hands as he bracketed her h*ps and pulled her to the edge of the mattress. Then he dropped to his knees for the second time that night.

Had this position planted the idea in her mind? Her little whimper had made him think so, but he’d never know for sure. He only knew that kneeling before her to unzip her jacket, he’d been hit with the possibilities. Fixing the zipper had taken much longer as he’d fought his urges.

Now he could satisfy at least one. When he kissed her inner thigh, she moaned. That single sound told him all he needed to know. She welcomed what he had in store for her, and that knowledge sent a powerful surge of desire straight to his groin.

He’d ignore that for now. Treasures beckoned him, and he began to explore the riches she had to offer. He began slowly, using his tongue gently and feeling the shivers of reaction as he drew closer to his ultimate destination. She tasted like honey laced with lemon and he feasted on her slick heat.

He could abandon himself so easily. Skating along the edge of oblivion, always pulling himself back from total immersion, he touched the tip of his tongue to her cl*t and held it there as she gasped in response. Gradually he increased the pressure until she began to pant and writhe on the bed.

As he replaced the steady pressure with slow sucking and firm swipes with his tongue, her h*ps rose to meet his caress. Her eagerness inspired him to use his tongue in ever more creative ways until she cried out and squirmed under him. Then she tensed, reaching for her reward.

When she came, fierce pride rushed through him. She was a woman who wasn’t used to asking for what she needed. But she’d asked him, and he’d been able to give it to her.

He held her as the spasms ran their course. Finally she lay limp in his arms and gulped in air. Her whisper was so faint he almost missed it.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Standing with some difficulty, considering his erection, he lifted her again and positioned her more fully on the bed. Then he took the edges of the quilt and wrapped them around her, creating a cocoon. By the time he left, her steady, shallow breathing told him that she was already asleep.

He closed her bedroom door and leaned against the door-jamb while he reviewed his options. He was, as Gloria’s client had said, stiff as a tailpipe. He had the kind of erection that wouldn’t subside any time soon unless he did something about it.

If he expected to get any sleep at all, he’d need to finish this session in the bathroom. Maybe that would be his salvation this weekend. With a sigh of resignation, he hobbled into the small room, turned on the light and closed the door.

Some time later, he came out, task accomplished. Although he felt obvious relief, it was mixed with dissatisfaction, as if this sexual reaction had required a specific remedy rather than a general one. Specific to Amanda, to be more exact, and that meant that only she could provide the sense of completion he craved. Under the circumstances, that could present a problem.

As he crossed to the couch, he noticed that a pillow and blanket had mysteriously appeared. He glanced at her bedroom door, which was closed. Apparently she’d come out while he was in the bathroom and left these for him. He wondered if she’d had any clue what he’d been doing behind the closed bathroom door. Maybe.

In any case, she wanted to keep the status quo. Could be that the drawbridge was already going up and would soon be bolted against any repeat of their recent activities. He’d thought he was prepared for that, but staring at the blanket and pillow, he discovered he wasn’t.

A part of him had hoped that in the morning she’d have rethought her position. What a romantic sap he was to imagine that. He’d provided a much needed service tonight, but that was the end of that.

As he changed into the pajamas he’d bought, pajamas that felt stiff, new, and ridiculous, he decided that the pajamas should help keep him in line. No guy could think about sex while wearing this scratchy stuff. Feeling like a martyr, he plumped the pillow, lay on the couch and pulled the blanket over him. Then he reached behind his head and turned off the table lamp.

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 or*l s*x 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 nak*d 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 or*l s*x? 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 cli**x 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 at 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."