Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,38

owned by the university and reserved for its graduate students, their partners and from time to time, their young families.

“It’s the last building on this side.” He gestured toward one of the townhouses at the end of the cul-de-sac and Leanne pulled into an open parking space near the front steps.

She turned off the engine, and the radio, which had been tuned to a late-night jazz program, fell silent. Leanne glanced down at her hands still resting on the steering wheel and picked an imaginary piece of lint from her coat. She tried to think of something—anything—to say but for once, her mind stayed mute. Brandon was looking at her, studying her profile, and Leanne had to resist the overwhelming urge to scratch her nose.

His scrutiny unsettled her. And little as she liked to admit it, she knew why.

Because this felt like the awkward front-door moment that always came after a first date.

Except for that brief interlude in the alcove at the restaurant, her father had been there to take the edge off of any simmering moments. But now, in the darkened car, nothing distracted from the attraction that continued to arc between them despite her sensible admonitions.

Even though she knew that they hadn’t been on a date, a small quiver of awareness deep in her belly made it impossible for her to dismiss the notion.

A first kiss could tell you so much about a person.

In retrospect, she should have known her relationship with Steven was doomed to fail. Their first kiss had been pleasant, she supposed, but lackluster and formulaic. He hadn’t committed any cardinal kissing sins—no garlic, no drool, no unauthorized grinding—but it was still leagues away from the out-of-control combustion she’d experienced the first time she and Brandon had kissed.

She barely remembered what making love to Steven felt like. Just vague impressions. Nothing specific. Nothing concrete. Nothing particularly memorable. Just like their entire relationship, really.

In contrast, she could remember every single second of her time with Brandon, as brief as it had been. The taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands as they’d moved over her body, the tang of his come, the musk of his cock as she’d sucked him. The whole night was indelibly inscribed into her flesh, like a perverse and erotic tattoo. Time and again, scenes of their encounter flashed across her mind in all their Technicolor glory and she’d been powerless to resist their allure.

Before she could sink any further into depravity, Brandon spoke and his words shattered her erotic musings.

Releasing his seatbelt, he said, “Thanks again for the ride, Leanne.”

He seemed to caress her name, drawing it out softly and she felt her knees quiver at the sound.

“Anytime.” She shrugged, hoping he couldn’t see her hands in the darkness, shaking as they held the wheel. “It wasn’t far out of my way.”

“Ah, well…” His voice trailed off and he looked at her as though he expected her to say something else in response. She didn’t, so he simply gathered up his satchel. “I’ll see you Saturday night.”

Meaning he hadn’t changed his mind.

Meaning he still wanted to come as her date.

Leanne gulped and tried to settle her nerves. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he said with a tone of finality. He tugged at the latch. The door didn’t open. He fiddled with the lock and pulled again but the latch still resisted his attempts.

“Damn, it’s stuck.”

Leanne flipped the switch on her own armrest, waiting for the soft click, but nothing happened. Unbuckling herself, she leaned across the narrow space, intending to try the door herself. Sometimes it got stuck. She’d been meaning to take it in and have the garage look at it but she’d been putting it off…

Brandon’s gasp made her instantly aware that she was practically sprawled across his lap, her face only inches from his groin, her right hand grasping his thigh. The gearshift dug into her hip and her knee was wedged against the steering wheel. She barely registered her discomfort, too intent on the sudden exhalation of warm breath against the back of her neck.

“Leanne.” He whispered her name. The brush of air against her skin, the sudden pressure of his chest against her breast told her all too clearly how close they really were. She bit her lip, trying to contain the wave of lust that threatened to swamp her common sense once again. This wasn’t casual flirting. This was far more serious.

She didn’t want this.

She didn’t want this at all.

Oh God, she wanted this so much.

His lips—those