Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,47

to open for several hours yet and the lot sat empty in the late afternoon sun. Without complaint, Brandon had shuffled his schedule so he could be free tonight but it meant they hadn’t seen each other since Wednesday night because he worked Thursday and Friday nights ’til close.

Yet the memory of being held in his arms, of his hands stroking her hair, as they’d talked late into the night refused to subside, and she’d found herself reliving their exchanges more often than she was willing to admit.

It had been difficult enough coming to terms with the idea of a wholly physical relationship. But Brandon’s understanding and penetration into her conflicted psyche hinted at the very real but unsettling possibility that he could offer more than just sexual satisfaction.

In the interim, with her bed feeling uncomfortably wide and lonely, she’d put in long hours, readying her thesis and preparing for her public interview next week. But while she was no closer to defining was happening…maybe…possibly…between them, she couldn’t deny she was eager to see him again.

She pushed open the heavy front doors. Inside the club, the overhead lights were on. It looked mundane, the stage a simple black dais, the infamous private booths quiet and unremarkable when viewed without the dazzle of bright lights and the throbbing accompaniment of the DJ’s music. A lone janitor vacuumed, rocking out to an invisible tune, no doubt courtesy of the small white ear buds visible through her hair.

“Excuse me?” Leanne shouted, trying to make herself heard above the whine of the machine. She waved her hand in a wide arc. “Excuse me? Do you know where the office is?”

The woman turned, attracted by the movement. Shutting off the vacuum, she looked at Leanne expectantly.

“The office?” Leanne mouthed broadly.

Jerking her thumb toward a narrow set of stairs set beside the bar, she returned to her work without another word, leaving Leanne to make her own way.

Reaching the top of the steep steps, she was struck anew by how nondescript it all seemed. It could be any office for any business, with its cluttered desktops, battered coffeemaker and outdated fax machine.

Of course, the three dozen or so signed eight-by-tens, each displaying a different scantily clad man, hinted that something might be a little different. Even then Leanne had to concede, for seminude glamour shots, they were displayed neatly and with a sense of flair.

Brandon sat at one of the desks, a pencil jammed haphazardly above his ear. His whole attention was absorbed in the spreadsheet on the monitor—a spreadsheet, which, if the tight clench of his shoulders were to be believed, was not cooperating.

Yet even stressed out, the stymied frustration evident in his body, Leanne couldn’t help but marvel once again at his overwhelming masculine beauty. Somehow, she’d expected that during the days they spent apart, she’d magnified his appeal, built him into something more alluring and attractive than reality warranted.

Seeing him now, in a worn t-shirt and jeans, his short hair spiked by frustrated hands, he was incredible. Two days away and she felt as though she’d forgotten details: his firm, sensual lips, full and tantalizing. The corded muscles of his neck. The strong, capable hands typing quickly against the keyboard. She remembered the feel of his fingers as they slid inside her, stroking, stretching, filling her. Even now, the mere memory had her clenching her thighs.

“No, no!” Brandon repeatedly jabbed the delete key, bringing a smile to Leanne’s face. Some of her physical longing dissipated beneath an unexpected wave of affection. “Tell me again why you won’t calculate the payroll taxes, you hunk of junk.”

His tone was so at odds with his usual unruffled calm that Leanne couldn’t contain a bubble of laughter from escaping.

At the sound, Brandon whirled round. His eyes lit with masculine appreciation as he took in Leanne’s outfit and he whistled softly.

“You look…” He shook his head in wordless admiration as he rose from his chair, closing the gap between them and taking her hands in his.

“You look fantastic.” He kissed her lightly, surveying her from the top of her elegant updo to the tips of her very high, very sexy shoes. He took a second look when he spied her delicate fishnet stockings and his smile widened.

“If my profs had looked like you, I never would have missed a class,” he said. This time, the kiss he pressed against her mouth was hotter and more lingering, its intent clearly seduction. “Although I definitely would have had trouble concentrating,