Learning Curves

Chapter Ten





Professor Armstrong’s office was cluttered with nearly forty years of research. Books lined the shelves from floor to ceiling: textbooks, paperbacks and antique leather-bound tomes. A framed poster from an international conference held in Dusseldorf in 1975 hung on the wall. A computer sat on the battered desk while on the windowsill, a neglected spider plant struggled to live.

It was, give or take the placement of the desk and the state of the plant, identical to every university office Leanne had ever sat in and it represented everything to which she aspired. Now, sipping the coffee her advisor had produced from his ancient coffeemaker, they neared the end of their biweekly review of Leanne’s latest chapter.

She’d been working on her thesis for more than two years now. In that time she’d spent countless hours reading, writing draft after draft, revising the three hundred page paper until, at times, she felt like Jack Nicholson’s character in The Shining, manically typing nonsense words over and over, until they had no meaning at all. But now, as she leaned back in the office chair and took another sip of coffee, she felt a surprising sense of satisfaction. All work and no play did make Leanne a dull girl. She finally found time to play and she’d never felt better.

Everything in her life was on track.

Armstrong’s concerns weren’t as serious as he’d made out. He wanted her to rework one of her arguments in the second-to-last chapter, and marked up the draft with his usual grammatical fervor, hunting down every misplaced semicolon with religious fanaticism. But today, not even his liberal application of red ink could dampen her mood.

Her body was loose and relaxed, well and truly sated after an incredible night at Brandon’s. They’d talked into the wee hours, alternating their late-night confessions with more mind-blowing sex. On her hands and knees. Straddling him. Bent across the bed, licking and sucking until they’d both been so exhausted, they’d fallen into a deep, mindless sleep, waking only when Brandon’s alarm went off at eight o’clock. She’d been running late but that didn’t stop them from enjoying a shower-time quickie. Standing up, her legs wrapped around his pounding hips, a sudsy, slick romp that had sent her hurling through the stratosphere once more.

What that man can do with a shower wand, she thought with a silent giggle, should be illegal. Heck, it probably was in a couple of states, but given her explosive orgasm, she wouldn’t be turning him in to authorities anytime soon.

By all rights, she should be exhausted. But she wasn’t.

She felt…happy. Energized and enthusiastic, ready to take on the world.

She wanted to do a little dance where she sat. Happy was a strange sensation for her. Challenged or content, sure. But grins-and-cartwheels happy? Since dancing was out of the question, she settled for another sip of her fragrant dark roast instead.

“Everything all right, Leanne?” The startled expression on her advisor’s face brought her back to her surroundings with an abrupt jolt. He handed back her corrected chapter. “You seem a little…distracted this morning.”

She blushed. What was wrong with her? Sure, a blistering night of sex was great. She and Brandon complemented each other in many unexpected ways, but she needed to keep her feet firmly on the ground and not let their fling thrust her off course. Not when she was so close.

Armstrong pushed back his chair. “I’m sure it’s nerves, eh? Never fear, Tuesday will come and I have every confidence that you’ll acquit yourself admirably in front of the Walters committee.”

The committee. Her stomach rolled and the feeling of euphoria dissipated.

Unlike many other lucrative postgraduate prizes, the Walters conducted the final interviews publicly. The first rounds had been based solely on the applicants’ written responses and academic accomplishments: articles published, awards earned, letters of reference from distinguished faculty. But the finals were different. The selection committee visited each of the five short-listed candidates’ universities personally. They would quiz Leanne on her research plans, judging her breadth of knowledge and her skills as a speaker and a thinker. She would be required to answer questions from the gallery too. Unscripted questions about her work and her thesis, designed to draw out her position and articulate her ideas. It was going to be the most public of trials but Leanne felt confident in her abilities.

She knew the other candidates, by reputation if not in person—they would mount a formidable challenge. They wouldn’t have made the list otherwise. But she’d been preparing for this moment almost as long as she knew what a doctorate was. She was ready.

She couldn’t sing to save her life.

She couldn’t dance without causing bodily harm.

But when it came to her research, Leanne wouldn’t step aside for anyone. She was the best. All she had to do was prove it in five days’ time.

“I’m ready,” she said with confidence. “I’ve been practicing my responses. My thesis is strong and it breaks new ground in the field of eighteenth century literary studies. I’m ready.”

He nodded, his craggy face breaking into a lopsided smile. “Excellent. And given what I’ve learned about you, I also know there’s no risk of academic skeletons either. It’s one of the reasons I was so happy to support your application when you brought it to me last spring. You’re just the type of person the university wants to put forward for a prize like this.”

“Skeletons?” she joked. “I’m an English major, Dr. Armstrong, not a biology student.”

She felt a surge of nervousness when Armstrong didn’t laugh in response. “Plagiarism. Academic dishonesty, unfinished degrees or personality conflicts,” he hinted, his voice dropping seriously. “Personal challenges like drugs or alcohol. That’s what the committee is most afraid of. Scandals.”

“Well, there’s nothing like that in my past, I can assure you.”

Then a thought occurred to her. What about Brandon?

Surely, in this day and age, sleeping with someone wouldn’t be grounds for being looked over by the committee. But their unorthodox hookup…Would that count against her if it ever came to light? She doubted the Walters people would look kindly on someone who frequented a club like the Foxe’s Den, first-time visitor or not.

She shook herself. Oh, for heaven’s sake. Talk about borrowing trouble. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no scandal, not in her past and definitely not in her present. She was single. Brandon was single. He wasn’t her student—they didn’t even work in the same department. There was nothing about their relationship that the committee could object to.

Right?

No. And besides, the interview committee would never know if she indulged in a fling. They were interested in her mind, not her sex life. She breathed a sigh of relief and concentrated once more on deciphering Armstrong’s revisions.



The gravel crunched beneath Leanne’s tires as she pulled to a stop in the parking lot. The club wasn’t due 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, I’m afraid.” He ran his hands down, over her hips, skirting her short hemline before clasping them against the small of her back.

She laughed and looked down at her scarlet cocktail dress. “This is a little more upscale than my usual look but Mom would skin me alive if I didn’t dress up.” She paused then added, with a twinge of unexpected bitterness, “Mom’s big on appearances.”

A small frown pulled at his lips and he squeezed her reassuringly. “Well, in my opinion, you look sexy as hell. All I’m going to be able to think about during this dinner is just how high those kick-ass stockings of yours really go.” His hands made the foray down again, and this time they didn’t stop at her hem. “Wanna give me a hint?”

He felt solid, his body pressed against hers. Being held in his arms, Leanne felt safe and cherished and beautiful. Brandon still wore a look of bright humor but his eyes were no longer lit solely by desire. They had softened with compassion and understanding. His worn cotton shirt smelled fresh, and she allowed herself the luxury of tucking her head against his shoulder and soaking in the sense of calm certainty he seemed to exude. It was hard not to succumb to the feeling of rightness that invaded her when he teased like this, laughed like this, held her like this.

Was a real relationship really so impossible?

He’d called her sexy.

Again.

Once, she could excuse as the heat of the moment but twice?

Twice was something else entirely.

She’d tried to resist his charm. She’d spent days and days reiterating her career goals and all the reasons they couldn’t be together, but here, in his arms, all her arguments seemed like paltry straw men. He squeezed her tightly, and their bodies meshed from knees to shoulders but there was nothing seductive about his embrace now. He seemed content to simply be close, dropping a tender kiss in her hair.

The reassuring gesture made her eyes sting. Leanne could finally admit that there was more to this relationship than just sex, however hard she’d fought against it. That maybe, if they both gave it a chance, this could grow into something permanent. But there was one unavoidable reality. If she won the Walters Prize, she’d be moving on, and Brandon was staying at Wellington to finish his degree. No matter how much she liked him, she couldn’t set her goals aside for the mere possibility of something more. Like a sexually explicit term paper, their relationship had a deadline. And that deadline made her heart ache.

She straightened and pulled out of his arms. He let her go readily enough but his face looked momentarily bemused. Eager to change the mood, she quickly redirected the conversation toward the upcoming dinner.

“I really appreciate you pinch-hitting for me like this. It’s definitely above and beyond the call of duty. Aunt Barbara and Uncle Paul are fine, but Gillian’s a real pill.”

Grinning at her sour expression, Brandon laughed. “Pinch-hitting doesn’t really do it for me, I’m afraid. Spanking, though. I’m definitely willing to experiment with that.” His eyes twinkled with a naughty light and Leanne bit down hard on her lower lip to restrain the heated acquiescence that wanted to hurtle out.

Two days apart might have been two hundred from the way her body thrummed and throbbed in lustful anticipation. Here she was, ready once again to forget all sense of modesty and jump his bones. She wanted to run her fingers over his fly, tear open the zipper and release his cock into her eager hands.

She wanted him. Period.

The sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. And the appearance, moments later, of two dancers made her doubly grateful that she’d had the sense to pull back before things got out of hand.

The men stopped at the top of the stairs, the surprise on their faces evident. She recognized one of them from her first visit to the club. T’Shaun, maybe? But the other one was a stranger—until the moment he spoke, greeting Brandon in a friendly tone.

“Hey, man. Any chance our paychecks are ready to go?”

Leanne drew back, a wash of mortified color flooding her face. She knew that deep baritone voice. He was one of the performers who’d walked into the dressing room Saturday night.

Oh my god. The one who’d made the crack about Brandon getting in her? She couldn’t meet their eyes, the angry blush creeping up her neck blaring her discomfort like a siren.

She tried to increase the distance between them, to convey a sense of friendly casualness, but Brandon’s arm wrapped round her waist.

“They are. June’s just bringing them up now.” He paused and then turned toward her. “Leanne, I’d like you to meet T’Shaun and Lucas. They dance here at the club.”

She inclined her head, acknowledging Brandon’s introductions.

“Nice to meet you.” Again.

But technically, they’d never met. They certainly hadn’t been formally introduced last week, despite the fact that they knew as much about what she looked like naked, fleshy thighs and all, as her gynecologist did?

She turned her head and caught the unmistakable frown Brandon was directing toward the two men. She wasn’t sure what message he was trying to convey, but it was clear the pair understood.

T’Shaun stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, a genuinely pleased grin on his face. He shook her hand with a firm grip. Lucas was a little more reticent but after a loaded pause, he chimed in too.

“And…uh…about the other night?” He shuffled awkwardly and Leanne was suddenly struck by how young he was. “Brandon explained. We know now you’re not a club bunny and are sorry if we embarrassed you.”

Brandon explained what?

“Uh…thank you.” I think.

Brandon leaned over and dropped an affectionate kiss on her hair. It was the first time he’d ever touched that way in public before and the reason for his gesture struck her with blinding force.

After her furious accusations outside the faculty club, he knew how she felt about having their unorthodox meeting made so humiliatingly public. So he’d concocted this fiction for his coworkers’ benefit, treating her like a girlfriend. T’Shaun and Lucas would think they interrupted a couple who couldn’t get enough of each other, not two strangers having a one-night stand. Being discovered in a compromising position was still embarrassing but not fatal to her reputation this way. Her heart warmed at this newest proof of Brandon’s thoughtfulness. He might claim to have time for a relationship but even now, he went out of his way to protect her.

Brandon glanced at his watch. “I’m guessing your folks won’t be pleased if we show up late. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to head out.”

“S-sure, sweetie. You go right ahead.”

His eyes met hers, and the corner of his mouth tilted up at her unexpected endearment. He released her waist and walked across the room. A garment bag in hand, he disappeared down a narrow hallway, leaving Leanne alone with the two men still lingering the office space.

But before any of them could speak, the awkward trio was interrupted by a woman coming up the stairs. She was in her late sixties, Leanne guessed, but her hair was dyed an age-defying shade of blonde and her bright clothes ensured she’d never blend into a crowd.

“Hey, Miss Foxe,” the dancers greeted her. She nodded, never taking her eyes off Leanne as she moved around the office and sank into a leather chair.

Leanne smiled, hoping her nerves were well concealed

With a flick of her acrylic nails, the club’s owner sifted through a stack of pay envelopes next to the printer and held them out to her employees. They took them and quickly disappeared back downstairs.

“So, you’re the new girl in Brandon’s life?” she asked, her voice smoky with the evidence of cigarettes past and present.

“Umm…yes.” June Foxe’s narrowed eyes revealed the uncertain answer had done little to allay her suspicions. Squaring her shoulders, Leanne expanded her statement, “Yes. Brandon and I are dating.”

Sort of.

“Are you at Wellington too?”

“Yes, I’m a doctoral candidate. In the English Department.”

“A doctoral candidate. In the English Department,” June mimicked. “That sounds like an important job.” She pursed her lips and began to hunt around the paperwork surrounding her computer. Finding a half-opened pack of cigarettes, she slid one free and set it between her lips.

“So tell me, as a doctoral candidate, what do you think about Brandon working for me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a simple question. What do you think about his dancing at the club?”

“I—I think he is a very good dancer.”

“He’s one of the best dancers that’s ever walked across my stage. And when he’s backstage, he does a damn fine job there too. Has since the first day I hired him.” She paused thoughtfully before continuing, “But what I want to know is what a girl like you is doing with someone like Brandon. Are you proud of what he does when he’s not at the university?”

Leanne’s head spun. For once, she’d been content to live in the here and now. Yet this stranger’s unflinching questions drew forth all her secret worries.

“I hardly see how that is your business.” She evaded her adversary’s forceful gaze.

June rose from her chair, coming to a stop in front of her. Her pale eyes narrowed, the heavy eyeliner making them appear dark and menacing. Leanne put a few paces between them while she could.

“It’s my business when the man in question has had more hurt in his life than anyone should have to bear. I don’t know what game you’re playing but I’d hate to see him get hurt by someone who’s more concerned with appearances than substance. So ask yourself just what you want from this ‘relationship’ before Brandon falls for you any further,” she barked. “And while you’re at it, ask yourself what you plan on giving him too.”

Leanne gasped, her mind whirling at the woman’s charges. Brandon, falling for her? She had to be mistaken.

Before she could formulate a response to the club owner’s unexpected attack, Brandon emerged from the bathroom. The questions burning through her brain remained unspoken.

In a sweater and faded jeans, he was gorgeous. In a dark suit, his hair carefully styled and his tan set off by a striking maroon shirt and tie, he was truly the most stunning man Leanne had ever laid eyes on. The tailored jacket hung from his broad shoulders beautifully, emphasizing his lean, graceful body.

He grinned at the two waiting women and gestured at the suit. “Now you know what I look like at conferences and weddings.”

“You look good,” Leanne said with careful understatement, acutely conscious of the club owner’s attention as she walked over to Brandon and took his hand. His eyebrows raised at the gesture but he didn’t say anything, looking between the two women as if trying to unravel the cause of the tension between them.

“Everything set for tonight, June?” he asked. “I’ve been working on the tax remittances for this month. Something’s still not right with the numbers, though, so you might want to have a look.”

She nodded. “I’ll do that.” The silence that fell was thick and awkward “Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, Leanne and I should head out now.”

June drew on her cigarette and shook her head, blowing out the smoke in a long, thin stream. “You do that. And try to have fun at this country club,” she offered. “Sounds like a pretty swanky place.” It wasn’t a compliment.

The older woman shot her another sour look but didn’t say anything further. Leanne was ridiculously grateful when she reached the bottom of the steep flight of stairs and could no longer feel June’s eyes boring into her back.