Learning Curves

Chapter Eight





Pushing back from the table with a satisfied groan, Leanne poured herself another cup of steaming green tea and smiled. She couldn’t eat another bite of the fragrant curry and sweet jasmine rice. Far from being the disaster she’d feared, dinner with her dad and Brandon had been…

She sipped her tea, searching for the right word.

Fun.

She rolled the word silently on her tongue. It felt a little foreign but correct.

Hard as it was to believe, the evening that started out as an obligation had become enjoyable. For one thing, Brandon and her father made instant friends. Just like he’d fit in so naturally at the potluck last night. The moment they’d climbed into her car, the conversation flowed. From politics to sports to engineering and current affairs, the topics they’d touched on ranged wide and far.

Leanne couldn’t help but compare their natural connection to the stilted and awkward one that had existed between Steven and her dad. She didn’t blame her father; he’d made every effort to include her former boyfriend in family happenings. Steven simply hadn’t fit in.

Looking across the table at the two men relaxing after the meal, she admired how easily the two had hit it off.

She wasn’t embarrassed in Brandon’s presence anymore. Now that she knew him better she felt confident he wouldn’t reveal their reckless fling to her colleagues. Besides that practical relief though, she was forced to admit she was well on the road to liking him too. What wasn’t there to like? He was funny, hard-working, self-deprecating and a great dancer to boot.

Oh, and drop dead gorgeous.

No way could she overlook that last inescapable fact.

She would forget momentarily, distracted by his wit or his clever mind, but then he would catch her eye and wink. His long legs would brush against hers, or their fingers would touch reaching for a spring roll and the heated awareness washed over her once again. After an evening in his company, she was a wreck. Trying to act as if she wasn’t more aroused and more aware of him than any man she’d ever known was an unrelenting assignment.

But now, as the night wound to a close, she let go of her worries and her doubts. The restaurant was nearly empty, just a couple of scattered tables besides theirs still occupied. A few more minutes and she’d be free of Brandon and his unsettling presence once and for all.

Of course, chances were they’d bump into each other on campus from time to time. It was a small university, after all. But she no longer dreaded that possibility. Any meeting between them now would be pleasant but brief. One night, no matter how explosive, did not a friendship make and she was proud to have accepted her lapse as an event that did not signal the end of her world. They were both busy people, with full schedules of teaching, research and upcoming defenses, plus, in Brandon’s case, work and rehearsals. The connection between them would wither in its natural course, time and distractions working their magic.

As if sensing a lull, their waiter hurried to the table. He set dessert menus in front of them one by one and paused expectantly.

Looking over the menu, her dad laughed. “I didn’t think there was room for anything else, but I see you’ve got baked coconut pudding. You may have to roll me out, but I’ll have that, please.”

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said, turning to Brandon next.

“I’ll have your sticky rice with mangoes. And a cup of coffee. No sugar. One cream.”

“And for you, miss?”

She hesitated and Brandon’s mouth quirked. “Come on, Leanne,” he said in a singsong voice. “You know you want to.”

“Fine,” she huffed playfully, snapping the menu shut. “Honey melon sorbet for me.” She stood, dropped her napkin onto her chair and collected her purse. “Excuse me, I’ll be back in a sec.”

She hurried toward the washrooms, threading through the linen covered tables to the front of the restaurant. A burst of male laughter made her turn. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Brandon once again deep in conversation with her father, comfortable after one night in a way that Steven had never been after nearly two years.

She shivered and slipped into the small stall. As she washed her hands, she thought about the similarities between Brandon and herself that seemed designed to deepen the connection between them. It wasn’t just his sense of humor and stunning good looks. Nor was it simply their incendiary attraction. He’d charmed her friends and fit in easily with her close-knit social circle. And he shared many of her dad’s interests. All of these things would have been great attributes if Brandon was someone she could ever consider in a long-term light but now they were lodestones around her neck, weighing her down with regret and bitterness.

What was it with fate, teasing her, taunting her like this? Steven should have been perfect for her but he wasn’t. Brandon should have been all wrong for her but he wasn’t. She liked too many things about this guy to dismiss him as nothing but an accidental lover.

Yet no matter how many positives she tallied, they couldn’t outweigh one inescapable truth.

They had no future. What they wanted out of life was too different to ever give them a true foundation. In a few months time, she’d finish her PhD and, if everything went according to plan, set off on the next stage of her career as the recipient of the Walters Prize. Brandon was still at least a year or more away from finishing his dissertation. It wasn’t rational to expect their unconventional friendship to survive the distance and separation so it was best to limit their time from the start.

She snapped off the taps and dried her hands. Back in the dining room, Brandon stood at the front counter with the hostess. He seemed startled to see her, turning away as she hurried across the restaurant.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “I was just settling the bill.”

“You can’t do that,” Leanne protested. “You gave us the tickets. Besides, this was supposed to be my treat.” She scrabbled in her purse and drew out her wallet, setting it on the hostess counter. Brandon frowned and drew out a billfold. They stood side by side, glaring at each other like dueling cowboys.

“I’d like the bill, please,” they said simultaneously, and the hostess, a diminutive woman in Asian dress, laughed.

“The gentleman you are dining with?” the hostess said in a lilting voice. “When he arrived, he left a message at the desk for you both.”

“He did?” Leanne threw a startled glance at Brandon. “What did it say?”

“He said to put your wallets away because this meal is his treat and neither of you are paying for it.”

Leanne shook her head in defeat. “Leave it, Brandon. There’s no way Dad’s letting you pay for your own meal. He still tries to slip me money for rent and groceries every time he comes over. It’s just his way of showing he cares.”

He sighed and pocketed his money reluctantly. Turning away from the counter, she started back toward their table. Brandon reached out, halting her progress. He took her elbow and guided her into a small alcove. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

“Your dad mentioned some big dinner at the country club this weekend.”

Leanne rolled her eyes, surprised that her father had mentioned the obligation at all. Her mom was the one who usually planned their outings. “Oh yeah. Highlight of my social calendar. Gillian’s rehearsal dinner.”

“Gillian as in business-card Gillian?” His voice dropped to an intimate level, his body still. Leanne was impressed he’d remembered the name on the business card—he’d only glanced at it before setting it aside. And they’d been so distracted by other things afterward, she’d barely been able to remember her own name. Just thinking about those other things made it difficult to focus on this conversation. He stood close to her, the restaurant tables shielded from their direct line of sight by an elaborate arrangement of exotic silk plants.

“Gillian Saunders is a…family friend. She’s getting married a week from Saturday.”

She watched his throat, smooth and defined as he spoke.

“I see.”

“And I’ve been invited because my mom is one of her mother’s oldest friends. Lucky, lucky me.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Hell, no! Gillian only invited me so she could gloat and preen.” Her lips twisted. “I anticipate two hours of intrusive questions and an hour of overpriced, undercooked entrées followed by another hour of unsolicited advice. Does that like fun to you?”

“So ask me to come with you.”

Leanne’s mouth dropped. That was the last thing she expected him to propose. Marshaling a rebuttal was difficult. It was hard to think clearly when he was so close. “You can’t be serious. It’ll be boring. Horribly stuffy and pretentious.”

“What makes you think I don’t like stuffy and pretentious country club dinners?” he teased, his breath brushing her temple although his lips never touched her heated skin. “I’m hurt you don’t think I know the difference between my dinner fork and my dessert fork.” His strong fingers threaded through hers and he drew her even closer.

Her head lolled back and it took all her willpower not to kiss him, knowing her father was on the other side of the room and the hostess only steps away. Anyone could come upon them, and the possibility of discovery added an element of excitement.

“You don’t want to come,” she said again, but this time her voice was low and breathless.

“Ask me anyway.” His eyes never left her face. His free hand came up to his mouth and he popped a mint between his well-shaped lips. He must have filched it from the hostess station.

“Ask me, Leanne.”

She could smell the minty freshness of his breath.

“Fine.” She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to regain control of her riotous body. “Would you like to come with me to Gillian’s dinner on Saturday?”

“As your date?”

Her eyes flew open.

“I’m sorry?”

He pressed again. “As your date?”

Leanne gulped. She couldn’t marshal her arguments coherently when his lean, beautiful body was only inches from her own. Talk was the last thing on earth she wanted to do right now.

“As my date,” she conceded, even as she berated herself for not reiterating her commitment to keeping things casual. He smiled, his even white teeth glinting in the muted lights of the restaurant. He brushed a light kiss against her lips and her breath caught at the fleeting contact. But instead of deepening the kiss, he backed away almost immediately and released her hand.

“Excellent,” he said, seemingly unaffected by the kiss. “We should get back to the table. I think the waiter’s bringing out our desserts now.”

Her mind spinning, Leanne could only nod. She followed Brandon’s progress as he led the way back to their table. The desserts were indeed waiting for them and Brandon and her father dug in with unabashed eagerness. Still lost in thought, she took a bite of her own treat, the citrus sorbet melting on her tongue, and pondered the riddle that was Brandon Myles.



“Then turn left at the stop sign.”

The rain had finally stopped but the roads were still slick, littered with leaves brought down by the latest deluge. With a flick of her wrist, she signaled the turn.

After dropping her father back at his car, Leanne had offered to drive Brandon home. He lived in the student residences, a motley collection of low-rise apartments and narrow townhouses 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 lips whose texture and taste she’d tried so unsuccessfully to forget—pressed against the vulnerable curve of her neck. Softly. So softly. She quivered, and his hand brushed against her hair as if to calm her. To quiet her. It simply stoked the fire.

He trailed kisses along her hairline, his fingers massaging her scalp in circles, the pressure a counterpoint to the gentle touch of his lips. She arched her neck, giving him access to the vulnerable pulse point at the base of her throat. He sucked it, drawing it into his mouth, a loud, openmouthed kiss ratcheted her desire even higher.

Her hand was still spread across his thigh, the cotton twill abrading her fingertips. She stretched her hand wide and her pinkie finger brushed against the rock-hard bulge at his groin. He moaned and sucked her earlobe, tracing its shape with his tongue. Her p-ssy clenched in time to his seduction and she arched into his caress, twisting in the seat until she was on her hands and knees and his mouth had unfettered access to her throat, her jaw, her face.

His hand snaked between her legs, splaying them wide, and he cupped his left hand over her mound, rubbing and teasing through the fabric. She whimpered, desperate for the feel of his fingers inside her, but he wouldn’t cooperate. She rolled her hips, pleading with her body, but he wouldn’t obey. He simply continued to cup her, the palm of his hand massaging and inciting but not satisfying.

She dug her nails deep into his flesh and he gasped.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked as he smoothed and caressed her ass, the weight of his hand both promise and reward. “Because I don’t think I can wait until Saturday to see you again.”

She wanted to be pleasured. She wanted to be f*cked. She wanted to ride him and watch his face while he split in two, thrusting and panting and hurling her name into the darkness. She wanted to wrap her legs around his face and let him eat her like he had when she spread her legs wide for him on the green room sofa.

They’d been dancing around each other, around their mutual desire, since the moment they met. Tonight at the restaurant had been no exception. She didn’t know what it was about him but he made her wanton and unencumbered. And it felt good.

No, better than good.

It felt great.

She dragged herself onto her haunches and straddled his thighs. She caught her leg on the gearshift and he caught his hand in the seatbelt. It was awkward and ridiculous and glorious. She laughed and reveled in her power, rubbing against his straining flesh, the bite of his zipper against an indescribable counterpoint to the pleasure.

Openmouthed, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. He traced her lips with his, his hands clenched deep in her hair, his cock thrusting against her open thighs rhythmically.

“We need—”

She kissed him again, swallowing his words. She ran her hands along his chest and began working the zipper of his jacket down. Groaning, he tore his mouth free and tried to restrain her hands.

“We need to go…”

“Faster.”

He laughed weakly, then swore as her teeth closed against the smooth column of his neck. She bit down playfully and she could feel his cock surge beneath her, growing harder, larger.

“We need to go inside.”

Leanne raised her head. Her hands rested on his chest, and the fierce counterpoint of his heart beating through his clothes.

“Inside?”

“Because I haven’t done it in a car since I was sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never done it in a car.” His eyes widened at her confession.

What was he thinking? This close, she could see the individual flecks of blue in his eyes and she watched as they closed tightly, Brandon muttering furiously under his breath. Was he horrified by her revelation? Rethinking his offer? She had to head him off at the pass and let him know she was more than ready for another night of string-free sex. She didn’t want his pity—her past was her past and she wasn’t making any apologies for it. She just needed to ensure her future took a different path from here on in.

“Wanna help me change that?”

He opened his eyes and she was captured once more by their crystal-blue color.

“It’ll be better inside. Bigger. More room.”

She rubbed her hand along the thick ridge of his erection. “This feels big enough for me.” She slid her hand down across his fly before drawing it back up with teasing slowness.

“Lee-annne,” he pleaded, his eyes desperate, his body tense. “Come inside with me. Now.”

“For coffee?” she teased, stroking his cock with undeniable intent.

He groaned. “So I can f*ck you again the way I’ve been dreaming of since the night we met.”

She smiled victoriously, elated by his precarious state, and ignored the voice asking her if she was really sure about all this. Hell yes, I’m sure! For once in her life, she wasn’t going to let the moment escape her because she overanalyzed it.

She nodded and he gave the latch a tremendous wrench. The door opened and she clambered out. He followed, his erection making his movements stiff and awkward. But she was touched again by his thoughtfulness when he reached back inside the car for her purse. His hand closed around hers and he dragged her up the stairs toward his place, his eagerness only fueling her own excitement.

He unlocked the door with unsteady hands, and Leanne staggered under the impact of her desire. She wanted this. Right now. She was going to take the passion on offer with both hands and hold on as long as she could.