Talk Dirty To Me (10 page)

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Authors: Ginny Glass,Inez Kelley

BOOK: Talk Dirty To Me
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Jarod still made it back before Ankar Salih’s little red sports car sped into its designated spot. Dr. Salih grimaced when he saw Jarod waiting, but Jarod was ready for him.
“Look, I’m not a love-struck frat boy so don’t treat me like one. I made a mistake. You can’t tell me that in thirty-one years, you’ve never been in the doghouse.”
Salih stared for a beat, then snorted. “A time or two.”
“I know it’s none of your business, but I’m asking for your help.”



WEDNESDAY 4:41 p.m.


Extension denied—Scrambling to recover.
Will check with a Women’s Studies group in Concord,
they may be willing to be interviewed.
Revenge idea: send Jarod a litter of kittens.



Nora caved and retrieved Jarod’s e-mails from her trash file. She blamed it on her skyrocketing blood sugar from the mostly frozen diet she’d existed on since Monday. The first e-mail nearly made her laugh in brittle irony.
He thought she was angry because he’d touched her breast? After all the dirty things they’d talked about, the whimpering orgasms he’d coaxed her to with only his voice, he thought a little boob feel had ticked her off? How obtuse could one man get?
A chink was gouged out of her indignation as she read. There was a lyrical hint of chivalry in his words. This was the Jarod she missed—the debonair gentleman with the old-world manners. Swallowing the rush of tenderness that brought a blur to her eyes, she clicked the next message—the one with “
Please, Nora
” as a subject. 

Nora, I can’t blame you for ignoring me. I had hoped we were beginning something that might grow, and I am so sorry I messed that up. My behavior was brash and forward, too much for so new a relationship. It’s impossible for you to be any angrier at me than I am at myself.
I miss our time together and pray you’ll give me another chance. I can’t make it right but I can try to make it up to you. Please answer this or call me. Even if it’s just to tell me to go to hell, let me talk to you. If not, in the words of Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac, “…you will leave me with nothing—neither the laurel nor the rose.”
Hopeful,
Jarod


She slammed the netbook onto the cushion. Hopeful? Well, he wasted his breath there. No way in hell was she going to respond to those, those…
Incredibly sweet notes of apology and concern.
Beside her on the futon her phone rang but she didn’t even bother to check the number. Dr. Salih had left a string of terse voicemails she was ignoring quite well. She had stopped jumping each time the phone shrilled after these long days of silence. She didn’t care. She
liked
the quiet. Sequestered in her apartment, surrounded by the detritus of much moping—empty ice cream pints, Fresca cans and a stack of chick-flick DVDs, Nora was dangerously close to permanent hermitdom. Maybe nutty Aunt Margie needed a roommate.
Nora glared at her computer. There was a desperation in Jarod’s e-mails that tore at her. She wanted to go to him, but it wouldn’t be logical. Her eyes trailed to the stack of movies. Cosmic misunderstandings always led to the perfect kiss just before the end credits. Too bad real life wasn’t like that. Woman scorned, in the thinking woman’s brain, always equaled no second chances. So why did she want to run back to Jarod and slap him silly, just before she kissed him senseless?
Her doorbell rang and the chime startled her. She scrambled, her heart racing. Jarod couldn’t have found out where she lived, could he? There was no way she could face him. No way she could look into those hypnotic green eyes and cling tight to her fury. No way she could watch that incredible, delicious mouth spill out some weak apology and not crave to lick the words from his lips.
When she jerked the lock and then the knob, the door opened not to Jarod’s sheepish face but the sour expression of Professor Salih. Nora froze. Her frayed flannel pj bottoms and worn tank top weren’t exactly proper conversation-with-the-boss clothes.
“P-professor.”
Salih looked at her down the bridge of his nose. The man never seemed to smile. “Ms. MacGregor. I apologize for my unannounced visit, but you haven’t returned my phone calls.”
Nora crossed her arms. “I’m sorry. I needed to take a few days for personal reasons. I promise I’ll catch up on work as soon as—”
“Yes, it’s your personal problems I’m most concerned with.”
“Profes—”
“Your biggest personal problem has been haunting the faculty parking lot like a whipped dog for days.” Nora’s reply was lost in shocked silence. A slow weakness stole into her. Salih’s eyes softened. “I feel like a fool for humoring the man, but he does grow on a person.”
“Like mold?” Nora forced ice into her tone.
Salih untucked something from inside his coat. “Certain molds have great use, become medicines that save lives. Anyway, I agreed to play go-between this once. I’m to leave you with this and tell you ‘All my laurels you have riven away, and my roses.’”
The ice cracked and a sigh escaped on an uneven breath. “Cyrano.” Nora held out trembling fingers to touch the perfect white rose tipped in scarlet that Salih held.
“I suggest you resolve this situation with Dr. Reed and get yourself back to my lab as soon as possible.”
Nora nodded dumbly. She raised the flower to her nose, breathing deep. The slender stem was wet and cool, tiny notches marking the green stalk. No thorns. No risk of accidentally drawing blood, of inflicting pain. She blinked away hot tears to see Salih’s back striding toward his car. She closed the door with a soft click.
Jarod’s e-mail shone from the computer screen and she sank into the couch, rereading his words with the fragrant bloom held to her nose. Something niggled at her brain and she did an Internet search for “de Bergerac” for the quote about the rose. She found the line in Act Five but a few lines away, something else caught her eye.
“How obvious it is now—the gift you gave him. All those letters, they were you…All those beautiful powerful words, they were you! The voice from the shadows, that was you…”
Realization parted her lips, and the flower fell to her lap.
“I don’t think you’re broken.”
“You have all the control here. Hang up and I’m a memory.”
“I’m the ultimate safe lover. I can’t touch you except with my voice.”
“Do you want me to hang up, Nora? I will. I don’t want to make you feel anything but good.”
Jarod had given her a choice. A choice she’d made based on her hormones rather than her common sense. Yes, he’d lied technically, by omission, but he wasn’t solely at fault. Jarod had prodded her to think beyond the biology and into the intangible of passion. Jarod might have more polish when not in James-mode but his intelligence hadn’t dimmed, his word choices hadn’t varied, his style remained the same. Jarod called her “sweetheart,” touched her, held her in broad daylight. Jarod kissed her with raw need.
Her anger fled as her more scientific mind kicked into gear. Why would an educated man take such a daring risk when she’d openly shown she was willing to go out with him? There was that whole pepper-spray thing and she had been less than trusting at first. Had that weighed into his decision? Why hadn’t he simply told her when they had dinner? Sure, she might have reacted in anger first. That was human nature.
“Most of the Romantic Era classics aren’t just stories. They’re studies of human nature.”
“You can’t explain away passion like that with DNA sequences, sweetheart.”
“Passion and love aren’t an equation. They simply are.”
“Lust is temporary, easily satisfied and forgotten. Passion consumes you.”
Nora buried her face in her hands with an ironic wail. Jarod had become the anti-hero of her dissertation. He said her theories were flawed and damned if he wasn’t right. Sex was sex, a strictly biological function of reproduction unless you added the mysterious, invisible element of passion. Of love.
Did she love Jarod? No. Not yet, anyway. But the seeds were there if she could let them grow. She picked up the rose, twirling it between her fingers. Jarod was like the creamy petals and James was the fiery edges. Together, they were perfect.
Jarod was James and both men struck a fundamental chord in her. He’d seen it even when she couldn’t, coaxed her to respond and to enjoy. On some level, maybe she had known they were the same man. Maybe her subconscious was smarter than she knew.
She slid the rose under her nose, the deeply vibrant scent warming her blood. She lifted the computer off the couch and fingered her lip. Her subconscious was also a little wicked. She took a minute to consider backing down. Nope, Jarod deserved to suffer from a little bit of subterfuge. Her nails clicked on the keyboard.

Jarod,
I received your rose and your messages. They were beautiful. Thank you.
I should be the one apologizing, not you. Please forgive me. I’ve had a lot happen in my personal life in the past few days and I needed a little while to sort out some things, get my head on straight. One thing I’ve realized is that I like where we we’re heading and I don’t want endanger that.
I think I hurt your feelings. For that, I’m very sorry. You were absolutely correct. Saturday night I should have skipped my research phone call. You deserved that much. I’ve found that my friend no longer lives up to the standards I need. If he calls again, I’ll tell him that. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’re still interested. Meet me before class? I’ll be in the Sciences Building by eight.
I miss our lunches.
~N


Nora smirked. She felt sure “James” would call tonight to say goodbye. He had a surprise coming. Payback was a bitch.
The phone rang at eleven sharp. Nora took another sip of her wine, picked up the phone and flipped it open.
“Hello, James.”
The other end was silent for a brief second, and Nora waited, resolve making her staunch, the silence shoring up her determination. She waited.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice was just as husky, just as seductive, and it planted the same rapid-fire reactions in her head, her stomach, in between her legs.
“Have you?” she asked lightly. “I’ve been busy with a lot of things.”
“Oh? Like what?”
Nora smiled slowly, knew the slyness would edge into her own voice. “You ask what and not whom?”
“As much as I applaud your correct use of the word
whom,
I have no concern about whom you might have been with. I
am
disappointed that you didn’t miss me. Have you been coming before bed all alone?”
“Not exactly all alone.”
He nearly purred into the phone. “Your Bullet?”
“Oh, no. A fantasy.”
“Another? Tell me.”
“Well, I did have a date last weekend.” Nora let the static lapse for several seconds. “Another member of the campus staff. He teaches English Lit. You two would get along well.”
“If he wants you, I doubt that.” James’s—
Jarod’s
voice heated, and not with passion. The jealousy in that rasp sounded like warm cherry brandy, decadent and biting.
Nora grinned wickedly, delighting in torturing the man at the other end—those expressive eyes, that slashing mouth. She stretched out on her bed, curling her toes. “I cut the date short. I made an excuse, told him I had to come home and take a call from a research partner, but God, James, if I hadn’t left at that minute, I’d have fucked him in the parking lot.”
“
What?
” His astonishment charged through her. She had him now.
“You’re right, James. I’m not broken. He kissed me and everything in me caught on fire. He touched me and I got so, so wet.”
“Nora.” His exasperation bled in a tortured moan. “What in the hell makes you think I want to hear thi—”
Nora let loose the softest, lowest, most tremulous moan she could. “I’m wet just thinking about him. I came home and had the
best
fantasy. I’ve had it for days now. It keeps getting better, hotter.”
“I don’t want to hear about another man, Nora.” His objection sounded weak.
“It starts out in a classroom. I’m finishing up a late project. He’s at his desk grading papers.” His moan, a deeper twin of her earlier exhalation, burst through the earpiece and pushed her on. “He has these broad shoulders, but he’s lean. Strong. He could haul me up and have me on his desk easily. He has fantastically sexy hands. I still feel them on my skin. I want them on me—in all the ways we’ve talked about.”
“
Nora.
”
Nora suddenly understood the high Jarod had gotten from his alter ego, understood the power and the drugging perfection of it. There was a strange, electric intimacy in deceiving Jarod, in making him a voyeur in his own head.
“He comes around me, behind me. I know he’s going to touch me, but he’s making me wait.”

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