WhatLiesBeneath (6 page)

Amanda, Will and Professor Mueller stood outside the Benbine
English department building in a muted yellow glow. Low-lying fog diffused the
illumination provided by the streetlamps along the campus walkway and muffled
the sound of traffic from a nearby thoroughfare.

“You kids seem to have everything under control,” the older
man said, cinching the belt of his overcoat. “I was worried the schedule change
would throw our plans into disarray.”

The fond look Will directed at her made Amanda squirm. Afraid
of ruining their working relationship or upsetting the professor, she still
hadn’t figured out how to tell Will she couldn’t continue dating him.

In the three weeks since he had officially asked her out,
they’d seen each other daily. When they weren’t working on the Abbess
manuscripts, which had arrived a week earlier, they explored San Francisco.

During their walking tour of the Sausalito houseboats, she
learned of his interest in architecture and carpentry. On the boat ride to
Alcatraz, she’d endured the late-October chill to sit with him on the open-air
deck where he was less inclined to become seasick. They rode a vintage carousel
in Golden Gate Park and ate clam chowder in crisp sourdough bowls at
Fisherman’s Wharf. When Will invited her to help him shop for a dinner party he
was hosting for their coworkers, she discovered he was on a first-name basis
with a Chinatown grocer whose produce and seafood Will transformed into an
authentic Cantonese meal.

Had she been tallying his traits on a scorecard for Mr.
Right, he would have had a near-perfect score. He was thoughtful, funny, well mannered,
clever, smart, modest, articulate, insightful, generous, ambitious, well traveled,
energetic, reliable, mature, kind, sociable, athletic and attractive. She’d
overheard envious comments made by some of the other single women at the
university, and she noticed how women responded to Will when they were out
shopping or dining.

She kept hoping all the plusses would make up for the single
negative in her budding relationship with the Brit. But after hooking up with
Jericho, she realized Will’s account would always be in the red. Although she’d
grown fond of him, it was one hundred and ten percent platonic.

“Amanda’s proposal that we contact the curator over at the
Museum of Contemporary Art was brilliant,” Will said proudly. “He was happy to
connect us with the resources we needed to arrange temporary storage, and the
contractor he recommended is already familiar with the environmental
specifications for our facility. No telling how many hours of telephone calls
her suggestion saved us.” He winked at her. “Whatever shall we do with all of
that free time?”

The knowing look that passed between the two men before
Professor Mueller settled his pleased gaze on her only added to Amanda’s
discomfort. She already had plans for how she hoped to spend her downtime, and
they didn’t include the affable Englishman or the kindly department chair.

“Off with the both of you. My slippers and pipe are waiting
for me, along with one of the housekeeper’s famously horrendous casseroles,
which has been drying out in the oven since six.” He checked his watch and
sighed. “It may be too late to save my evening but it’s early enough for the
two of you to enjoy a cozy dinner somewhere.”

Before she could protest, Will slid his arm through hers. “I
already called ahead for a table at that French bistro you like. There’s a
batch of frog legs with our name on it. Unless you prefer the snails?” He had
no stomach for either and liked teasing her about both.

Will’s banter usually delighted her but tonight it only made
her feel worse. Considering how well they got along, the deal-breaking lack of
sizzle was disappointing.

Her regret was short-lived when she thought about Jericho.
Just the memory of his kiss made her skin tingle. Live and in the flesh, he
jumpstarted every system in her body so she vibrated like an
industrial-strength dildo intended for the female Russian volleyball team.

Too bad anything with Jericho was sure to be a flash in the
pan. If her attraction was less compelling, she might have been able to tuck it
away and explore the possibility of developing feelings for Will. It was too
late for that now, especially since she’d had a taste of Jericho’s forbidden
fruit. They were too different to find the common ground necessary for
something real, but as long as she kept things in perspective and respected the
limitations of their arrangement, there should be no problems.

The only problem right now was breaking the news to Will.

They wished the professor a good night and walked the
quarter-mile or so to the restaurant. Hurrying to escape the cold, damp night
air, they limited their conversation to a handful of comments about work. As
promised, their reservation was ready when they arrived, and a tall maître d’
by the name of Jean-Paul showed them to a quiet corner table.

While Will ordered wine and appetizers, Amanda mentally
rehearsed her announcement. As soon as the waiter withdrew, leaving a bottle of
chardonnay on the table between them, she took a deep breath and opened her
mouth.

“It’s not working, is it?” Will’s green eyes, usually bright
with good humor and optimism, were sad.

Tears blurred her vision. Even now he cared enough to make
this easy on her. One of the first things she’d learned about Will was how open
and straightforward he was when it came to his feelings. That was one of the
reasons she refused to string him along until her obsession with Jericho burned
itself out.

“I hope he’s good enough for you.” Will reached out as if to
take her hand but then simply rested his palm on the table. “You’re an amazing
woman and that makes him a damn lucky chap.”

Amanda reached for her wineglass, startled to see her
fingers trembling. “What makes you think there’s someone else?”

“That phone call you got yesterday? Your whole expression
changed and you turned away as if you didn’t want anyone to overhear the
conversation. The rest of the evening you had this kind of radiant glow, and
you’ve been distracted ever since.” Will’s grin was rueful. “A man knows when
the woman he’s with is thinking of another fellow. I’d punch the blackguard if
I thought I had a chance with you.”

“Will, I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” Once
again, Amanda regretted not being able to return his affection.

“I’m a big boy. A couple nights of getting rat arsed and
I’ll be right as rain. I would have liked more, but I value what we do have.”

As the waiter approached with pâté and a crisp baguette,
Will raised his glass. “To friendship.”

Clinking her glass with his, she echoed his toast then
added, “So it’s not going to be awkward working together?”

He spread the creamy brown paste on a hunk of bread and
passed it to her. “No, we’ll be fine. I would like to meet the man who managed
to turn your head though, duckie. You should bring him along the next time
everyone from the department heads over to The Olive Pit for happy hour.”

Amanda tried to picture Jericho sipping a martini while the
group around him debated Barthes’ and Foucalt’s views on authorship in
literature. “Maybe,” she murmured noncommittally. “I’m not sure we’re ready to
go public yet.”

Will put down his food and this time he did take her hand.
“Just take things slow, and it will all fall into place when the time is right.
And if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.”

“Does it make it better or worse that I really wish things
could have been different?” She squeezed his hand.

Will shrugged. “It is what it is. Some things we can change.
Others, not so much.”

Jericho had been replaying the conversation with Amanda in
his head all week, trying to figure out what was troubling him. On the one hand,
she had sounded glad to hear from him. On the other hand, she had fumbled over
her availability for their date and then avoided revealing her home address.
Maybe it was a safety strategy for a single woman living in a large city. Maybe
his call had simply caught her off guard. Maybe she was nervous about seeing
him again.

Or maybe she wasn’t nervous about seeing him again but was
nervous about being seen
with him
.

Jericho was accustomed to working with the rich and famous and
even socialized with a few, like Nickelback. Normally he didn’t pay attention
to socioeconomic factors, having learned that people were pretty much the same,
no matter what designer label they wore or what kind of car they drove. He was
a perfect example. He might be pulling in six figures now—an unreal amount for
most tat artists—but he’d grown up poor. And how about the way he’d managed to
blend his love of tattooing and archaeology? Hell, he’d written a book on the
subject. Those who took the time to get to know him—or those whom he allowed
close enough—discovered he was a far cry from the stereotypical ink slinger.

For some reason, though, Amanda’s high-class good looks and
intelligence intimidated him. She’d even worn those damn pearls while bouncing
up and down on his cock. The thought of serving as nothing more than a quick
visit to the other side of the tracks made him sick.

He reminded himself that all of his negative thoughts were
baseless. The bottom line was she’d accepted his invitation to dinner and would
be arriving in less than ten minutes. When the fog had rolled in earlier and
heavier than expected, he’d worried about getting back to the studio after
running home to shower and change, but he’d had plenty of time. Probably too
much time, considering how dark his attitude was becoming.

He pretended to be busy on the computer at Vix’s desk so
that when Amanda showed up he wouldn’t have his nose pressed to the window like
an overeager puppy. Truth was, his attention bounced from the wall clock to the
front door and back. Waiting for their date had been the longest week of his
life.

Fog hung like a dense wall of dirty, gray cotton. Only when
pedestrians passed right in front of the shop could he make them out, and even
then they were little more than dark, blurry figures. When the front door
finally opened, his pulse jumped.

“What a mess out there.” Amanda tousled her shoulder-length
curls while closing the door. Moisture glinted on the shiny blonde strands,
indicating a slight drizzle had shown up to accompany the fog.

“Hello.” The single word was all Jericho could squeeze
around the lump in his throat. His libido had gone from zero to a thousand in
under ten seconds. Carefully he inhaled through his nose until his chest
swelled enough to strain the buttons on his jacket before exhaling. The
cleansing breath did nothing to minimize his erection, which was tenting the
crotch of his dress pants. He wanted to get up and greet her but chose to hide
behind the desk.

Amanda closed the distance and perched on the edge of the
glass surface. “You look nice.” She eyed his casual black suit and red silk
T-shirt then glanced down at herself and frowned. “I believe I’m underdressed.”

In heeled boots, black jeans, a white blouse, leather jacket
and those pearls, of course, she was ready to climb on the back of a Harley and
head out for burgers and beer. In deference to the weather and the reservations
he’d made at one of the city’s four-star restaurants, Jericho had left his bike
at home and driven back in his SUV.

“It’s not a big deal. Besides, you do terrific things to
those jeans.” The doubt log-jamming his brain all week was gone. The only thing
on his mind was getting his hands—and other vital parts of his anatomy—on His
Blonde again.

Neither spoke but the silence unfurling between them was not
uncomfortable. To Jericho it seemed they were absorbing the implications of
their sexual encounter and what the next step should be.

More sex.

The longer they sat, just staring at each other, the hotter
the air became. He seemed to recollect some vague notion about whisking Amanda
off to a fancy restaurant for a night of wining and dining, but that idea lost
its appeal when the alternative was
more sex
.

Sweat broke out along his hairline and his skin prickled as
if sunburned. His nipples and scrotum tightened. The instantaneous arousal
astonished him. What the hell kind of spell had this adorable witch cast on
him?

Was it possible his magic wand was just as powerful? Her
pupils dilated, the blue of her irises nothing more than a tiny ring around
each. Her lips parted, maybe to ease her shallow breathing. Her cheeks flushed.

More sex.
Now.

Pushing aside the laptop that sat in the center of the desk
with one arm, he pulled Amanda around to the front with the other. She wiggled
her butt to situate herself as he rolled the chair back. Her legs hung between
his knees; his forearms rested alongside her thighs.

He cupped his hands around her ass and tilted up his head.

“Mmm, that’s more like it,” she purred. Coiling her arms
around his neck, she bent to meet his kiss.

His cock twitched impatiently but Jericho wasn’t going to
rush this time, no matter how fevered the need became. He closed his eyes and
focused on her texture and flavor, tracing her lips and the edge of her teeth
with his tongue, barely brushing his mouth back and forth over hers, letting
their breath mingle as their tongues swirled playfully. He taunted her with
quicksilver pecks and hard, consuming kisses. He licked and sucked, nibbled and
nuzzled. Kissing—just kissing—seemed more intimate to Jericho than burying
himself inside a woman. Making out with Amanda was his way of showing her how
special she was, how much he liked her, that this chemistry stuff was more than
just physical.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he massaged her scalp
while pressing his mouth along her jaw until he reached a ticklish spot behind
her ear. She shivered as his tongue swept over the skin, laving a trail down
her neck to the ever-present strand of pearls. Her reaction emboldened him. It
made him feel masterful and strengthened his resolve to please her. From the
way she was squirming and humming, he was doing okay, but he had a pretty good
idea how to go from all right to awesome.

Slipping his hands beneath her jacket, he stroked his palms
upward from her waist to her shoulder blades. Like last time, she wasn’t
wearing a bra. He loved the idea of her walking around so close to the edge of
modesty—just a thin layer of fabric between her and indecency. He rubbed his
cheek against her tits. The rigid peaks pushed against the blouse, as if
begging for attention. Happy to comply, he latched on to one and sucked hard.

“Oh dear god, that feels divine.” She arched her back to
give him better access.

Jericho worked one then the other until there were two damp
circles on her blouse, revealing the dark shadows of her areolas through the
sheer silk. The sight made him hungry for the real thing. He worked the buttons
free from the bottom up. She watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, impatience
gleaming.

The last button slipped free and he parted the material.

“This is so much better than my imagination,” she sighed.
Her skin prickled as the cool air hit. Her nipples, already hard nubs, pebbled
even tighter.

Her statement caught his attention. She’d fantasized about
him? Talk about an ego boost. He wanted to know the what, where, when and how
of her erotic imaginings.

“Tell me what you thought about.”

He rolled her nipples between his fingers, gauging her
reaction for just the right degree of pressure. When she blushed and looked
away, he pinched just a bit harder.

She tossed her head, chin uplifted, as if challenging his
attempt to coerce her into an admission. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.” He continued to toy with her. “Although I doubt
your fantasies are anywhere near as graphic as mine.”

Her gaze sharpened and her lips parted.

“No.” He shook his head, guessing she was about to ask him
to elaborate. “You first.”

The color riding her cheeks deepened and her tongue darted
out to moisten her lips. It seemed the woman bold enough to seduce him was
embarrassed to put her lustful cravings into words. It was another fascinating
contradiction. She was pearls and propriety, tattoos and taboos. Beneath the
sexual pull, something elemental wound its way into his soul. For all intents
and purposes, they were strangers, but intuitively he knew where his emotions
were headed. Shocked by his own vulnerability, Jericho broke eye contact,
afraid of what Amanda might see.

He felt her hands on his neck, heard the rubber band at his
nape snap and then his hair fell around his face and shoulders.

“I imagined what it would be like to feel your hair brush
over my thighs while you…went down on me.”

He heard her swallow.

“I pictured you kneeling between my legs, pushing them wide
apart, burying your face in my…” She gathered a handful of his hair and let it
run through her fingers.

Jericho’s erection swelled and he was grateful to be wearing
dress slacks and not tight denim. “Say it, baby. I want to hear you talk
dirty.” He raked his teeth over one pink bud in encouragement.

“You were licking my…pussy.” Her voice grew softer with each
word.

“Is that what you want me to do to you right now?” He worked
a thumb over the juncture of her thighs.

“Yes but…there are people right outside.”

“That’s an easy fix. Stay right there.” Jericho pushed off
with his feet so the chair rolled backward. At the wall, he tapped the light
switch and the room went black. He rolled back. “Good?”

“Yes, except now I can’t see you either.”

He lifted her off the desk and she stood.

“Close your eyes and hit rewind.” Groping her butt a couple
of times first, he felt his way down her legs and slid off her boots. On the
way back up, he pinched the curve of each cheek.

She squeaked and hopped from one foot to the other. He
steadied her, took a moment to find her erect nipples for another taste and
then undid her jeans. As he tugged them off, the scent of her arousal enveloped
him.

“Something tells me you’re very turned-on right now.”

He rested his hands lightly on her waist as she shrugged out
of her blouse and jacket.

“You could say that.” She levered herself back on top of the
desk. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here naked, where anyone can peer into
the window and see me.”

A faint pearlescent sheen from the fog and streetlights
seeped into the studio, reflecting off her pale limbs. The artist in him wanted
to capture the moment on film or paper but the primal male won out.

He propped her heels on the back of the chair, happily
trapped between her legs. “My, my but you are a wicked, wanton woman.” He
murmured each word between gentle kisses that progressed from the inside of her
knees to the apex of her thighs.

He exhaled slowly, letting his breath warm her already-hot
center. Her muscles clenched.

“Relax. I want you to enjoy this. In my fantasy, you’re tied
to my bed. Spread-eagle. At high noon. I can see everything. I can touch
everything. And I take all afternoon to do just that before licking you until
you come.” He stroked the flat of his tongue from the bottom of her cleft to
the top.

With a long, low moan, Amanda melted.