They located their seats in time for the kickoff and were soon caught up in the excitement of the season opener. The afternoon was glorious. The sun was shining, though a northern breeze kept the temperature moderate. By the end of the third quarter Shelley had grown warm beneath her blazer and asked Grant to help her out of it.
After that she felt much more comfortable, but couldn’t help noticing Grant’s increasing restlessness. He wasn’t able to sit still even during lulls in the game.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned. He didn’t look unwell. On the contrary, he looked spectacular to her, the epitome of manhood. He had a wildness, a recklessness, about him that caused an aftershock in the system of every woman who came in contact with him. “Is something wrong?” she repeated, when he seemed disinclined to answer her.
“No,” he said brusquely. “Far from it.” He muttered a curse under his breath.
The home team executed an intricate play to gain twenty-five yards and the crowd rose to its feet, cheering with frenzy. Heedless, Shelley placed an anxious hand on Grant’s arm. “Grant?” she inquired worriedly.
He fixed her with the eyes that had been the subject of so many of her fantasies and asked, “Did you have to wear such a revealing blouse?”
Dumbstruck she looked down at her chest. The blouse itself was not particularly revealing, but the wind, deceptively mild, had molded the silk to the voluptuous curves beneath it, detailing her form. Unable to meet his eyes, she struggled to pull on her blazer again and then feigned absorption in the activities on the field.
The game progressed to a climactic conclusion, the home team scoring a touchdown in the final two minutes. Exiting the stadium was just as slow as entering had been. They walked side by side, his hand closed around the back of her neck, their hips bumping together as they walked.
“I wasn’t complaining, you know,” he said, causing her to blush.
“It wasn’t intentional,” she said tartly, pausing to face him until the tide of spectators shoved them forward again.
“I never thought it was. I’m sorry if what I said embarrassed you.”
The sincerity in his voice and eyes was too real to discount. She smiled her forgiveness. “And I’m sorry I acted so defensively.”
He squeezed the back of her neck lightly in understanding.
Once in his car and waiting in the line of traffic to leave the parking lot he said, “Do you mind stopping by my apartment? I have to change shirts and pick up a tie.”
“Fine,” she said, smiling, though her heart lurched at the thought of being alone with him again without the protection of a crowd of witnesses.
His duplex was a few blocks off campus in one of the more modern sections of town, an area no less quiet and pri
vate than Shelley’s neighborhood. He opened her door and helped her out of the low-slung car, escorting her up the stone walkway to his front door, which was flush with the straight Georgian facade of the house.
“I don’t have a cozy front porch like yours,” he said.
“But you have a wonderful apartment,” she replied, stepping inside. The lower level consisted of one large room with a fireplace and big paned windows. Behind louvered barroom doors, she could see a tiny kitchen. A spiral staircase led to a bedroom loft. One circular table in the main room was littered with textbooks on government and law, the thickness of which intimidated her. Magazines and records were piled onto bookshelves. Folders were stuffed into filing cabinets. It was neat, but well lived in.
“There’s a half bath on the other side of the kitchen if you need to freshen up,” he said, winding his way up the staircase.
“I’m fine. I think I’ll repair my makeup though.” She riffled through her purse, wishing her fingers would not shake so. She finally gave up finding a lipstick and opened her mirror compact.
It nearly went flying from her hand when he asked from above her. “How’re you doing down there? You’re as quiet as a mouse.”
“Fine, I—” Whatever she had been about to say never made it past the congestion in her throat. He was splashing cologne on his cheeks as he leaned over the railing of the loft … bare-chested.
His torso was covered with that fine dark hair that seemed to invite a woman to touch it, to test its crinkling texture with her fingertips. She found herself studying the hair just above his gold belt buckle. Vividly she remembered the way it had felt under her hand when she caressed him in the library. Her whole body felt oddly weak, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“I’ll be right with you,” he said, smiling down at her and retreating beyond her range of vision.
Using inordinate care to keep from dropping it, she closed the compact and replaced it in her purse, searching now for her hairbrush. Maybe if she concentrated on such ordinary tasks, she wouldn’t think about how he looked or the blood pumping through her veins like rich syrup.
“Dammit.”
The muffled curse came from the loft. She heard shuffling movements, another curse. “What is it?”
“A button just came off my shirt and I don’t have another clean one that goes with the coat I was going to wear.”
“Do you have a sewing kit?”