They had worked silently for hours. Now, with the stack of exams they were grading almost done, Shelley had raised her head when she heard the patter of rain on the roof two stories overhead.
“Would you like a fire? You’ve had your feet curled up under you for the past hour and I know how cold they can get.”
His words were a poignant reminder of the night in the library when his own hands had warmed her feet. Their eyes held for an instant before she looked at the fireplace wistfully. “You shouldn’t bother. There are only a few exams left to grade and then it’ll be time for me to go.”
“No bother,” he said, kneeling down to the grate to arrange the firewood and kindling that had previously been stored on the hearth.
While he coaxed the wood into flame, Shelley read through two more exams, making notations in the margins. She was concentrating on an indecipherable essay when the overhead light suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness, save for the light from the fireplace.
She raised her head and saw Grant just lowering his hand from the light switch on the wall. In the flickering light he appeared larger, stronger, more masculine than ever. The firelight touched the planes of his face and cast the hollows into deep shadow. The stark contrast made his expression impossible to read, but the predatory gait with which he walked toward her announced his intent.
She unfolded her legs and put her stockinged feet on the floor as though preparing to run. “I’ve got one more exam to grade,” she said tremulously.
“It can wait. I can’t. I’ve already waited ten years.”
He stood in front of the deep easy chair which had been her station all night. The reflection of the flames danced in the depths of his eyes as she lifted her head to look at him. He brought his hand up to brush a vagrant strand of dark hair from her brow. His fingers cupped her jaw; his thumb stroked her cheek, which was unusually warm and rosy.
Her eyes closed when his thumb brushed over her mouth. Her lips parted under his gentle persuasion and the pad of his thumb ventured between her teeth to touch her tongue. Wet with the nectar of her own mouth, his thumb bathed her bottom lip.
Her breath caught in her lungs when his hands moved down her throat to rest against its base. He pressed each fingertip into the hollow triangle there while his thumb paid homage to the delicacy of her collarbone.
A delicious lethargy seemed to seep into her body through his fingers and she luxuriated in it. How could she be held responsible for what might happen when his touch rendered her helpless?
But the languor was dispelled when his index finger began to trace the collar of her blouse to its deep “V.” She opened her eyes wide to meet his. One look into his face and all caution, restraint and inhibition were forgotten.
His face was a study of desire. His eyes glowed with passion. Through his lips, his uneven breath whispered like a love tribute to the woman his hands were honoring. One was gently supporting the back of her head as she gazed up at him, while the other was marveling over the silkiness of her skin.
Her heart stopped beating only to begin racing when his hand paused at the first button on her blouse. He waited, savoring the moment, the firelight, the rain, the transported look on her face. Then his fingers released the fabric-covered button from its loop. He pressed her heart, as if to catch each throbbing beat in his palm.
The second button fell away under his deft manipulation, yet neither of them moved. Each was transfixed as they continued to stare at each other.
At first it was only the tip of his index finger that glided along the lace border of her gray satin slip. Then three others joined it, charting the swell of her breasts beneath the lace. His harsh breathing matched her own. She smiled tentatively, and he returned the smile, but it relieved none of the intensity on his face.
He feathered the side of her breast with trailing fingers that curved to the underside. He tested her fullness in the palm of his hand. Even though his other hand still held it, her head fell back and her throat arched. A low moan of pleading escaped her lips. He kept her waiting no longer.
He maneuvered the satin strap of her slip down into her sleeve far enough so that he could pull away the lacy fabric covering her. For a long while he looked at her— ivory infused with a glowing life of its own. His soft exclamation of delight brought her eyes open again.
With infinite care he touched her, marveling over the round plumpness that was deceptively small beneath her clothes, but which filled his hand. He circled the swollen nipple, then aroused her still further by tenderly rolling it between his fingers. A sound that was half sigh, half sob came out of her throat and she leaned forward. Frantically she groped for a handhold to keep her on the world, to keep her from flying out into space.
Her hand buried itself under his sweater and four fingers dug past the waistband of his jeans, gripping the denim between them and her thumb on the outside. She rested her forehead against his stomach and moved it back and forth as he performed his sweet torment on her breast. His hand, cupped behind her head, pressed her closer.
“Grant, Grant,” she repeated in a sexual cadence matching the tempo of his caressing fingertips. Her slip had worked down beneath her breasts. His hand roamed seemingly without direction, yet touched her in such a way that wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. “Please …” she panted. Her hand tugged, trying to pull him down.
Finally he knelt beside her. He held her face between his palms and drew it close to his. “Shelley, I love you.” His sweet, hot breath struck her lips. “There’ll be no stopping me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to stop.”
With hands sure and eager, she clasped his head and drew him down to her breast. He kissed the lush, fragrant flesh with abandon, dropping ardent, damp kisses at random. When his mouth fastened on her nipple and suckled gently, she arched her back instinctively. His hand slid around her, found the groove of her spine and urged her upward and forward.
When his primary, savage hunger had been satisfied, he finessed her more tenderly, plucking at her softly with his lips, then laving her with his tongue. Her hands gloried in his thick dark hair, weaving it between her fingers. She stroked his temples and cheekbones with her thumbs.
He kissed his way up to her mouth and made love to it. Tongues battled, conquered, submitted.
“May I undress you?” he asked against the velvet spot beneath her ear.
“Yes.”
He pulled the tangled blouse from her shoulders and brought the slip to her waist. Slowly he stood and raised her with him. He unbuttoned her skirt, undid the zipper, and both skirt and slip drifted to the floor. He helped her to step free of them. His eyes traveled down her torso and his hands followed their lead.