Beyond the Ivory Tower by Jill Blake Page B

groaned, bucking up against her, pumping his fingers in a pale imitation of what he really wanted to do.
    She reared up, forcing him to let go, and settled herself directly over his straining erection. He cursed the layers that still separated them, searching with shaking fingers for the quickest way to divest her of her clothes. The dress separated with the pull of a tie, and then she was scrambling out of her panties and bra while he stripped off his own clothing, pausing only long enough to snag a condom from the pocket of his jeans, tear open the packet, and roll it on.
    And then he was settling over her, thumb finding and circling her clit, until she bucked against him, wrapped her fist around him and guided him inside.
    Jesus , she was tight. Sweat beaded along his brow as he resisted the urge to drive into her, advancing instead by steady degrees, feeling her muscles relax bit by bit until he was finally home.
    His forehead touched hers. He breathed her in—vanilla and citrus, blending with the spicier scent of his own cologne.
    “Okay?” he asked.
    Her eyes met his. “Okay.”
    And that was all the permission he needed to start moving again, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back inside. Again and again, until they were both panting, and he felt the pressure gathering at the base of his spine and the tightening sensation that signaled he was a hairbreadth away from coming. He arched back, flicking his thumb over her clit, and then she was gasping, contracting around him, pulling him over the edge.
     
    ~
     
    He returned to bed after a quick trip to the bathroom, only to find her wrapped in a cocoon of covers, eyes closed. She’d left enough space for him to climb in beside her, which he did, drawing her into his arms so she was curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
    She smiled without opening her eyes. “Mm, this is nice,” she said. “Thank you.”
    He wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for. Before he could ask, her hand slipped beneath the duvet, and her fingers found the thin line of hair bisecting his abdomen. He held his breath as she strayed farther down. He wasn’t a teenager—was, in fact, old enough to be the father of a teenager—but already he was stirring.
    The woman was magic. Intelligent, self-assured, a brilliant cook, and sexy as hell. Oh, yeah. Definitely sexy.
    He caught her wandering fingers and guided them down, showing her in a few quick strokes how to bring him fully back to life. She opened her eyes and licked her lips, all the while continuing to stroke him. “Again?”
    “Yes,” he rasped. “Again.”
    She leaned over him, breasts brushing his chest, and reached into the nightstand drawer with her free hand. “Good thing I kept the condoms.”
     
    ~
     
    They spent the weekend together.
    Laughing, talking about everything—except for the two things that loomed ever larger in Anna’s mind. The Talbot Fellowship. And what would happen once Monday rolled around and they returned to real life, going their separate ways.
    Saturday morning she dragged him to the farmer’s market on Arizona and 3rd, where she showed him how to pick out fresh produce. It amazed her that he’d never done that until now.
    “I don’t cook,” he pointed out in his own defense. “So I never had to shop for ingredients.”
    “Don’t tell me you eat out all the time,” she said. “Or buy everything pre-made in those frozen microwavable containers.”
    He shrugged. “Maria cooks, so I don’t have to.”
    “Ah. Of course,” Anna said. Because a man with a personal chauffeur couldn’t do without a cook, or housekeeper, or whatever Maria’s official title was.
    She put him to work chopping vegetables for a stir fry, explaining that newbies always scored the lowliest tasks in the kitchen. He took the ribbing in good humor, watching carefully as she showed him proper technique. At one point he put aside the knife, turned off the burners—ignoring Anna’s