Journal Of A Timid Temptress by Deirdre O'Dare Page B

deliciously wicked and out of bounds. A wife and a child added to the equation simply made it a bit more so.
    I saw her today, too. The little green car pulled up by the student center at noon and he slipped out from behind the wheel. She got out of the passenger side, a very tall and very thin woman, pale to the point of seeming almost colorless. He gave her a perfunctory kiss before she took her place behind the wheel and started away. I faded back into the rush of lunch-hungry students. This was not the time to be noticed.
    Okay, now she has a name and a face. He calls her Linds--has to be short for something. And her face? Well, it is narrow and long, and somehow seems to me to be English looking. She's the type for tweeds and sensible--no clunky--shoes and her hair just kind of hangs there, an ashy blonde color that does not overpower her pale face at all. What is such a vivid person doing with someone like that, almost like a zombie, a vampire or a ghoul, the walking dead, you know? Gives me the shivers.
    I mean most couples look like couples. Take Mom and Dad. No one would ever mistake them for belonging to anyone except each other. They're like twins or something, a matched team, you know? Most of the couples I know are like that. But Philippe and Linds? Oh, well, I won't feel like I'm horning in on some sacred bond there at any rate.
    After class, I had to find a reason to follow him down to his office. He was grumbling mildly about the freshman PS-101 tests he had to grade.
    Ah-ha, what if I offer to help? Splendid idea!
    "If it's not against the rules or something, I'd be glad to help. You probably have one of those sheets you lay over the test paper and just mark the wrong ones, don't you? I don't have to be anywhere for a while, so I'd be delighted to do some of the dull work for you."
    He slid a glance at me, one eyebrow lifted in a half-question. It was such a sexy look I was creaming my panties in an instant.
    "Oh, I'm sure it's all right. Most of the senior profs have teaching assistants to help them. You aren't on the payroll, but I'd appreciate it no end if you'd help. Otherwise, I'll be stuck here all afternoon. "
    Being stuck with him for the afternoon sounded heavenly to me. In a few minutes I was sitting there at his desk with the template, happily marking away. He seemed to have gotten a real dud class of freshmen. There were only a couple of papers that had almost all right answers.
    It was hard to keep my attention on the work with him so close. First he leaned over my shoulder to get a pen. A few minutes later, he was back, opening the drawer in front of me so his hand was almost in my lap. At least every five or ten minutes, he had to come back and get something or leave something on the desk, although he was supposedly working on an essay test for our class that one of the department clerks would input to the computer later.
    Before the afternoon was over, he had put his hand on my shoulder at least twice and once leaned so close his breath ruffled my hair. I shivered for five minutes after that. Finally, I knew I had to go or I'd miss my next class. Not that it really mattered, but I do try to have good attendance. I stood and stretched to work the kinks out of my back.
    "I don't know how to thank you," he said, appearing right beside me without warning. Reflexively, I started to back up even though I didn't want to. The habit of letting people have their space is hard to break.
    "Oh, it's quite all right. Really." My voice sounded high and breathless. I realized there was no where to go, even if I did try to move. My back was almost against the wall and he was right there. I knew my gaze was darting around, looking everywhere but right at him. He was just so close.
    He laughed then, a low, suggestive chuckle. "What's wrong, Geri? Are you nervous?" He reached out, putting his hand against my face, his fingers sliding along my jaw until his palm cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed lazily across my