Lightning That Lingers by Sharon Curtis, Tom Curtis Page A

poised facade was mentally hopping around the room shrieking “eeek,” she gave the laughing children a sickly grin. She told them she’d be back soon and beat a hasty retreat toward the staff door. But the commotion had drawn Eleanor, who was looking on in a rather aghast way from the encyclopedia case where, Jennifer was alarmed to see, Philip Brooks was still comfortably established.
    “Hello, Philip,” she said, a little breathlessly, and directed a pleading look at Eleanor in passing. “Eleanor, if I could borrow you for a moment or two in the staff room …”
    Assuming that Eleanor would follow her directly, she fled to the staff room with Jinx digging at the waistband of her slacks. Waiting alone in the small room, she rested her hands against the paper-jumbled desk, closing her eyes and pulling in a long restorative breath. Her heart was engaging in the maniacal syncopation that she had come to know as the Philip Brooks rhythm.
    Behind her, the staff room door closed.
    “Eleanor,
thank
you. Please hurry. I think he’s chewing on the elastic of my underpants—”
    A gentle suggestive finger found the slight hollow behind her neck and traced slowly downward.There was no mistaking her body’s response to that touch.
    “Philip—” she whispered.
    “There’s no understanding it, but Eleanor didn’t seem especially thrilled with the idea of plucking up Jinx from his travels. It wasn’t very difficult to convince her to yield the floor to a specialist,” he said.
    Firm hands turned her body, and she found herself staring up into smiling light-filled eyes.
    “Poor Miss Jennifer’s in a fix,” he murmured, his fingers slipping down her body until they reached the first button of her blouse, the base of his palms barely brushing the upper rise of her breasts, and she felt a soft puff of sensual awareness spreading in her chest. His lips touched hers briefly and the top button of her blouse slipped open.
    For a moment, her desire to press herself fully into his embrace overcame her, but whiskers tickled her back and her ill-functioning sense of self-preservation reared its abashed head enough to bring her to her senses. Drawing away, fumbling to pull her blouse closed, she gasped out, “Jinx is in back.”
    “I know.” His dark brows lifted innocently. The long mouth quirked. “But how can I get my hand underneath your shirt if it’s buttoned so tightly? Sit down.” He pressed her gently onto the edge of the desk chair. “Don’t worry. I’ll fish out Jinx for you. Relax and rest your worried head against my—” He glanced down teasingly as though he were estimating which part of his anatomy her head would fall against. “Let’s call it my stomach.”
    He could call it anything he wanted, but if shelaid her cheek sideways, it would
not
have been against his stomach. Her upper body seemed to shock into a new state of wakefulness as his fingers twisted under her collar, following the curve of her back downward.
    “When I came in, I never guessed I’d have this charming opportunity to grope under your—Hold still! I won’t be responsible for the consequences if he runs around in front and decides to snuggle up against the warmth of your—” Dissolving into laughter at her reaction, “No, no. Hush now, darling. Don’t try to get up. I’ve almost got him. There!”
    Her shoulders trembled under the flood of receding tension as his graceful thighs moved backward a step and his hand moved up and out of her shirt.
    She watched Philip carry Jinx toward his face on an upturned palm, churring softly to the tiny gerbil. Jinx stretched up on tiptoe to peer alertly into Philip’s eyes, sniffing with affection and then with ravenous interest as Philip produced a sunflower seed from his pocket.
    Philip smiled as the gerbil took the seed in its forepaws and deftly slit the shell. Studying Jinx while he munched, he said, “You really know how to liven up a story hour. Why’d you decide to become a