Moondance by Karen M. Black Page B

She was sure they had planned to meet tonight.
    “So tell me about your experience,” he said. She turned toward him, looking into his eyes, feeling a bit dizzy. She answered him, deliberately holding his gaze, describing her group members, their classes so far, her impressions. He asked about her background, and what she was planning to do after. I plan to write . The thought came like a whisper. She pushed it away.
    “Management consulting.”
    “That’s a good route to go. You’ll learn a lot.” In addition to investment banking, management consulting was a popular career choice for MBA grads. The starting salaries were high, the signing bonuses plentiful, and the travel worldwide. Some stayed in consulting for their careers, others left to enter senior-management positions on the client-side.
    Althea nodded and broke eye contact, looking over Dr. O’Sullivan’s shoulder. No Celia. O’Sullivan finished his cigarette.
    “So, Althea Brecht. Will you go for a walk with me?”
    Without waiting for an answer, he dropped his cigarette, and turned north along Madison. Althea followed, feeling the excitement in her chest. With the exception of the odd siren in the distance, it was quiet. In the dark, he looped his fingers around hers lightly and she pulled away. Then he talked, describing the houses they passed, the architecture, some history of the area. She listened, barely following his words, just aware of his presence, his voice, the wind, the occasional whiff of smoke.
    He stopped. Althea looked up to see a small park. He turned toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. Though he wasn’t touching her, she felt pulled toward him, and like the flip of a switch, her decision: this time, she wouldn’t run away .
    He took her hand and led her further into the park until he stopped at a tree and pulled her into him. They stood chest to chest, and she could smell fully the cigarettes on his coat, and the warm cinnamon gum between his lips. Without warning, he slid his hands into her hair, pulling until her head tilted up.
    “Althea Brecht,” he said, and his voice was low and even, with no more hesitation than his hands, which moved to her face, tracing her lips and pulling her lower lip down before he kissed her, slowly, then more insistently, pressing into her, his tongue seeking. She kissed him back deeply, standing straight, her hands on his shoulders, aware of his erection, the hard roundness of it, how his lips felt, tasted, the scratch of his cheek, the touch of his glasses on her cheek as their heads tilted to find a new position, the fineness of his hair, and the slow movement of his hips as his erection grew. She felt it all, yet she was utterly detached, as if she was watching from somewhere above herself, as if it was a movie she’d already seen. Tori and Kevin at the countertop . Squeezing her eyes shut, she tensed, frozen. His voice found her.
    “I wanted to do this the first time I saw you,” he said as he wound his fingers into her hair, more firmly this time, his other hand sliding under her jacket, then on her skin, moving to her breast. Holding her, he rolled them over on the tree as if they were lying on a bed. She followed passively.
    If he had pulled her down onto the lawn right then, Althea would have gone, if he had undressed her here against the tree, she would have let him, but instead of doing either of these things, he removed his hand from under her shirt, and moved away. His absence was like a physical vacuum. She stood still, until he took her hand and led her silently back the way they came.
    They didn’t speak. He didn’t ask to come into her studio, but his smile lingered. As he opened her car door, he kissed her softly on the mouth, catching her lower lip in his teeth, and pressed a card into her hand.
    Inside her studio, Althea took off her clothes in the dark and got into bed, her mind swimming, still feeling his body against hers, how his mouth tasted, his unwavering eyes, his