Blushing Pink (22 page)

"Oh!" she started as Kenneth jerked his shoulders against the back of the seat. Smiling sheepishly, Reese turned the volume down as Kenneth continued looking rattled to the point of annoyance.

"Sorry about that," she said lightly, and pulled out of her parents' driveway.

* * *

At Corelli's, the conversation stopped and stalled—over and over. As Reese finished up her salad greens, she attempted again. "So... seen any good movies?"

Kenneth waited until he was done methodically chewing and swallowing before he replied, "I don't really enjoy going to the movies."

"You don't?" Reese said, surprised. "But we've gone to the movies a bunch of times."

"Oh, uh, yes, that's true. We have." He took a slow, slurping sip of his drink, while Reese processed this latest revelation. So all this time, Kenneth didn't like going to the movies. Yet in the two months they'd been casually dating, he'd taken her to the movies several times. Then again, she'd often suggested it, since Kenneth was rarely good at taking the lead. Could she have been reading his hints all wrong?

"However, I did rent an interesting film the other night," he said. "It used the premise of a controversial archeological dig to construct a social allegory. It was quite fascinating."

Reese couldn't help but smile. This was the brainy side of Kenneth she'd once found so attractive. He offered more analysis of the movie he'd seen, and for the first time in weeks, she was genuinely enjoying his company.

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

Reese was feeling so comfortable, in fact, that when Kenneth asked several moments later how her dissertation was coming along, she admitted to him that, frankly, it wasn't exactly bowling her over. "What do you mean?" he asked, clearly perplexed.

She shrugged. "I don't know... I'm just not that motivated to work on it right now."

"I... see," Kenneth said tonelessly.

"To tell you the truth," Reese continued, "sometimes I wonder if I'll even finish the program."

Kenneth's eyes shot wide with alarm. Suddenly Reese felt terribly exposed. She'd said too much.

Secretly, she'd been hoping for Kenneth's approval... or maybe she'd been testing him, in which case, he'd failed. Big-time.

"What do you mean, never finish?" Kenneth persisted. "Surely you wouldn't invest all this time at Crewlyn and not finish? Not to mention wasting fellowship funding so irresponsibly?"

Swallowing hard, Reese backpedaled. "Oh, no, you're right. I was... just exaggerating." Well, he'd made her feel like a major slug. True, she had been awarded a fellowship to study for her Ph.D. at Crewlyn, but it wasn't some effortless free ride. Both years she'd been there, she'd worked her butt off, keeping her grades high while assisting Professor Kimble and putting in double the hours per week she was stipended for. Maybe it was selfish, but as far as Reese was concerned, she didn't
owe
Crewlyn a degree.

Nevertheless, one thing was clear: If Kenneth was offended by her idea of leaving their program, she could never confide her fiction-writing aspirations. No way.

"Don't you like our graduate program?" he asked, refusing to let the topic drop.

"Um, yeah, sure, I like it," she lied.

"Haven't you enjoyed the courses you've taken? The diversified selection?"

What, did he moonlight in the admissions office? What did
he
care?

"Well, yeah... I suppose," Reese replied hesitantly. "But to tell you the truth... I don't find the courses all that diversified, actually. I mean, if I want to take an American history course, my only option is Professor Shamus. That's not right—there should be more than one professor in the whole department who can teach American history. What if a student doesn't like Shamus, or vice versa? It just shouldn't be like that. Ancient history's the same way—all you get is Professor Metzger, and he's an "Offensive creep.""

Suddenly Kenneth's lips tightened and his eyebrows pinched. He clutched his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white, and as he spoke, he ground out his words. "Professor Shamus is a brilliant scholar, and a student would be blessed by her tutelage."

O-kay.

Professor Shamus was also an ancient spinster who was known for doling out grades according to the wild swings of her senility, but that was clearly another topic they weren't going to agree on. Predictably, then, the conversation stalled. After several beats the silence was almost painful. Reese would have loved a stiff drink but she was driving that night.

Then again... that gave her an idea.

"What are you drinking again?" she asked as she spotted their waiter.

"Ginger ale," Kenneth replied.

"Yeah, that's right. Um, do you mind if I order you something else? I mean, for after the ginger ale." He appeared profoundly baffled, so Reese brushed some hair behind her ears and explained, "It's one of my favorites. I'd love it if you tried it. Do you mind?"

Before he had a chance to answer that, Reese accosted their waiter as he was setting down their eggplant parmigiana. "Excuse me, can we have a Long Island iced tea over here? When you get a chance."

"Oh, sure," he said, and then smiled as if he knew her plan to get Kenneth drunk. Luckily, Kenneth had no clue himself.

Besides, she didn't really want him
drunk,
because he'd have to drive home later, but loosening him up for the next hour could not possibly be a bad thing.

"Long Island iced tea?" he repeated, as he began to cut his eggplant into tiny squares. "What's in that?"

"Um... I'm not sure exactly..." she lied, "but it's really, really good." Reese watched Kenneth cut his tiny squares into even tinier squares, and waited anxiously for the booze. And somewhere deep inside, she had the distinct feeling that this was all very pathetic.

* * *

Okay, so apparently Kenneth didn't get intoxicated—by women or, as Reese learned tonight, by wine. The boy was some kind of fortress, and it was wearing her out.

The entire meal, he'd sipped at his drink, barely draining the glass of even an inch of it, while he'd asked her a barrage of annoying questions about Kimble's book. By the time he asked her, "So when does Professor Kimble anticipate contacting publishers?" Reese gave up. At that point she was pretty sure she'd given up on men in general.

"You know what?" she'd said. "My head is killing me. Mind if we call it a night?"

"Oh... of course not," he responded a little stiffly.

Then he threw in, "You might want to use a cold compress on your forehead later—uh, but of course that's your decision."

"Yeah, thanks," she managed.

And so it had ended there. They'd enjoyed a mute ride back to her house, and Kenneth had planted a big dry one on the corner of her mouth, catapulting her into rapturous apathy for two whole seconds. Then he was off in his own car, heading back to the city.

Reese unlocked the front door and entered her house, which was brightly lit. But then, why wouldn't it be? It was 8:45.

How lame.

Probably the only thing lamer than that would be getting drawn into a family meeting about the status of her date, so she tried to book it to her bedroom before she was accosted.

"Reese?"
Damn, damn, damn.
"Sweetheart, is that you?" Joanna called from upstairs.

Lucky for Joanna, Reese wasn't in the mood to lay into her for her earlier antics with the Konica, but she really shouldn't push it. In fact, her mother had just better take the hint, because there was no way Reese was discussing her dinner date with Kenneth. Either Joanna would offer unsolicited, delusionally optimistic advice, or she'd blame everything on Reese.

Either way, she'd pass, thank you.

"Uh, yeah, it's me, but I can't talk now," Reese said quickly as she jogged up the stairs. Her mother got to her as she was crossing the threshold of her bedroom.

"Well? How did it go?"

"Um, Mom, I have a headache, and I really don't feel like talking. And no, nothing's wrong. I'll talk to you tomorrow, if you don't mind. Please, I hope you'll respect that. Thank you for your cooperation."

She closed her bedroom door and sagged her weight against it. If her mother cared about her sanity at all, she'd leave it at that.

And, shockingly, she did.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Reese kicked off her boots, shoved down her skirt, and all but tore off the clingy vee-neck sweater that she had hoped would be subtly sexy tonight.
Hah!
Subtlety was wasted on Kenneth Peel, and "sexy" didn't seem to be programmed into his cold, computer-like brain.

She couldn't believe she actually used to be interested in him! Over the past couple of weeks, he had managed to lose all of his nerdy-but-nice appeal. Now he was just aloof and inept.
Please.
Who had the patience for that?

Hey, she'd tried. She'd given it all she had, but some people were just not meant to be together—end of story.

Climbing into her bed and slipping under the covers in just her bra and underwear, she suddenly felt a little better.

Fine, so she and Kenneth were a bust. Did that mean she had to give up on men altogether (as she'd vowed to herself the moment that Kenneth had set down
exactly
$23.18 for
exactly
half the bill)? Maybe she had been hasty—they weren't
all
boring duds.

There were men out there like Brian. Well, there was Brian, to be more precise. Thinking about him warmed her up and renewed a sense of excitement deep inside her. Could there possibly be anything there? She honestly didn't know.

But one thing was certain: if she was going to think about anyone right now—as she forced herself to sleep at 8:45 on a Saturday night—it was going to be Brian Doren.

* * *

He came out of nowhere, and his face was blurry for a second before it became clear. Then it was blank. Brian was sitting down next to her on a sofa in the middle of Roland & Fisk. But he was sitting calmly, while Reese's frustration was ready to boil over any second.

They were watching something in front of them—some sort of movie, but it didn't really make sense, and Reese forced herself to ignore how hard her heart was beating, how hot the air was, and how much she wanted to lean over and lick Brian's neck. I'm ridiculous, she said to herself. He's totally composed, and I'm ready to tear my clothes off.

Suddenly she felt him getting closer... and closer... until his arm spread across her back. She turned her head a little, and barely registered the pronounced bulge in his pants before she felt hot breath fan her ear. "Is this movie turning you on?" he asked in a raspy voice that melted her insides.

You're turning me on, she almost whispered, but didn't—couldn't. "No," she said, her voice sounding strained, almost like a croak, because she felt embarrassed but so aroused it was hard to speak.

"Yeah, me either," Brian purred into her ear, and lapped his tongue over her lobe, then inside.

She gasped, startled, but didn't push him away. Embarrassment turned into something much foggier, much more undefined. Much more raw and untamed, and as Brian licked behind her ear and trailed a hot, wet line down the side of her neck, Reese cried softly, "Oh, please..."

Brian ran his open, scalding mouth on her skin, and Reese's head fell back limply. Shamelessly. She felt weak and sweaty. She ached between her legs. And she was leaning into him as he seduced her with his hungry hands, and his tongue, and then... oh, God.

Suddenly he was on his knees before her, pushing her legs wide apart and laving his tongue over the most intimate place, turning it into sweltering, throbbing fire.

Abruptly he tore off his suit jacket, bunched it up, and shoved it under her hips. He went on doing what he was doing before, only even more effectively, and Reese shuddered violently, on the verge of what she knew would be the most amazing orgasm of her life. It was all she could think about; it was all she wanted. Nothing else seemed to exist, and then Brian's mouth was gone. He was no longer on his knees, but lying on top of her, with her legs spread wide around his hips and his fingers sliding into her.

Reese roughly gripped his hair, moaning and rocking her body, so desperate for those unbelievable, hot tremors to take over. She needed them.

Brian took one of her hands off his head and brought it down to touch him, rock-hard and straining against his pants. She made guttural, throaty sounds as Brian rubbed her open palm harder and harder against him. She could hear his heavy breathing now. He was really there, he existed, he wanted her, too.

Yes, yes... She jerked at his zipper and would've torn it apart if she had to.

"God, Reese..."he groaned, and she felt charged and electrified and alive because his voice was real.

"Reese," he breathed brokenly.

"Yes," she said, now no longer whispering. "Yes."

Reese rolled restlessly onto her side. Her eyes flew open. The clock glared red: 3:20. Mindlessly, she stared at the blocky numbers for several more seconds before she sat up.

What had she been dreaming about? She couldn't remember, but it was the middle of the night, and she was feeling wide-awake and antsy as hell.

Bounding out of bed, she went straight to her desk as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She climbed into her chair, positioned herself cross-legged, and waited for her laptop to boot up, feeling a strong, instantaneous compulsion to write. In fact, the push inside her was so hard, it seemed crazy to think it hadn't always been there.

Chapter 17