WhatLiesBeneath (2 page)

Although the door was propped open, Amanda knocked to
announce her arrival at Dr. Mueller’s office. “Good afternoon, sir. I had a
message you wanted to see me?”

“Come in, my dear.”

With coke-bottle eyeglasses and tufts of gray hair ala
Albert Einstein, Timothy Mueller embodied the stereotypical absentminded
professor. Nothing was further from the truth. He could out-quote professors
half his age, and it was standing room only in the lecture hall when he deigned
to present to students. For the last twenty years, his passion had been researching
and documenting obscure medieval texts, primarily erotic missives penned by
monastic clergy. Amanda shared his interest in what was essentially Middle Ages
porn.

“Can I offer you some coffee? Mae-Ling just brewed a fresh
pot and I have those coconut macaroons you’re fond of.”

Amanda suspected he offered refreshments as an excuse to
indulge his own sweet tooth so she accepted a cup of coffee, sliding into one
of the comfortable leather chairs provided for visitors.

“What was it you wanted to see me about, sir?”

He made a dismissive motion with one hand while pushing a
plate stacked with cookies across his desk. “I’ve told you before. Call me Timothy.
Otherwise I feel like an old fuddy-duddy.”

“I’ll try, sir—Timothy.”

The professor’s artless charm and generous personality had
quickly endeared him to Amanda, and once again she reminded herself how lucky
she was. The perfect job in the perfect city, working for the perfect boss. The
only thing lacking was the perfect man.

Jericho.

Out of nowhere, the thought startled her. The cup shook in
her hand, a tiny bit of hot coffee splashing out.

“Ouch.” Carefully she settled the cup onto its matching
saucer and lifted a napkin to dab at the back of her hand.

“Goodness. Are you all right?” Alarm tinged Professor Mueller’s
voice as he called out to his administrative assistant. “Mae-Ling! Please come
here, and bring the first aid kit.”

“No, I’m fine. I just seem to be a bit clumsy today.”

Mae-Ling popped her head around the corner, an eyebrow
raised. “What’s the emergency? Shall I call for an ambulance? We can have the
first responders on campus in fifteen minutes.”

Shortly after joining the department, Amanda had learned the
tiny, middle-aged Chinese woman had little tolerance for her department
chairman’s tendency to overreact whenever something unfortunate happened and
enjoyed needling him.

“Apparently not,” he said archly.

“Good. I’m busy deciphering your notations on the Wykeham
manuscript. Why you can’t learn to type like everyone else these days…”
Mae-Ling returned to her desk in the adjacent office, leaving the two to resume
their conversation.

“Where were we? Ah yes. The reason for my summons.” The
professor rocked back in his chair, his eyes twinkling.

Amanda looked at him expectantly.

“I have a special project I think you might be interested
in.”

“Certainly, sir—Timothy. Whatever you need.” Something about
the expression on her mentor’s face suggested there was something
extra
special about his project.

“Shortly before you arrived, the university received a three-million-dollar
donation to establish an archive of sorts.” Behind the thick lenses, his eyes
gleamed with excitement. “Benbine has been selected to curate the Abbess Collection.”

She gasped, and the old man applauded loudly.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! It will be my final
coup d’état
. And
I want you to be a part of it.”

Amanda fell back against the stiff leather of her chair,
unable to speak. The Abbess Collection featured several one-of-a-kind
masterpieces dating back to the fourth century, including a set of religious
volumes that had been laboriously hand-copied and illustrated on lambskin
parchment. Because of their fragile condition and priceless value, the books
were rarely exhibited. Working on the project would be a once-in-a-lifetime
chance to see the collection up close.

Life was getting better by the minute! Joy exploded in her
chest and Amanda scrunched her eyes closed, stomped her feet on the floor and
squealed.

“That’s the most effusive welcome I’ve ever received.”

An amused masculine voice halted Amanda’s exultant tizzy,
and she popped her eyes open to see an attractive man about her age leaning in
the doorway.

“I see Timothy has shared the good news with you.”

Amanda noted the man’s British accent, along with a friendly
grin that revealed very white teeth that contrasted nicely with green eyes and
close-cropped, light-brown hair. His neatly pressed trousers and navy Oxford
shirt with the Benbine crest on the pocket gave him away as faculty.

He strode across Professor Mueller’s office and stretched
out his arm. Amanda shook hands as he introduced himself. “We haven’t met yet.
I’m Will Dewhurst.”

“Amanda Fine.”

“Indeed.” He raised a brow suggestively, holding her hand
long enough to convey his approval.

Flattered but embarrassed, she looked away and withdrew her
hand from his grasp. Will seated himself on the chair next to her.

Professor Mueller watched the exchange and smiled broadly.
“I’ve been eager to introduce the two of you. Will is on loan to us from the
University of London for the Abbess project. He recently graduated with a
doctorate in literature from the Institute of English Studies. Sir Henry
Smythe, Will’s uncle and the Institute’s director, was a classmate of mine.” He
leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of his desk, steepling his
fingers together. “Amanda did her dissertation on my theory that Benedictine
nuns authored
The
Twelve Passions of Hildegard
. It was
brilliant.”

“So you agree with Timothy that the nuns must have been wise
to the ways of the world to compose poetry with such compelling imagery?”
Will’s grin revealed matching dimples.

He certainly was cute, and his accent sent shivers of
appreciation down Amanda’s spine. To top it off, his conversation was lively,
intelligent and provocative. She sensed Will would be a skillful verbal
duelist.

She quoted a well-known passage from
The Second Passion
.
“‘Come not on the morrow but e’en, amoret / perchance to lay a bas upon my barm
/ for verily thy furial spear has bylled my fortress / by its ragerye I call
myself pamphilet.’” Her recitation drew a satisfied chuckle from the professor.

“My apologies,” Will said with exaggerated chagrin and a
warm smile. “Will you translate for this ignorant laggard?”

“Certainly.” Amanda pretended to glower disapprovingly
before converting the medieval English to something more contemporary. “‘Come
not tomorrow but this evening, my love / perhaps you will lay a kiss upon my
bosom / for truly your raging spear has mowed down my fortress / because of its
wantonness I am now a woman of pleasure.’”

“Your performance is a vast improvement over Timothy’s,
especially when he is blotto.” Will caught her confusion. “When he is drunk. I
think you Yanks call it being plastered.”

“I can’t imagine the prof—Timothy in such a state,” Amanda
said.

Will stood. “What do you say we put him to the test? How
about dinner and drinks to celebrate?”

“I’m afraid it will have to be you and Amanda,” the
professor said. “The board of directors is meeting tonight to review
applications for an opening in the chemistry department.”

Amanda had been looking forward to her walk home, hoping she
might run into Jericho again now that they had more or less met.

Will seemed to pick up on her reluctance. “Let’s do,
amoret
.
We have quite a bit to discuss before the inventory begins to arrive, and I
would enjoy spending time with someone my own age. Timothy is knackered by nine
most evenings.”

It only took a minute to decide. Jericho was more of a
temptation, but there was no guarantee of a repeat performance of this morning.
Will was funny and smart and good-looking. And he clearly liked what he saw in
her.

“You’re on,” she said, rising from the chair. “Let me get my
things.”

“Have fun, you two.” Professor Mueller’s farewell sounded
quite satisfied.

So why didn’t Amanda feel the same sense of satisfaction he
apparently did? She had the perfect job in the perfect city working for the
perfect boss. She’d been offered the chance of a lifetime to work on what
promised to be an amazingly interesting project, which had come along with an
introduction to a man who seemed to suit her very well.

Could her lack of enthusiasm be due to the fact that Will
wasn’t Jericho?

“Hey, boss. For the third time, are you expecting someone?”

Distracted by his scrutiny of the late afternoon sidewalk
traffic, Jericho apparently hadn’t heard the previous two times his receptionist
asked the question.

“No.” He craned his neck to get a better look at a blonde
but realized it wasn’t the woman he was hoping to see. Ignoring the heavy
weight of disappointment that settled over him, he faced Vix. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve spent more time in front of that window today than a
department store mannequin. It usually takes a fire alarm or the pizza
Florentine from Jimmy Roman’s to get you out of your office.” Vix dared him to
deny it.

That bold confidence was exactly why Jericho had hired her.
His clientele, many of whom were celebrities of one sort or another, tended to
be high maintenance, and he needed a receptionist impervious to their demanding
attitudes. She often joked how tough it was to squeeze her
cojones
into
thong panties, but for once, Jericho wished he had gone with someone a little
less ballsy. Her comment made him aware he was acting out of character and all
because of a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

There was a stack of paperwork on his desk he needed to get
through, including marketing collateral for his upcoming book release, and so
far, the day had been a complete bust. Every time he tried to focus on the task
at hand, his mind wandered back to the morning’s literal run-in with the classy
young blonde. He’d spent most of the morning trying to figure out what it was
about her that intrigued him. She was attractive, although a far cry from his
usual type, which tended to be well-built, well-endowed brunettes amenable to a
good time and not much more.

Jericho’s lifestyle didn’t lend itself to traditional
relationships. He traveled extensively, and when he was home, there were barely
enough hours in the day to keep up with demands for his body art, let alone
time for his other projects. Most women wanted more than the occasional dinner,
drinks and a fuck, no matter how fantastic the sex was. After a handful of
unpleasant encounters whereby an offended female accused him of being selfish,
shallow, insensitive or just a straight-out asshole, he’d decided it was better
to be alone and frustrated than satisfied and obligated.

It was a decision he was reconsidering, primarily because
his cock had been semi-erect most of the day. If he closed his eyes and
remembered what it had felt like to hold the young woman, it wasn’t but a
minute until he was fully aroused and ready to jerk off just to ease the
relentless pressure.

Why did it always seem like you had to give up one thing to
get something else you wanted in life? Wasn’t there a saying about having your
cake and eating it too? He knew a lot of people who were living proof the old
adage was true. Folks who had a rewarding career, a collection of letters
behind their names, a satisfying love life, plenty of money, great kids, nice
home, expensive cars, you name it.

Of course there were an equal number of people for whom part
of the equation was missing, so maybe he had it backward. Maybe the axiom was
you
can’t
have your cake and eat it too. From as far back as he could
remember, that had pretty much been the case for him. He could have had two
parents except his dad was a drunken brute. He could have gone to college
except he worked three jobs to support his mom and younger brother after both
were injured in a car wreck. He could have married several times over and had a
minivan full of kids by now except he had worked too hard to earn his
independence. Well, that and the fact he hadn’t met anyone for whom he was
willing to change his ways.

As had been happening all day, a snippet of memory from this
morning tugged at his libido. This time he was reminded of her lean limbs and
how nicely her close-fitting trousers showed off her firm ass. He wondered if
she worked out. There was no jiggle in her wiggle or bumps in her lovely lady
lumps. He imagined her body would be compact, sleek and smooth. Sure, she was
several inches shorter than his own six foot plus, but Jericho had the distinct
impression her slender-but-fit body would be well-suited for some serious
bedroom action. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to visualize her bouncing
up and down in a reverse cowboy, the muscles in her thighs flexing and
tightening as she rode him hard and put him away wet.

Wet.

The front of his jeans was damp from the pre-cum leaking out
the tip of his cock.

Jericho needed to unload this obsessive interest and finish
the tasks demanding his attention. He had cleared his afternoon to do just that
and so far was only further behind schedule.

Telling himself it was only to check the weather, he took
one more look out the window. Like a missile locking onto a target, his gaze
latched on to a familiar figure. His pulse sped up, keeping time with the
thrill of excitement pulsing in his head. Blood pumped double-time toward his
groin, engorging his penis and settling heavy in his scrotum.

He was so focused on the woman he didn’t realize she wasn’t
alone until the young man next to her slid a hand under her elbow, steering her
to a restaurant entrance. They stopped to read the menu displayed on a stand
outside to entice people into the establishment. The man tucked an arm around
the blonde’s shoulders and bent his head toward hers. It was an intimate,
subtly possessive signal meant to exclude others. A bolt of jealousy shot
through him, the scorching emotion driving him to grit his teeth and clench his
fists.

With his neat haircut and tailored clothing, the other man
was a perfect match for Jericho’s mystery blonde. They both exhibited a
confident decorum bred of old money and an Ivy League education. He was
unfairly stereotyping both of them, but he could practically smell the scent of
privilege and wealth.

Something about the deferential way the guy seemed to be
asking the young woman questions—prompting a couple of tentative nods and then
a broad smile—made Jericho think the two were not that well acquainted. Still,
the guy showed no hesitancy in touching her. First he had his arm around her
shoulder then moved to embrace her around her waist.

As the restaurant door swung shut behind them, irrational
anger pelted Jericho. So much for his infatuation with the woman who’d
enchanted him with her blend of class and sass. She was way out of his league,
anyway. That wasn’t low self-esteem talking, but rather the cold, hard truth
that upper-crust babes might go slumming for a cheap thrill now and then but
when it came to legit hook-ups, they stuck with their own kind. Jericho never
had been, and never would be, part of that demographic segment.

He hated the sting of disappointment needling his peace of
mind. It wasn’t as if anything would have happened with the cute stranger even
if he had managed to “accidently” run into her again tonight. Life was good
right now. Exciting things were happening for him, but a sense of
dissatisfaction had been plaguing him for hours. Now it was worse.

Returning to his office, Jericho slammed the door harder
than he meant to, but the lusty cravings that had been gnawing at him all day
were now compounded by envy and frustration. He dropped into his desk chair and
raked a hand through his hair. God, what he wouldn’t give to pound that lucky
son of a bitch into the ground so he could have a chance at the mystery woman.

Fury pulsed at his temples and between his legs, driving
Jericho to his limits. He didn’t understand this crazy attraction but he knew
he had to defuse it before he stalked across the street, charged into the
restaurant, punched the guy in the face and pushed the blonde facedown across
the table.

That visual put him over the edge. Popping the fly on his
jeans, Jericho freed his aching cock and balls. He closed his eyes and cradled
his erection while fantasizing that she was standing in front of him.

“I’m not the kind of guy who will give it to you
missionary style, in the dark,” he warned her.

Uncertainty tempered the desire glimmering in her eyes,
deepening the sky blue to the incandescent blue at the center of a flame. “I’m
not the kind of girl who wants it like that,” she told him, toying with the top
button of her cardigan.

Jericho scoffed. “The pearls give you away, sweetheart.
I’m not sure you can handle me.”

She shrugged, a negligent gesture that warned him he
might be wrong. He waited for her to make the next move and she did, carefully
unfastening each button on her sweater and then the starched blouse beneath.
Pushing the open edges aside, she undid the front closure of her white lace bra
to reveal small, pert breasts. She licked the pads of her fingers on each hand
and traced damp trails around each jutting peak.

Gripping his cock tightly, Jericho ran his thumb over the
head, smearing the slick fluid oozing from his slit. He found the sweet spot
just behind the rim crowning his shaft and ran his thumb back and forth while
squeezing the length.

“Do you like to watch me play with my tits?” The trashy
words coming from such a proper young lady aroused Jericho almost as much as
the sight of her neatly manicured fingertips pinching and pulling the
peach-colored crests.

“Yeah, I do. It would be even hotter if you let me watch
you finger yourself.” Fantasy-Jericho was now naked and stroking himself in front
of the semi-clothed blonde.

After a pause, she stripped and hitched herself up onto
the desk.

“Lean back on your elbows,” he said, placing her heels on
the edge of the wooden surface so her knees were bent wide.

The position revealed pink flesh surrounded by smooth,
bare skin. He wanted to reach out and touch the glistening crease but knew it
would be better to see her do it. “I want you to rub your fingers over your
clit and then lick off the juices.”

Although the erotic blush tinging her pale skin revealed
her increasing desire, she hesitated to follow his explicit command.

“I promise it will taste good,” he coaxed. “First you,
then me.”

Her eyes widened at his provocative promise, but she
reached between widespread legs and ran the tip of her index finger up and
down. He held her gaze, noting the nuances in her expression—embarrassment,
pleasure, excitement, hunger—while his peripheral vision captured the hypnotic
motion of her hand.

Breathing hard, Jericho tightened his grip and started
pumping his fist. He slouched in the chair, relaxing his body in anticipation
of the sexual tension that would soon constrict his muscles.

She lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked, and he
wanted a taste for himself. He dropped to his knees, laid his palms on the inside
of her slender thighs and buried his face between her legs. Each inhalation
filled his senses with her sweet musky scent and flavor.

Her guttural moan and instinctive withdrawal told Jericho
his onslaught was too intense, but some unnamed need drove him to consume her
as fully and as thoroughly as possible. He curved his arms under her legs and
pulled her closer, splaying his hands across her belly to restrain her. He
licked and nipped and kissed every inch of her sensitive center until the folds
of skin were drenched and her hips rocked against his mouth.

“Oh god. That’s it. Make me come.” She abandoned any
pretense at prim modesty, revealing a gloriously uninhibited wantonness.

She locked her ankles behind his neck and tried to grind
harder. Jericho feasted on her sexual frenzy, his tongue wildly swirling, his
mouth fiercely sucking her engorged clitoris.

The screams of pleasure he pretended to hear, the taste he
imagined on his tongue, the sensual writhing of her body he wished was
real—each fanciful sensory image stoked the pressure accumulating at the base
of his penis. Coupled with the relentless up-and-down motion of his fist, it
was only seconds before the tingling sensation exploded into a crippling
orgasm. Every muscle in his body clenched as creamy white strands of ejaculate
shot outward. Jericho stifled a shout, unwilling to reveal his clandestine
masturbation session to his receptionist.

He sat there for several minutes, trying to regain control
of his body and emotions. It had been years since desperation drove him to jack
off, and while the release had taken the edge off his sexual desire, he still
felt restless.

Disgusted at the mess in his lap, Jericho grabbed a couple
of napkins left over from lunch. Tidy again, he stood and zipped up, determined
to get his head together. If he couldn’t have a piece of the blonde, he’d
settle for the next best thing.

He opened his office door and hollered out to Vix. “Call
Jimmy Roman’s for a pizza.” Before he had it closed again, he added, “And have
them make it an extra large.”