Lamplight shifted on the pale linoleum as if the person inside the office was moving around, and Marin flattened herself against the wall, trying to make herself one with it. Please don’t come out. The silent prayer whispered through her as she counted the doors between her and the mystery voice, mentally labeling each one. When she realized it was one of the offices they let the PhD students use and not a professor’s, she let out a breath.
Either way, she had no intention of alerting her hallmate that he wasn’t alone. But at least she could stop worrying she’d gotten all hot and bothered over one of her professors. Now she just had to figure out how to get past the damn door without letting him see her. She’d gotten used to skipping meals since she’d started college a few months ago. Her scholarship only paid for her tuition. But she wasn’t going to make it through the next two hours of data entry and sleep monitoring if she didn’t get some caffeine. No wonder none of the upperclassmen had wanted this job.
Marin’s gaze slid over to the stairwell. If she stayed on the other side of the hall in the shadows, she could probably sneak by unnoticed. She moved to the right side wall and walked forward on quiet feet. But as soon as she got within a few steps of the shaft of light coming from the occupied room, a large shadow blotted it into darkness.
She’d been so focused on that beam of light that it took her a moment to register what had happened. She froze and her gaze hopped upward. A guy had filled the doorway. A very familiar guy. Everything inside her went on alert. Oh, God, not him.
He had his hand braced on the doorjamb, and his expression was as surprised as hers probably was. “What the hell?”
“I—” She could already feel her face heating and her throat closing—some bizarre, instant response she seemed to have to this man. She’d spent way too many hours in the back of her Intro to Human Sexuality class memorizing each little detail of Donovan West. Well, his profile, really. As a teaching assistant, he usually only stopped in at the beginning of class to bring Professor Paxton papers or something. But each time he walked in, it was like some Bat-Signal for her body to go haywire. It’d started with the day he’d had to take over the lecture when Professor Paxton was sick. He’d talked about arousal and the physical mechanics of it. It was technical. It shouldn’t have been sexy. But Lord, it’d been one of the hottest experiences of her life. He’d talked with his hands a lot and had obviously been nervous to be in front of the class, but at the same time, he’d been so confident in the information, had answered questions with all this enthusiasm. Marin hadn’t heard a word in the rest of her classes that day for all the fantasizing she’d been doing.
But now she realized she was staring. And blushing. And generally looking like an idiot. Yay.
She turned fully toward him and cleared her throat, trying to form some kind of non-weird response. But when her gaze quickly traveled over him again, all semblance of language left her. Oh, shit. She tried to drag her focus back to his face and cement it there. His very handsome face—dark scruff, bright blue eyes, hair that fell a little too long around the ears. Lips that she’d thought way too much about. All good. All great.
But despite the nice view, she couldn’t ignore the thing in the bottom edge of her vision, the thing that had caught her attention on that quick once-over. The hard outline in his jeans screamed at her to stare—to analyze, to burn the picture into her brain. The need to look warred with embarrassment. The latter finally won and her cheeks flared even hotter. She adjusted her glasses. “Uh, yeah, hi. Sorry. I thought I was alone in the building. Didn’t mean to interrupt … whatever.”
He stared at her for a second, his brows knitting. “Interrupt?”
Goddammit, her gaze flicked there again. The view was like a siren song she couldn’t ignore. Massive erection dead ahead. She glanced away. But not quick enough for him not to notice.
“Ah, hell.” He stepped behind the doorway and hid his bottom half. “Sorry. It’s uh … not what it looks like.”
She snorted, an involuntary, nervous, half-choking noise that seemed to echo in the cavernous hallway. Really smooth. She tried to force some kind of wit past the awkwardness that was trying to overtake her. “Ohh-kay. If you say so.”
He laughed, this deep chuckle that seemed to come straight out of his chest. Lord, even his laugh was sexy. So not fair.
“Well, okay, it is that. But why it’s there is just an occupational hazard.”
His laugh and easy tone settled her some. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was obviously feeling awkward, too. “Occupational hazard? Must be more interesting than the sleep lab.”
He jabbed a thumb toward the office. “It is. Sexuality department. I’m working on my dissertation under Professor Paxton.”
She could tell he didn’t recognize her from class. Not surprising since she sat in the back of the large stadium-style room and tried to be as invisible as possible. Plus, she was wearing her glasses tonight. “I’m with Professor Roberts. I’m monitoring the sleep study tonight.”
“Oh, right on. I didn’t realize he’d taken on another grad student. I’m Donovan, by the way.”
I know.
“Mari.” The nickname rolled off her lips. No one called her that anymore. But she knew he probably graded her papers, and the name Marin wasn’t all that common. She forced a small smile, not correcting him that she was about as far from a grad student as she could get. She wanted to be one. Would be one day if she could figure out how to afford it. She’d managed to test out of a semester-and-a-half worth of classes, but high IQ or not, that dream was still a long way off—a point of light at the end of a very long, twisting tunnel.
Marin shifted on her feet. “I was just heading to get a Coke so that I don’t fall asleep from doing data entry and watching people snore. You need anything?”
“A Coke?” He glanced down the hall. “Don’t waste a buck fifty on the vending machine. I’ve got a mini-fridge in here. You can come in and grab whatever you want.”
Are you an option? I’d like to grab you. The errant thought made her bite her lips together so none of those words would accidentally slip out. She had no idea where this side of herself was coming from. Not that she’d really know what to do after she grabbed Donovan anyway. This was a twentysomething-year-old man, not one of the few boys she’d awkwardly made out with in high school.
“No, that’s okay, I mean …” She shifted her gaze away, willing her face not to go red again.
He caught her meaning and laughed. “Oh, right. Sorry. Yes, you should probably avoid strange men with erections who invite you inside for a drink. Good safety plan, Mari.” He lifted his hands and stepped back fully into the doorway, the pronounced outline in his pants gone. “But I promise, you’re all good now. You just caught me at an … unfortunate moment. And now I’m going to bribe you with free soda so that you don’t tell the other grads in the department about what you saw. I keep these late hours and work through holidays to avoid that kind of torture.”
He gave her a half-smile that made something flutter in her chest. She should probably head straight back to the office she was supposed to be working in. He was older. Kind of her teacher. If he found out she was one of Pax’s students, he’d probably freak out that she’d seen him like this. But the chance to spend a few minutes with him was too tempting to pass up. Plus, the way he was looking at her settled something inside her. Usually she shut down around guys. Being jerked around from school to school on her mom’s whims hadn’t left her with much time to develop savvy when it came to these things. But something about Donovan made her want to step forward instead of run away. “Yeah, okay. Free is good.”
“Cool.” His face seemed to brighten. Maybe he’d been as lonely and bored tonight as she had been. He bent over and picked up the papers he’d thrown into the hallway then swept a hand in front of him. “Welcome to my personal hell. The fridge is in the back corner.”
Marin stepped in first. His desk was stacked with photocopied articles and books. A Red Bul
l sat atop one of the piles, and a microphone was set up in the middle with a line going to the laptop. Controlled chaos. Along the back wall was a worn couch with a pillow and a blanket. She made her way to the fridge and grabbed a Dr. Pepper.
“Did you want me to get you something?” She peered back over her shoulder.
Donovan was busy gathering a pile of papers off the one other chair in the small office. “No, I’m good. Just opened my third. I think my blood has officially been converted to rocket fuel.”
She smiled and stepped back toward the door. “I hear ya. Well, thanks for the drink. I’ll let you get back to—uh, whatever it was you were doing.”
He pointed to the spot he’d cleared. “Or you could stay for a sec and take a break. God knows I need one.”
She hesitated for a moment, knowing she was taking the I’m-a-fellow-grad-student charade too far, but then she moved her way around the desk and sat. What could a few more minutes hurt? “Yeah, you sounded kind of pissed off when I walked by.”
He stilled, and she cringed inwardly when she realized what she’d revealed.
He lowered himself to the chair behind his desk. “You can hear me in the hallway?”
“I—Sound travels. The hall echoes.”
“Good to know. So you heard …”
“Enough.”
He laughed. “Well, then. Guess I should probably explain what I’m doing then so I don’t look like a total perv.”
“It’s fine. I mean, whatever.” She wasn’t sure if she sounded nonchalant or like her throat was closing. She guessed the latter.
He lifted a paper off his desk. “This is what you heard.”
She leaned forward, trying to read the scratchy handwriting.
“Scripts,” he explained. “I’m doing my dissertation on female sexual arousal in response to auditory stimuli. I’m recording potential scripts of fantasies that we may use in the study.”
“Your study is about dirty talk?” she asked, surprised that the university was down with that. And if he was the one doing the dirty talking, where did she sign up to volunteer?
He smirked and there was a hint of mischief in that otherwise affable expression. “Yes, I guess that’s one way to put it. If you want to be crass about it, Ms. Sleep Disorders.”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
“Fair enough. But yeah, I’m focusing on the effect of scripted erotic talk on women who have arousal disorder. A lot of times, therapists suggest that these patients watch erotic movies to try to increase their libido. But in general, porn is produced for men. So even though that method can be somewhat effective, the films don’t really tap into women’s fantasies. They tap into men’s. Erotic books have worked pretty well. But I want to test out another method to add to the arsenal—audio. It’d be cost effective to make, wouldn’t send money to the porn industry, and could be customized to a patient’s needs. Plus, it’s easy to test in a lab.”
Marin liked that he was talking to her like a peer, and his frankness about the topic saved her the weirdness that would normally surface when talking about sex. Plus, his passion was catching. That’s what she loved about this environment. In high school, everyone acted like they were being forced to learn. She’d always been the odd one for actually enjoying school. Books and all that information had been her escape. Schools changed, the people around her changed, but the stuff in the books stayed constant. But here at the university there were people like Donovan, people who seemed to be mainlining their education and getting high off what they learned. “So what were you so frustrated about?”
He grabbed his can of Red Bull and took a sip, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. “I’m discovering that women are complicated and that I’m having trouble thinking like one.”
She sniffed. “This is shocking news?”
“Well, no. I knew it was going to be tough, but the fantasies are turning out to be harder than I thought. We did a round of romantic ones in a small trial run, and they were a major fail. My friend, Alexis, one of the other grads working under Pax, told me that I needed to go more taboo, tap into the forbidden type of fantasies, that sweet romance makes a girl warm and fuzzy but not necessarily hot.”
Marin’s neck prickled with heat, but she tried to keep her expression smooth. “Makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“I—uh, I mean …”
“Never mind. I retract the question.” He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I met you like five minutes ago and I’m already asking you if forbidden fantasies do it for you. Sorry. Hang out in this department too long, and you lose your filter for what is acceptable in normal conversation. I spent lunch yesterday discussing nocturnal penile tumescence with a sixty-five-year-old female professor, and it wasn’t weird. This is my life.”
Marin smiled and played with the tab on the top of her soda. “I’m clearly hanging out in the wrong department. My professor just talks about sleep apnea. Though I monitor the sleep lab and can confirm that nocturnal penile tumescence is alive and well.”
“Ha. I bet.”
She wet her lips and, feeling brave, leaned forward and grabbed the script he’d left on his desk. He didn’t make a move to stop her, and she squinted at the page, trying to decipher his handwriting. The fantasy looked to be one between a boss and subordinate. She saw the parts she’d heard him read aloud. I’m hard for you. I tug down your panties.
She crossed her legs. The part he’d gotten hung up on had various crude names for the female anatomy listed and scratched out—like he couldn’t decide which one would be appropriate. But just seeing the fantasy on the page had her skin tingling, her blood stirring. She shifted in her chair. Kept reading.
“Okay, well that’s a good sign,” he said, his voice breaking through the quiet room.
Marin looked up. “What?”
He leaned his forearms against the desk, his blue eyes meeting hers. “You just made a sound.”
“I did not.”
“Yeah, you did. Like this breathy sound. And your neck is all flushed. That one’s working for you.”
She tossed the paper on his desk. “Oh my God, you really don’t have a filter.”
He smiled, something different flaring in his eyes, something that made her feel more flustered than those words on the page. “Sorry. It’s all right, though. Seriously. You already saw me with a hard-on. Now we’re even. But this is good information. I thought this one may be too geared toward the male side—a fantasy that’d appeal to me but not necessarily to a woman. You’re telling me I’m wrong.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. You’re like …”
She could feel her nipples pushing against her bra, their presence obvious against her T-shirt, and fought the urge to clamp her hands over them, to hide her traitor body. She stood. “Okay, so I’m leaving now.”
“No, no, come on, wait,” he said, standing up. He grabbed her hand before she could make a clean escape, and the touch radiated up her arm, making her breath catch in the back of her throat. “You can help. I’ve got a stack of these. I need to know which ones to test next week and which ones to trash. Or maybe you can offer suggestions? I promise to keep my eyes to myself. And I swear, if you help me, I’m yours for whatever you want. I can take a shift in the sleep lab for you or something.”
“You want me to read through fantasies and tell you which ones turn me on?” His hand was so warm against her cold one. She might just die. “Can’t you ask your friend who’s in this department to do that?”
“She’s a lesbian so her fantasies don’t line up with these. I need a straight girl’s opinion. Wait—are you straight?”
She pressed her lips together. “I—yes. But this is beyond embarrassing.”
“Why? Because you get turned on by fantasy stuff? It’s not embarrassing. It’s human. You’d be shocked by how many people struggle to tap into that part of themselves. That kind of responsiven
ess is a good thing.”
“Donovan, I don’t know …”
He let go of her hand and opened a drawer. “Here. I have an idea. I’ll give you some headphones and a thumb drive with the ones I’ve already recorded. You can take them back to your office and listen to them while you do data entry. Then you can just tell me which ones you recommend when you’re done. You won’t have to feel self-conscious sitting with me. Plus, I need to record some more tonight, and I can’t do that if someone’s in here with me.”
He held out the earbuds and a blue thumb drive. She stared at them like they would bite her, but on those files would be Donovan’s voice in her ear, saying those explicit things, things she’d never had a guy whisper to her. The temptation was a hot, pulsing thing low in her belly. She took them. “Okay. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll let you know if I’ve listened to any before I leave tonight.”
His grin was like a physical touch to her skin. “That would be amazing. I’ll owe you big-time, Mari.”
She got caught up in that smile like a fly in a spiderweb and she wanted to linger, wanted to stay there all night and listen to him talk about his research, what made him passionate, what else made him smile like that. But she knew she’d only risk embarrassing herself further, or worse—get herself in trouble. Because the thing blooming inside her with him this close was intoxicating and potent. She wanted to cling to it, to wrap herself up in that feeling and jump into the unknown without thinking about the consequences. Something she couldn’t do.
She lived her life carefully, always making sure to stay between the lines on the road. No alcohol. No drugs. No risky behavior with boys. She’d learned from her mother that one foot on the path, one chased whim, could lead to chaos. She knew enough about her mom’s disorder to know that those genes probably lingered in her, too, and this pulsing desire to flirt with Donovan, to push this charade further, could be a dangerous one.
She probably shouldn’t listen to the tapes, shouldn’t open that door. Things were safe right now, calm. She needed them to stay that way.