MIRANDA DIDN’T FEEL the car stop. The gentle thrumming of her blood raging through her veins mimicked the rumbling motion of the moving limousine. When the driver opened the back door, she jolted away from Noah. Startled. Relieved.
Disappointed.
“Thank you.” She accepted the chauffeur’s proffered hand, grabbed her purse and started for the front door as Noah stepped out behind her. She stopped midway acrosss her ornamental bridge. Just because she couldn’t control her overactive hormones didn’t mean she had a right to be rude. Noah had been a wonderful date—charming and attentive and incredibly enticing. She’d have plenty of sweet memories to draw on—if she made a quick getaway. Things would progress from sweet to downright steamy in a matter of seconds if she said the wrong thing—or worse, did the wrong thing.
“I had a great time, Noah.” She raised her voice to be heard over the sound of the departing limousine. “Thanks.”
“The evening isn’t over.”
He joined her on the footbridge, her wrap dangling from his fist. She fought the urge to grab it away. The filmy material looked much too provocative in his grasp, as if he could easily manipulate the lace into some sort of sensual tool.
Pushing the deliciously sinful thought from her mind, she turned on a confident smile and stood a little straighter. “It’s late. I have things to do in the morning.”
He took a step closer and with both hands, flipped the scarf around her shoulders. “What about the things you have to do tonight?”
“I’m going straight to bed.”
One eyebrow lifted. He tugged her a step closer with the scarf. The lace chafed the back of her neck, reminding her of that moment in the limo when he’d pulled her closer and threatened her virtue.
“Don’t you plan to unwind first?” he asked. “Have a drink? Undress?” His gaze took a leisurely scan over her body. “Get comfy?”
Lord, it was hot out! That’s what she got for living in Florida, though she would have bet an entire month’s salary the temperature had risen ten degrees just since he got out of the car.
That little delusion didn’t last long. Her knowledge of sexual attraction and physical responses kicked in and she realized she’d never been so turned on in her life. By what? He’d barely touched her! Then he tugged on the lace again, drawing her in so close, the lapels of his tuxedo brushed against her breasts. Her nipples tightened. Heat suffused deep in her belly, then lower.
“I’m so tired, I might skip everything and sleep on the couch—in my clothes.”
He didn’t seem to hear a single word. His gaze, riveted to the bare swath of skin between her neck and shoulder, flickered with desire. Unconsciously, she twisted a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, then let her hand linger on the precise spot he eyed like a starved vampire.
“Oh! Congratulations on your grant. I bet you can’t wait to get right to work. Mrs. Henson seemed really supportive. It’ll be—”
“Don’t change the topic, Miranda.”
With nimble confidence, he brushed her hand away and slipped his there. He reconstructed the intimate position of his hand at the base of her neck, just like in the back seat of the limo. Except this time, no driver would come to her rescue.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispered.
“No good-night kiss?” His gaze locked with hers, caught the glare from the porch light then reflected a gleam of intense wanting that matched her own with vivid accuracy. She couldn’t deny she wanted this kiss. She couldn’t deny she wanted so much more.
But wanting and having were two different things.
“No. No good-night kiss.” She tugged away the edges of the scarf, freeing herself from his hold. But she resisted stepping away. She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t! “It won’t stop there. You know that as well as I do.”
His smile confirmed her suspicion. Noah’d had no intention of stopping at a kiss. In fact, she doubted the thought had even occurred to him. Men like Noah knew nothing of limitations or parameters. He wasn’t reckless—that she knew—but once he decided to pursue a goal, he did so with no holds barred.
He took one step back. She was safe. For now. For tonight. Oddly, that realization brought her no comfort.
“At least give me something to cling to, Miranda.” He ran his hand through his hair, mussing the soft strands to the wavy disorder that was his and his alone. “If not a kiss, then tell me—what is the last thing you do before you go to bed? Describe precisely how you climb beneath the covers.”
“That’s silly.”
“Is it? Or is it just a little erotic? A bit taboo, perhaps? Come on, Miranda. Give me something to distract me during my long drive home. Something to haunt me as I drift off to sleep. Something to dream about.”
Miranda couldn’t believe he could be so bold. She couldn’t believe she could even consider telling him how she turned off the bed-stand light only after she’d carefully arranged her five fluffy pillows. Two beneath her head. One at each arm. One between her thighs. He wanted her to paint him a picture—give him the beginnings of a fantasy—about her. Her!
“You’re joking.”
Noah frowned and dug his hands into his pockets. “Why do you find it so hard to believe that I’m attracted to you? Because you’re not my type? What is my type, Miranda? Can you tell me that?”
She pulled her wrap tightly around her shoulders. “Not with any degree of accuracy. I have only rumor and supposition to form an opinion. That’s not good enough.”
“You bet it isn’t. Let me tell you something about me, Miranda.” He stepped back, completely off the bridge, and Miranda shivered from a chilled wave of cold withdrawal.
“Don’t worry,” he promised. “I won’t give away too much. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable or bore you with tragic details, but I don’t date my students. Never have. Never will. I want you to know that.”
Date his students? Oh, she’d heard that rumor before, but she’d never believed it. Not for an instant. Some of the women he saw were young, but none depended on him for a grade. She knew which of her colleagues crossed that line, and without exception, those men, and women in some cases, thrived on the quest for power and control. Noah didn’t need to seek out authority. He wielded it without a second thought.
“I didn’t think you did. You have more ethics than that.”
“You think?”
“Of course.”
So far as she knew, Noah was reportedly very clear with the women he dated. No expectations. No relationships. And those limitations, while honest, went against everything she ever wanted for herself.
Miranda glanced over her shoulder at her front door, then to Noah’s sporty blue car parked in the driveway. Inviting him in would be such a huge mistake. Yes, she wanted to talk this out. Explore this aspect of his psyche that fascinated her beyond words. Delve into the recesses of his heart to find the tragic circumstance that turned him away from love and romantic partnership.
But so much more about him fascinated her than the way his brain worked. Like the natural warmth in his touch. The spark of raw energy in his eyes. The perfect way his body molded into the slick lines of his tuxedo.
And tonight, in the sultry summer heat of a typical Florida night, under a blanket of twinkling stars reflecting like tiny fireflies in the waters of the pond beneath the bridge, she knew now wasn’t the time for explorations—of any kind.
“Why don’t you come over tomorrow?” she suggested. “I do yard work on Saturday and I could use the help. We could have lunch after.”
Noah opened his mouth with protest written all over his expression, then stopped. “Yard work?”
“What did you think? This gorgeous lawn was the result of a service?”
He nodded admiringly. “Mmm. Miranda Carpenter in torn cutoffs and maybe a sweaty tank, her hands moist with dirt and skin sun-kissed. Quite a picture to send me home with.”
Miranda couldn’t argue with that. The man could turn even her mundane hobby into a potentially sensual encounter. Her invitation suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea, but she wasn’t about to back down. He wanted her to “confront the conflict”? Fine. Then he’d have to do the same. On her turf, literally.
“Glad I could oblige.”
“MIRANDA?”
Noah gave up ringing the doorbell and knocking after ten minutes. When he heard the whirring buzz of an electric trimmer, he figured she’d started without him. It was after eleven. He’d gone to bed with every intention of waking early and surprising Miranda with fresh bagels and coffee. He hadn’t counted on such a restless night. When he finally heard his alarm clock, breakfast time had come and gone.
Settling on lunch, he’d stopped by his favorite deli on the way over. After stuffing his favorite sandwiches, salads and desserts—chocolate, of course—into a cooler, he’d headed to Miranda’s on a thrill of anticipation he hadn’t felt in years. For a minute, he’d almost forgotten his promise to stay away from women like Miranda. The kind who wanted happy endings. The kind who wouldn’t settle for one night. Or even one afternoon.
But he hadn’t forgotten. Not really. Taking her up on her invitation was risky business. She was already starting to get to him. He’d actually started to defend his life-style before she’d even accused him of anything. When she’d dismissed his reputation as hearsay and declared her faith in his good intentions, he’d experienced a subtle warmth that defied desire and ran counter to simple lust.
Risky business didn’t begin to describe Miranda. The more he learned, the more he liked. And liking usually spelled disaster.
And yet, he couldn’t resist. Last night’s date, no matter how brief or crowded with other people, was the most fun he’d had in a long, long time. Surprised though he was to learn that Miranda was attracted to him, he felt relatively safe cultivating a deeper friendship with her. She wanted, but she refrained. She lusted, but she abstained. While hardly breaking a sweat.
Good girls. Gotta love ’em.
He followed a stone path around the corner of the house and nearly tripped over his own feet when he caught sight of Miranda at the farthest edge of the property.
Her cutoffs were much shorter than even he had imagined. The frayed denim edge skimmed just below her buttocks, revealing long, tanned legs. When she bent over to toss aside an errant branch, he witnessed a flash of lighter skin that made him instantly hard.
She wasn’t wearing underwear. Unless it was a thong.
And from the cut of her tank top, there wasn’t a bra under there either.
What was she trying to do? Kill him?
After trimming a perfect circle in the ground beneath a short, stubby palm, Miranda switched off the edging tool and coiled the cord around her forearm and thumb. She worked with confident precision—not an air of daintiness about her. Hadn’t he called her “ethereal” once? What the hell had he been thinking?
Her skin shimmered with perspiration. Her hair, a tangle of twisted, dark blond strands and silver clips, was sprinkled with grass cuttings and bits of Spanish moss, as were her arms and legs. Her lips moved, as if she was singing quietly to herself. Noah grinned when he noticed the thin yellow cord connecting a palm-sized Walkman radio hooked at her waist to tiny earphones.
Just what kind of music did Miranda Carpenter listen to when she cut her yard? Mozart? Bach?
Ravel? He could hope.
He set the cooler under a tall shade oak and set about to find out.
She’d turned her back to him to pluck some weeds from the mulch around the palm. Unaware of his presence, she knelt down, bouncing almost imperceptibly to the allegro beat of the music, turned up loud enough so he could hear.
Disco music.
KC and the Sunshine Band?
“Shake your booty?”
Miranda spun around, lost her footing, and ended up, booty-down, in the dirt.
She yanked off the earphones.
“Noah! You scared me to death.”
“Weren’t you expecting me?”
She glanced at her watch, then turned her clipping-splattered face to him. “It’s after eleven-thirty. I expected you this morning. I figured you decided doing yard work wasn’t your ideal weekend activity.”
He assessed her attire with lingering appreciation. The tank top, a jeweled shade of purple that did amazing things to her lavender eyes, molded to her breasts, accentuating a fuller and rounder shape than even her evening wear revealed. “This is about as close to ideal as I’ve come in a long, long time.”
She scrambled to stand, begrudgingly accepting his hand. “Then you’re late.”
“Sorry. I had trouble sleeping. I brought lunch. I take it you finished all the hard work?”
Miranda stood and immediately backed away, giving him space to avert his attention from her tight, tiny, sweaty clothes long enough to notice the layout of the backyard. With an apparent conservation area behind her lot, the yard had no fence to separate the precisely trimmed and tamed green of Miranda’s lawn with the wild growth of sea oats, palmetto, pine and scrub oak behind her. Using tall hedges on either side and canopies of weeping willow and camphor at strategic intervals, Miranda had created a private paradise in the middle of an ordinary suburb.
“Depends on how you define hard work. I still have the weeding to do.”
“I had no idea you were so into plants.”
“I wasn’t before I bought the house. The previous owner ran the botanical gardens at the university. He brought his work home with him, and I couldn’t bear to let it go. He didn’t move far from here, so for the first year he taught me everything I needed to know. I had no idea I’d enjoy it so much. It’s very relaxing.”
Miranda rolled her head to the side, then in a circular motion, stretching the muscles in her neck. Noah heard the gentle cracking and wondered how she’d react to a neck rub. He knew how he’d react—which is why he kept his hands to himself.
She looked past his shoulder at the cooler beneath the tree. “It’s getting hot. I’ll probably wait until tomorrow to finish. Did you say something about lunch? I skipped breakfast and I’m starved.”
If there was one thing he admired in a woman, it was a hearty appetite.
“Roast beef or turkey?”
“Subs?” Her eyes lit like amethysts. “From Antronik’s?”
He nodded. The Greek deli was a campus favorite.
“Roast beef, definitely.” She stacked her weeding tools in a bucket. “And if you tell me you picked up baklava, I may kiss your feet.”
Feet? A good place to start, he supposed.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he teased, confident that the carefully packaged squares of the Greek pastry—the chocolate variety—would buy him some serious points.
Her grin brimmed with curious delight. “Let me wash up. There’s a picnic blanket in the laundry room, under the sink. Go through the sliding glass doors and turn left.”
She started toward the far side of the house without a backward glance. Wash up? Outside? Flecks of cut grass blades, curls of gray moss and a coating of soil touched Miranda’s skin from head to toe. This was something he wasn’t going to miss.
He retrieved the blanket from the laundry room, as well as a fluffy but faded beach towel she kept beside it. Throwing the blanket on a lawn chair, he quietly followed the path she’d taken to the side of the house. He found her shoes, a beaten pair of Keds, tossed outside a seven-foot wall of thick hedge beside the house. The sound of water pouring on concrete lured him closer. Moving shapes and colors…denim blue, deep purple and tanned flesh stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Miranda?”
The name came out in a soft squawk. She didn’t answer. He hooked the towel over his arm and walked around to the side opening.
The space was small. No more than a three-foot-by-three-foot square of concrete tiles beneath a spigot surrounded on three sides by the hedge. The fourth side, the wall of her house, boxed her in like a natural shower stall. Miranda had unwrapped a coil of garden hose and was washing off her hands and arms. Just a woman removing dirt from her skin, and yet Noah couldn’t have been more aroused.
She looked up and saw him watching her. She froze at first, looked away, then shook her head and directed the water flow against the top of her knees.
“I’ll just be a minute.”
Her voice was soft, barely audible. Swollen with discomfort and…need?
“I’ll wait,” he decided.
She looked up then. “Noah…”
I don’t think this is a good idea. She wanted to say it, but the words sat on her tongue, refusing to budge. Hadn’t she said something similar last night? Out on the front lawn when he’d tried to kiss her…when she’d wanted him to kiss her with every nerve ending, every fiber of herself that was female and yearning for the touch of a man like him? I don’t think this is a good idea. Think was the key word. She was always thinking. She thought too damn much. If she gave herself the chance to feel every once in a while, she probably wouldn’t be coiled up tighter than the hose right now.
“I won’t move from this spot if you don’t want me to,” Noah insisted. “I’m just…watching.”
Sweat beaded on his forehead. She would blame the sun, but the corner of the house was shaded. Private. No one could see them. No one would see them. If she let go. Dropped the pretense. Surrendered to the forbidden fantasies she’d denied for so, so long.
And for what? Some inflated line of morals even the purest of heart couldn’t tow? Sometimes—just sometimes—she envied Teri’s disastrous relationships and heartbreaking trysts. Even when helping her sister through the tragic breakups, Miranda longed to feel, even for an instant, a need so powerful that even her incredibly cogent common sense couldn’t keep her from diving straight into disaster.
Like right now. Right here. With Noah.
His fists twisted in the towel he’d brought her. The muscles in his arms bunched and bulged, pouring potent fuel onto the passion already simmering inside her. What would it hurt to explore this attraction? Who would it hurt? Other than her, she couldn’t think of anyone. And she could take care of herself.
The supervised date ended last night. She could honestly and forthrightly report that they had both conducted themselves with perfect propriety.
Noah glanced over his shoulder, apparently assuring himself of the privacy they shared. “Unless…”
He spoke syllables. One word fraught with endless possibilities. Possibilities that stole her breath. Turned her muscles into taut, electrified cords. Infused her veins with a thrumming beat that sounded like bass drums in her ears.
“Need a hand?” he offered.
She closed her eyes. Her heart hammered against her chest. Yes. That’s exactly what she needed. A hand. Two hands. His. On her body. Smoothing away the grime and dirt. Washing away the loneliness.
“Yes,” she answered.
“What?”
He dropped the towel. She couldn’t contain a smile, especially when he nearly tripped picking up the striped terry cloth before it soaked up the water pooling on the tile. He didn’t expect her to agree. She’d caught him completely off guard. She’d caught herself off guard! The thrill was delicious.
“Just hang it up. Here.” She indicated a spot in the hedge that was thin. With the towel in place, even a neighbor stumbling by wouldn’t see them. Not that her neighbors ever stumbled by. Hers was the only house on this side of the cul-de-sac.
The privacy of the property had lured her to spend more on a down payment than she’d originally planned. Now, that investment was worth every single sacrifice.
He hung the towel, then took the hose from her trembling hand. Water splashed down, tickling her ankles and calves with cool drops and splattering the front of his tan T-shirt.
“You’re going to get wet,” she warned him, watching with fascination as his shirt became saturated and nearly translucent, revealing the outline of taut muscle and sprinkles of dark hair.
“So are you,” he predicted.
If he only knew. Moisture surrounded her, penetrated her. Between the perspiration from the heat, the water from the hose and her own intimate response to him standing so close, she was soaked through and through.
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
She started to turn around so he could begin with her back, but he grabbed her shoulder. “Wait.”
He tossed the hose on the ground. “There’s something I have to do before I touch you. And I’m going to touch you, Miranda, like you’ve never been touched before.”
She knew, physiologically, that it was impossible, but a sensation much like the ceasing of her heartbeat, made her dizzy. Light-headed. Luckily, Noah grabbed her cheeks, lightly, but with enough pressure to keep her standing.
His gaze focused on her lips, while hers watched his eyes. The blue in his irises darkened as his pupils enlarged. His lashes, thicker and fuller than she’d ever noticed before, fluttered in quick, successive blinks—as if he tried to wake himself from a dream. Slowly, he lowered his head, teasing her mouth with the briefest contact—the slightest caress—an intimate sample of what was yet to come.
He didn’t waste another second. When he pressed his mouth to hers again, Miranda could hardly contain a sigh. Soft yet insistent, gentle but demanding, his lips coaxed hers to open with the most delicate of kisses. He tasted of sweet soda. He smelled of soap and sunlight. He felt like pure delight.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time.” His confession broke the kiss, but not the hazy connection drawing them together. He massaged her cheeks with his thumbs, then plucked a dried leaf from a tendril of hair.
“I’ve been wanting you to do that—among other things.”
The admission startled both of them, but Miranda couldn’t turn back now. Kissing Noah had been a commitment in itself—the kind of commitment even he could live with. For today. For now, she wanted to know him. Really know him. Every inch of him.
And he would know her—in ways she barely comprehended.
Turning, she faced the wall and smoothed the loose strands of hair away from her neck. “Start here. I hate when I get dirt on my neck.”
Neck? Why’d she have to start with the neck? Noah groaned. Yet when she glanced over her shoulder and met his frustrated gaze with soft, lavender promise, his muscles eased, then tightened with a different kind of tension. She wasn’t torturing him. She was inviting him. To fulfill his promise. To help her wash.
To make her wet.
He kicked off his deck shoes and slid them out of the way. She turned her face toward the wall. He took a deep breath, then raised the hose until the water streamed down her neck and over her shoulders.
She squealed and jumped. “It’s cold!”
A field of gooseflesh popped up on her skin.
“Then it should feel good. It’s wicked hot today.”
And it was about to get more wicked. And more hot.
A dark layer of dirt dripped away on the stream of water, but a few stubborn grass cuttings and grains of sand remained. He reached out the few inches that separated them and smoothed the trimmings away.
Her skin was hot to the touch, even beneath the steady layer of water. She sighed when he made contact—and didn’t retreat.
“You’re right. This feels very good.”
He directed the water stream across her shoulders, wiping her skin with his palm as he progressed, watching as the errant droplets fell over her shoulders and down her breasts.
“It could feel better.”
She hesitated, but then glanced up and met his stare.
“Could it?”
He closed his eyes and willed all his self-control into action. She’d opened a door. Cracked a window. Provided a keyhole entrance into the private inner sanctum that was Miranda Carpenter. Not the professor. Not the dedicated scientist. The woman. The sexy, sensual being he knew she kept carefully and steadfastly locked away.
“This is just you and me. Alone. Two adults who’ve been denying an attraction for longer than either of us would care to admit. Am I right?”
Her hesitation lasted no more than three seconds, and yet Noah felt a lifetime pass.
“You know you are.”
A single step and the gap between their bodies disappeared. His chest pressed to her back, the water from her clothes seeped into his. He couldn’t hide his erection—and he didn’t want to. She needed to know the breadth of her effect on him. She needed to know—before he crossed the line from friend to lover—just how much he wanted her.
“You can stop me whenever you want to.”
He slid one strap of her tank top down her shoulder, then washed the length of her arm with the water and his hand.
“I know.”
When the skin was clean, he placed a feathery kiss on the tip of her collarbone, then proceeded to bathe her other side. Strap down. Water cool. Hands smooth. Skin clean and kissed.
“Hold this.”
He hooked the hose into her hand, noticing the gentle trembling that sent the water splashing against the wall. Glancing over her shoulder, he noticed her eyes were closed. He’d make her open them before he finished…before he brought her to the edge of climax then eased her over the brink. He yearned to see the wonder in her eyes. The newness. The freshness he hadn’t seen in so long. Perhaps, not ever.
Suddenly, he felt very much like a student on the verge of discovery. Not the teacher. Yes, he had the knowledge to pleasure Miranda. And man-oh-man did he have the desire. But the confidence of experience dispersed at the sight of her sun-kissed skin, rounded shoulders and pouting lips.
He knew then that he was the one with the most to learn.