A Kiss Remembered

by Sandra Brown

  “You’re … a good … instructor.”

  The dry, uninteresting contents of the finance textbook she was studying wouldn’t register. For an hour she had tried to absorb the information she was reading, but her mind wasn’t on it and her eyes seemed bent on wandering to the man sitting across the room, concentrating on the book resting in his lap.

  She loved him so much, she was barely able to contain it. Grant’s sexuality and her response to him stunned her. Daryl, well acquainted with the mechanics of human sexuality, had known nothing of romance, of a loving technique. He wouldn’t have recognized the woman who had unabashedly participated in every act of loving with Grant as the same woman who had lain beneath him, apathetic and listless. It would crush him to know what a lousy lover he was. The thought gave her a perverse pleasure.

  “You’re staring.” Grant’s quietly spoken words brought her out of her daze and she made a face at him as he raised his eyes from his book.

  “I’m studying.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said with obvious disbelief.

  “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t interrupt me again,” she said primly. He grinned before going back to his own reading.

  The weather, which was still cold and rainy, had encouraged them to stay indoors. They had returned to his bed after clearing the kitchen of their breakfast dishes. Sleeping for a while had refreshed them, but they’d agreed to be lazy for the remainder of the day. Each was jealous of this precious time they had been granted and didn’t want anything to intrude on it.

  She had reluctantly told him she had a finance exam to study for. As he had to prepare his lectures for the coming week, they’d agreed to take two hours away from each other and study. As they stood in the middle of the room they played out a leave-taking scene that would have rivaled a tear-jerking movie.

  “Let’s sit together on the couch.” He kissed her ear, his tongue detailing the outer rim.

  “No. We’d never get our studying done and that would only prolong the misery.”

  “I promise not to touch.”

  “But I can’t promise.” She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and flattened her palms over his chest.

  “But I’ll be sitting way over there,” he complained. “I’ll miss you.”

  “It wouldn’t work.” She sighed, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing his chest.

  “Are you afraid I’ll distract you? Do something like this?” He dipped his head and flicked his tongue across her nipple. She was wearing an old shirt of his. He had convinced her she didn’t want to dress in her stuffy suit again. With the shirt, which had the long sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she wore a pair of his white sport socks that came to just beneath her knees. The long shirttail reached to the middle of her thigh, providing only a modicum of protection.

  When he pulled back, the soft cotton was wet where his mouth had been. “Or something distracting like this?” His fingers combed down her stomach, inched under the shirttail and found the dark V at the top of her thighs.

  “Oh, Grant,” she groaned and, with a supreme act of will, pushed him away. “Go!”

  “Killjoy,” he grumbled, but he went to the opposite end of the room and sank into a chair.

  Now, over an hour later, she still knew no more about the exam material than she had earlier. Even at this distance, he continued to divert her. All she could concentrate on was his loving, the way his lips and hands could bring her to an apex of sensual excitement she’d never imagined. She should have guessed it would be this way between them. Hadn’t the kiss of ten years ago, that forbidden kiss that had refused to be banished from her mind, hinted that no man would ever love her as he did?

  She thought of the past affectionately. Of the future, she thought not at all. It frightened her. For where would they go from here? She wanted him. But devoting herself to a man was something she’d sworn never to do again. She loathed that person she had become when she was married to Daryl, for she’d lost her individuality. She had been a dim shadow, existing without nucleus, soul, or spirit. Never again.

  Grant had said that he loved her. But for how long? He hadn’t spoken of a commitment. Was she only a tonic he was taking to restore himself after his debacle in Washington? Once healed, how would he feel about her?

  “Now you’re staring and frowning,” he teased.

  She blinked until he came into focus and her frown faded into a contented smile. If there was no future for them, she wasn’t going to dwell on that fact in the present. She wasn’t going to waste the time they had now ruminating about what might be.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, surrendering and slamming her book shut. “I was just thinking about the abysmal grade I’m going to make on that exam, and how it will be all your fault.”

  Having waited impatiently for the merest invitation from her, he vaulted out of his chair and came to stretch out beside her on the couch. “You might have to settle for a ‘B.’” He claimed her mouth with a scorching kiss.

  “Did you get your lectures outlined?” she managed to say when he at last released her mouth.

  He ignored her and began kissing her neck. Her throat arched gracefully to allow him access. “I’ve been thinking. I may switch over to teaching anatomy and physiology. We’d have a helluva time doing research. You’d make straight ‘A’s.”

  “Would I?” she asked, her voice coming from deep in her throat. He had worked free the buttons on the shirt and was caressing her breasts tenderly. Cupping one, he lifted it slightly and closed his lips around the dusky crest.

  “Um-huh,” he hummed, not lifting his mouth, but tugging on her with exquisite sweetness.

  Her hands slid down his back and curved over his jean-clad hips. At her encouragement, he settled himself between her thighs. With fumbling motions, she grappled with the fastener of his jeans. “Grant … ?”

  “Yes, my love, yes …”

  They froze when the doorbell pealed loudly.

  He put his forehead against hers and let out a long sigh. The doorbell rang a second time. He looked down into her face apologetically. “Don’t move,” he commanded, levering himself off the couch and resnapping his jeans as he crossed to the door. He opened it no more than a few inches.

  “Yes?” he barked.

  A seductive giggle preceded Pru Zimmerman into the room. “Is that any way to greet a … friend?”

  She turned toward the startled Grant before she could see Shelley, who was curled into the corner of the sofa, her feet tucked under her. She had hastily rebuttoned the shirt, though the fabric was twisted around her thighs in a telltale fashion.

  Grant hadn’t taken time to rebutton his shirt and Pru audaciously slid her fingers up and down the buttonholes as she said, “I came by to ask you about some extra reading. I didn’t do as well on that test as I had hoped to.”

  Shelley couldn’t believe the girl’s gall. Her sweater was much too tight. Her breasts were unconfined, the nipples obvious through the knit. She moved closer to Grant with a swaying motion and tilted her head at an angle she no doubt thought irresistible. When her hand slipped into his open shirt, Shelley was seized by a fierce jealousy and cried out in anger.

  At the same time, Grant’s viselike fingers closed around the girl’s wrist and jerked her hand away from him.

  Pru whipped around toward Shelley and met her turbulent blue eyes. She took in Shelley’s dishabille at a glance. Fury thinned her petulant lips and narrowed her calculating eyes.

  “Miss Zimmerman, I’m asking you politely not to come here or call again. Anything you have to see me about can be seen to in the classroom.” Grant held himself rigid. Shelley suspected that if he’d let himself go, he would have throttled the young woman.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Chapman. You know why I came here.”

  “Then I find your behavior not only rude, but offensive. I don’t need to remind you that you’re my student, nothing more.”

  “So is she,” Pru screamed, pointing an accusing fin
ger at Shelley, who was barely managing to control an impulse to fly at the girl and scratch her eyes out. She could gladly strangle her for touching Grant the way she had. “What’s she doing here undressed and cozily curled up on your couch?”

  “That’s none of your damn business,” Grant said heatedly. He gripped her shoulder hard and spun her toward the door. He opened the door with one hand while pushing her through it with the other.

  “Well, I’ll make it my business to see that Chancellor Martin finds out you’re sleeping with your students,” she threatened before Grant slammed the door in her face and clicked the lock decisively.

  “Can you believe her?” Grant shouted, raking a frustrated hand through his already mussed hair. “I—Shelley?”

  He had turned around to see her white, tense face. Rather than quaking with rage as she had been doing but seconds ago, she was now cowering. “What is it?” he asked, rushing to her.

  She swallowed. “Nothing, Grant. I think you should take me home.” She began to get up, but his hands stayed her. He forced her face up to meet his eyes.

  “Look at me,” he demanded when she tried to avert her head. “Why? Why do you want me to take you home? Why, dammit?”

  “Because … because … she’s right, Grant. I shouldn’t be here. People will think—”

  “I don’t give a damn what people will think,” he roared.

  “Well I do,” she shouted back.

  “Shelley …” His hands closed around her shoulders so tightly she winced. He eased his grip slightly. “I learned that no matter how circumspect you are, some people will jump at the chance to point a finger at you. People love to condemn others because it gives them a sense of self-righteousness. It gets you nowhere to try to please everybody. It’s futile, impossible. You need only please yourself.”

  “No, Grant. I was taught early on that there are rules we have to live by whether we like them or not. We’re breaking the rules. I’ve lived my life one way for twenty-seven years. I can’t start changing now.” It took every ounce of her self-discipline to look him in the eye and say, “If you won’t drive me to campus to pick up my car, I’ll walk.”

  He cursed viciously. “All right. Go upstairs and change.”

  They left the house within minutes. He ushered her out the door, locking it behind him. Impervious to the rain, he helped her into his car and backed out the driveway.

  “My car’s parked behind Haywood Hall,” she said when he headed in the opposite direction from the campus.

  “I’m hungry. I had planned on taking you to dinner tonight.”

  “Why? As payment for my favors?”

  His head jerked around and she quailed under the sparks of anger shooting from his eyes. “Read it any way you like,” he snarled.

  She would have preferred that he slap her. At least then only her cheek would be smarting. Tears clouded her vision, matching the rain that pounded the wind-shield. She turned her head so he wouldn’t see the effects their verbal dueling had had on her and proudly held her shoulders erect.

  He drove to the outskirts of town to a popular steak house. Its rustic exterior blended into the backdrop of a rain-washed landscape. “I hope you like steak.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, pushing open her door and dashing through the rain toward the door of the restaurant. If he thought etiquette had to be observed by buying her dinner, she wanted only to get it over with, so she could go home and nurse her wounds.

  Inwardly, she shrank from the stormy expression on his face as he joined her under the covered porch and pulled open the door. His arm operated with the thrusting action of a piston. “Get inside,” he said tensely. She shot him a seething look before marching past him.

  A hostess led them to a table near the fireplace. “Can I get you something from the bar?” she asked.

  “No. Yes.” They answered in unison.

  “Nothing for me,” Shelley said with stiff dignity.

  “Draft beer, please,” Grant said.

  The waitress left the menus and Shelley studied hers thoroughly until the woman returned with Grant’s beer to take their order.

  “Shelley?” he asked politely.

  “I only want a salad. Vinaigrette dressing.”

  “She’ll have a steak, too. A filet cooked medium. And a baked potato with all the trimmings. I’ll have prime rib, medium rare, baked potato, too. Thousand Island dressing.” He snapped the menu shut and handed it to the confused waitress, his eyes daring Shelley to contradict him.

  She only shrugged and turned her head to stare into the fire. She remained resolutely silent during the entire meal, answering his direct questions politely but initiating no conversation. If this were nothing more than a payoff, she’d be damned before she’d let him enjoy it.

  Once they were back in the car, he ground it into gear and spun out onto the rain-slicked highway. His increasing anger only served to feed hers. The earnest lover of the night before had vanished, and in his place was an angry, embittered man she didn’t know.

  A few blocks short of the campus he turned onto her street. “My car—”

  “I know. It’s at Haywood Hall. I don’t want you driving in this weather, especially in a car—”

  “I can take care of myself!” she yelled.

  “I’m sure you can,” he shouted back. “Indulge me, okay?”

  He slammed on the brakes in front of her house and caught her arm before she opened the door. “Don’t,” was all he said, but the simple word was potent. With only a little indifference and a great deal of fear, she obeyed him and waited for him to come around and hold the door for her.

  “Thank you for everything,” she said with dripping sweetness before inserting the key in her front door and turning it.

  “Not so fast,” he said, catching the closing door with his boot and stepping inside behind her. “I’m not going to let you go into an empty house alone after you’ve been away overnight, no matter how well you can take care of yourself.” He shut the door behind him and switched on the light.

  He made a thorough inspection of her small house while she stood at the front door in growing irritation. When he strolled back into the room, obviously in no hurry to leave—indeed he had taken off his jacket and held it over his shoulder by his index finger—she said curtly, “Good night.”

  His grin was sly as he dropped his jacket onto a chair. “Good nights are usually said in the bedroom, Shelley.” She stood in mute stupefaction as he came to her and yanked her against him, one arm going around her waist like a steel pincers. The other hand imbedded itself in her hair and pulled her head back as he leaned over her. “And they’re usually accompanied by a kiss.”

  “No—” she barely got out before his mouth came down over hers. He kissed her without mercy, his tongue a marauder. Even though she struggled and squirmed against him, he lifted her easily and carried her kicking and thrashing into the bedroom.

  She landed on the bed with an impact that drove the air from her lungs. He followed immediately, pinning her beneath him.

  “Let me go.” Tears of frustration mingled with those of despair as her fists pounded ineffectually on his chest.

  “Not a chance.” He locked her wrists into one of his fists. He fumbled with the buttons of her blouse and for the second time in twenty-four hours peeled down the silver slip to bare her breasts. “Tell me you don’t like this. Don’t want it. Don’t need it.” With his free hand, he caressed her. His touch was gentle, in direct contrast to the strength with which he held her.

  “No, please don’t,” she moaned when she felt the rebellious response of her own body. Her head tossed back and forth on the pillow, but the fight was lost and she knew it. Her efforts were valiant, but without conviction. Her moans of protest became whimpering pleas as he stroked her now with his tongue. It flitted over her nipples in a caress like the rapid beating of a butterfly’s wings.

  At the first sign of her acquiescence, he released her hands. They burrowed into
his hair, frantic now that he might be the one to escape.

  “Shelley, Shelley,” he breathed against her stomach as he pushed up her skirt and peeled the panty hose down her legs. He cursed them and his own clumsiness. Lest he terrify her with his desire, he forced himself to slow down, but her anxious hands on his shoulders were frantically imploring. He fastened his mouth on hers when his caressing fingers confirmed what he’d suspected. She was ready for him, pliant and moist.

  He hurriedly freed himself from his restrictive clothing and poised on the threshold of her womanhood. He cradled her face between his hands and searched her eyes. “Do you think I’d let a stupid girl like that come between us? After ten heartbreaking years for both of us, do you think I’d let anything or anyone rob us of this happiness again?”

  She shook her head, tears of love dampening her cheeks and the backs of his hands. “I told you that if I ever had you for one night, I’d never be able to let you go,” he continued. “But I’ll leave if you ask me to. I’ll leave. Now. But you have to ask me to.”

  Her fingers intertwined behind his head and she pulled him down. She spoke against his lips. “No, Grant. Don’t leave.”

  “Dinner. I didn’t mean what I said about—”

  “Neither did I. It was a stupid thing for me to say.”

  “I got rough. If I hurt you—”

  “No, no,” she moaned. “But love me now.”

  His body sank into hers, hard and full, filling the void his absence from her life had created and which only he could heal. Their tumult came quickly and simultaneously. As his life-force pumped into her, he said, “Nothing will separate us again.”

  And she believed him.

  She awakened in a tangle of limbs. Grant’s even breathing stirring the hair on the top of her head assured her that he was sleeping soundly. She eased away from him, covered his nakedness against the morning chill and crept to her closet to take out a fleecy robe.

  Wrapping herself in it, she moved softly toward the kitchen with the intention of percolating coffee to carry in to him when he woke up. Musing on the tantalizing prospects of what would happen once they’d been fortified with caffeine, she was not immediately aware of the knocking on her front door. Puzzled as to who could be calling so early in the morning, she went to open it.