But with all my research documents already open and staring me in the face, my momentary diversion fled. Ten days. One of which was a Sunday. There were still many avenues left to me, but they were all the slimmest chances and the most difficult to pursue, or ones that had only popped up in the last two weeks.
But some of this work I could do from the States. And, if necessary, I could likely return as soon as next summer. Or if I worked and saved up more money again, I could come back as early as the spring. Not ideal. Possibly, it wouldn’t even be worth coming back. Maybe I’d never find the link I was hoping for.
I checked my e-mail. There was one from my advisor with multiple exclamation points. She clearly thought the photograph a fabulous find. But then, she also was the one who had pushed for me to have a less ambitious backup argument, and the photograph made that backup thesis slightly more exciting for her.
Why did a reasonable, rational thing like having to resort to a plan B make me feel like a failure?
But I knew why. It was because I’d failed when I missed the deadlines for my fellowship. I’d failed when I’d let one stupid interaction—one guy—affect my life in such a huge way.
The doorbell buzzed. Two pairs of male eyes and knowing smiles turned my way. I rolled my eyes as I stood to answer the door. They could be a bit less obvious.
I opened the door. As soon as I saw Sebastian standing there in his suit and tie, a slim messenger bag slung over his arm and a brown bag of fragrant food in his right hand, nothing else mattered but the heat that washed over me and the strange, sudden joy at seeing him again.
My attraction to Sebastian had been half as great back in New Jersey, mostly because, while I hadn’t been a virgin, I’d known nearly nothing about sex. Good sex, that is. Knowledge made every anticipatory sensation within me sharper.
“Hi,” I said, almost shyly. He had shadows under his eyes, looked like he’d had a long day. I knew our late night the previous day must not have helped, yet his lips curved up in a sensual promise.
Desire surged inside me and heat gathered between my legs. I had it bad. It being a serious case of lust.
“Can I come in?”
I laughed self-consciously and stepped aside, only then, as I closed the door and turned, remembering our audience. I stepped forward for introductions but was too late. Sebastian was already saying hello with an outstretched hand. Introducing himself as an old university friend of mine.
Friend. We had been friends at one point. Now we were lovers, but I wasn’t entirely certain about the friendship aspect, no matter what I had said to Neil and Jens earlier.
Sebastian made some comment about the show they were watching, and I realized that it had changed from the reality show to the finale of one of those next big pop-star competitions. I slid the brown bag from his grasp and took it into the kitchen.
I should never have worried about awkwardness. Apparently Sebastian knew how to take charge of any situation with a smooth, natural charm. He was the antithesis of what anyone in an American high school would have imagined a math major to be. Had he always been this way? Or had he simply grown up and developed that ease over time?
In contrast, I was a complete introvert. Well, perhaps not completely considering the last two years, but for the majority of my life, my impulse had been to avoid people in preference for my books and studies. It had always been easier. At least, until the day after Sebastian’s graduation.
I cleared space on the counter and pulled out all the little paper boxes and plastic containers. There was soup (pho, I gathered), spring rolls, and then some rice and another dish that looked like chicken. It was way more food than two people could eat. I pulled two bowls and plates down from the cupboard and set them out with utensils.
“I wasn’t certain what you’d like,” Sebastian said quietly as he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I melted back against him, my hand still clutching a fork. He kissed me on the temple, and then on my neck, before letting go and reaching for a plate. “God, I’m starving.”
“It all looks good,” I said, watching him as he served himself. He was just so comfortable in his skin. As at home here as he was at his own place. But now that he was no longer touching me, I could see that hint of exhaustion at the corner of his eyes.
“How was work?” I asked.
“Ah, the usual. Started a new project for a new client. How was your stop in Luton?”
“I . . .” I stopped myself before I said anything negative. Instead, I took a moment to focus on serving myself food as well. Sebastian hadn’t chosen to get too deep into the details of his own work. Likely, I shouldn’t prose on and on about my own either. “Fascinating. Ultimately not what I hoped, but definitely worth the trip out. Can I get you something to drink? Actually, there’s not much here. A glass of water?”
“Water is fine,” he said with a grin, then reached for my plate.
A few moments later I joined him at the table in the living room and placed our glasses down.
We ate in silence, having each brushed over our day’s work, and really, what else was there to talk about? In front of us, on the television, some seventeen-year-old singer who had just been voted off the show was watching a retrospective of her performances.
I wanted to say something about how I really felt, but Neil and Jens were several feet away. Beyond which, the knowledge that I’d be leaving soon and it didn’t really matter if Sebastian understood my deep emotional needs or my disturbed psyche kept me silent as I ate.
“Do you watch this show?” I asked finally, feeling ridiculously self-conscious of the silence, of how Neil and Jens might judge it.
He laughed. “No. But one of the receptionists at work is avid about it. I think she wants to try out next season.”
“What shows do you like to watch?” I couldn’t remember us ever talking about television before. Music, yes. Especially when once he’d pulled out his phone to identify a song playing on the coffee shop’s radio. How crazy that I remembered that little moment? That I remembered all of those moments.
“I don’t really watch much on the telly at all.”
“So you just work, work out, eat, and sleep?”
“And fuck,” he added in a much quieter voice, his gaze full of promise. “Don’t forget that.”
As if my body would let me forget the sex part of it all. At least we had that. Since I didn’t need or want more from Sebastian Graham, and sex was clearly his forte, it was all good.
“Maybe we should skip ahead,” I suggested, putting my spoon down.
The edge of his lip quirked up. “Excellent idea.”
I stacked up our plates and took them back to the kitchen. Sebastian followed me and, without saying anything, closed up the leftover food and placed it in the fridge. Perhaps not much of a celebratory dinner, but at least I’d have leftovers.
Then he had me in his arms and his lips were on mine. Domesticity gave way to charged desire.
“Where’s your room?”
I led him back across the apartment, avoiding looking at either of my flatmates. When we were safely in my room, door shut, I practically threw myself at him.
It was so nice not to think about the time running down on my trip or my failure to do what I’d set out to do. I lost myself in his mouth, his touch, the way that, in lifting up on my toes to press myself flat against him, I was subsumed by his existence.
His hands were already under my skirt, rounded over my backside, as he pulled me even closer, his erection hard against me.
“I cannot get enough of you,” he muttered. The words thrilled me in a primal way.
I reached up to loosen his tie, to start the process of releasing him from his work attire. Then I nearly fell as his fingers reached between my legs and stroked me over my panties. Apparently, I almost choked him, too, as his hands left me and he reached up to take over the business of the tie.
“Sorry.” I stepped back and watched him. I wasn’t entirely certai
n what it was about seeing him with that tie loose about his neck that made me want to fall to my knees and take him in my mouth. I’d never felt this obsessed with sex and a man’s body before. At the same time that I reveled in it, it frightened me.
Made me wonder who I was.
As he pulled the tie over his head, I stepped away, wanting distance to clear my head. I was using him the way people used alcohol or other substances—to escape the reality of my life. Was that so bad?
“Don’t go too far away,” he said, reaching for me. But I stepped out of range again, not that the room was all that big. In fact, the frame of the single bed pressed against my calves.
“I don’t think I’m going to find the link,” I blurted out. When his hands fell to his sides, and he looked at me confused—whether by the abrupt change of topic or by wondering what the hell I was talking about, I didn’t know—I elaborated, “Between Anne Gracechurch and James Mead. I found this fabulous photograph of her. No one’s ever even found a painting of her let alone a daguerreotype before. My advisor is beyond excited.”
“But you’re not.”
I shook my head. Talking felt as unreal as having sex with him did. Like it wasn’t totally me, and yet, I just kept going.
“I have ten days left here, and despite all the work I’ve done, and I have been relentless,” I said with no false modesty because until bumping into Sebastian at the archives, I had been completely focused on my work. “Despite that, I’m going to be leaving here with nothing to show for it. With my thesis resting merely on forensic analysis, which, interesting as it might be as a starting point, doesn’t give me a slam-dunk-fabulous entry into the world of academia.”
“And that’s your plan? After this, back to uni, finish up your dissertation, and start the search for a faculty position?”
“That’s the plan,” I said slowly, but I couldn’t stop the hot flush that filled my body, the sudden sensation of distress. I blinked. Looked down and away, trying to compose myself.
“Mina . . . ?” Maybe it was how late it was, or the gentleness of his tone. Maybe it was the early excitement of the day and then the letdown. Or it could have simply been being tired of hiding my shame, the embarrassment of failure, from everyone. All I know is that the floodgates fell open and tears were running down my face.
I looked away, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hands, and heard the door to my bedroom open and close. I looked back, and stared at the space where he had been. Some experiment in empowerment. I was a mess and this was a disaster.
More tears dripped down my cheeks and self-disgust filled me. I had to get myself together. I had to—
The door opened. He was back and holding out a wad of napkins from the Vietnamese takeaway.
“Thanks,” I muttered, taking two. He placed the rest on the desk.
We stood there in silence a minute more, until the only remnant of my tears was the blotchiness of my skin and red-rimmed eyes.
“This . . . isn’t just about today.”
I blinked in surprise.
“The Mina I know can handle some setbacks. Knows how to put them in perspective.”
The Mina he knows. Despite my depression, I wanted to laugh.
Instead, I sat down heavily on the bed. He sat down next to me, shrugging out of his jacket. This wasn’t my life. This was some other place, other time, as if I were living in a dreamworld.
Except, this was my life.
“I’m sorry,” I started, shifting until I was cross-legged and facing him. “I just . . . It’s been a hard year.”
Yet it was hard because I’d spent the previous year fucking around, literally and figuratively, and I’d had to deal with the consequences. Had to take a hard look at myself and who I’d become.
Apparently, someone who still would jump into bed with a near stranger on the first night. Not that there was necessarily anything wrong with that, as long as it wasn’t taking away from my professional goals.
He was watching me, expressionless. Just listening.
“I missed some important deadlines.” I saw his eyes widen ever so slightly, surprised. Yeah, that sort of behavior wouldn’t fit his previous conception of studious, obsessive Mina. “I didn’t get the fellowship I needed.” My lips twisted as I shrugged. He didn’t need to know why all this had happened. It was just too embarrassing really. Because then we’d actually have to talk about that night and the lasting effect it had had on my life. I really didn’t need Sebastian thinking I was more of a freak than he likely already did, or that I was some obsessed girl who had stalked him here in London. “So I’ve been working, saving up money for this trip.”
“You made things harder on yourself but . . . you’re here.” He was still watching me carefully, as if he knew there was more to this.
“I know, but it’s embarrassing.” I looked down. “I haven’t told anyone. Not my parents, or my friends. Well, Sophie. I guess I told Sophie.”
Sophie, my oldest friend, who I’d met in seventh grade, who I still hadn’t talked to since I’d accidentally called her too early on Sunday morning. Despite different colleges and different life paths, we’d stayed in touch. She had her shit together. A job in New York City, a boyfriend, a life.
The way Sebastian clearly had his life worked out. He could apparently have threesomes, one-night stands, weeklong flings with old university acquaintances . . . all with no detrimental effect on his career. Why was I the only idiot who couldn’t balance it all?
“What happened?”
I shook my head, my lips pressed tightly together. “It doesn’t matter. I was stupid and lost focus.” Then I laughed, trying to brush it all off, to give some satisfying version of the truth. “You know, I was always the straight-A, study-round-the-clock type. Never gave my parents trouble. Had goals and achieved them. Maybe I needed a break.”
“Understandable,” he said. “I always admired your intensity. But all work and no play . . .” He smiled. There was a touch of something lascivious in that smile, like he wanted me to think of the night before, and of that morning. I was hot at the mere suggestion, willing to strip and spend the rest of the night in bed if he made the slightest move. Then he turned serious again. “And clearly you’re ready to work. Is being an English professor still what you want to do?”
He’d put his finger right on another question that had been dogging me the last few months. He was perceptive. In the two years since I’d last seen him, I’d forgotten there was anything more to him than a rude perv.
But Sebastian Graham was actually nice. Which was . . . unsettling.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I can’t live with the failure of not finishing and not following this through.”
“Gracechurch or the PhD?”
I shrugged. It was nearly the same thing. Finish the research and dissertation. Or something like that.
“At this point, while I almost definitely can do the second, I’m no longer confident about the first.”
“You don’t think you can find what you need?”
“I’ve run out of time.”
“You have to go back next week?” He kept asking questions, relentlessly, as if he were leading toward a solution. It was such a male thing to do and it irritated me. If he wanted to listen, that was one thing, but there wasn’t any solution to this.
“Seb, stop. I’m out of money. Maybe I’ll be able to come back next spring or summer, but who knows. Maybe that would be a waste.”
“But if you could afford it, you’d stay longer?”
I rolled my eyes.
He grinned. I had no idea he could be so irritating. It was better if we just stuck to sex.
“What if I hired you?” My eyebrows rose. “To help me with research. The archivists charge on average £40 an hour.” Oh. With his genealogy project.
Then it hit me. Wow. He was offering to pay me. I stared at him in semidisbelief, my lips curved half up as if I wanted to be ready to laugh in case this was a joke. Or lau
gh if it wasn’t a joke.
“I’m absolutely serious. I could use the help, Mina, and you could stay the summer.”
I didn’t even know if my room was available past next week, but forty an hour could quickly add up. Except, how weird would that be, to take a job from Sebastian?
“I’m on an academic visitor visa. I’m not allowed to work for money.”
“Like anyone would know,” he said with a shrug. “Better yet, you could stay at my place, for the summer.” When I didn’t answer, he continued, “I can’t offer a private room, but by now you know it’s far more hospitable than this grotty flat.”
I stared at him like he’d sprouted an extra head. We’d had sex. Been having sex for less than a week, and he was asking me to move in with him. It sounded like a horrible idea. One doomed for misery. Yet . . . part of me wanted to say yes, regardless of my research and how much time I’d have to finish it. Wanted to say yes because he was a guy I’d had a crush on and was wildly attracted to. Because it was like playing house. Sharing his bed every night, having sex like we’d had–I’d lose myself there. It sounded wonderful, like an actual relationship, like something the old Mina would have wanted.
If I said yes, this wasn’t just extending a one-night stand out a few days. This was . . . potentially complicated.
“Not that I’d expect a repeat performance, although I’m not against it.” There was a definite teasing note in his voice to match that grin. “You’ll have the place to yourself most of the day.”
But if I didn’t sleep with him again . . .
Of course I wanted to. Some secret part of me that I couldn’t honestly deny counted that as a perk. An hour or two of sex at night would hardly take away from my daytime research. I wasn’t some athlete needing to direct all that sexual energy toward the game.
He was offering me the chance to finish without having to go back to the US, apply for grants or save up funds, then wait until next summer to come back.
“That’s very generous of you.”
Private Research: An Erotic Novella Page 6
