Lost in Light (10 page)

“I’m sorry, Rache. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said through the door, sighing loudly when I didn’t respond.

“Hey umm, I made you some tea,” he added after a long pause, knowing that if anything would lure me out of my room it would be tea. Figuring he wouldn’t leave until I opened the door, and somewhat tempted by the promise of tea, I tightened the belt of my robe and opened the door to see him grinning at me sheepishly over the steaming mug. I wanted to stay mad at him, wanted to tell him off for laughing at me and making me feel even more naïve than I already did, but the crooked shrug of his shoulders accompanied by the softly spoken “Sorry, Rache,” melted the last of my resistance and brought a small smile to my face.

“It’s okay,” I murmured as I accepted the mug and paused to draw in a deep breath of the delicious smelling lemon and ginger blend.

“You want to come watch TV with me? There’s a few episodes of Supernatural on the DVR.” Glancing over my shoulder at the clock beside my bed I saw that I still had a couple hours before I needed to get ready.

Besides, the last thing you need to do is camp out on Wikipedia and scare yourself even more,
I thought to myself.

“Sure, I’ve got a couple hours until I need to get ready, and I’m always up for a little Winchester action.”

Grinning broadly and waggling his eyebrows at me, Liam looped his arm around my shoulders and steered me into the living room.

“That’s my girl!”

The afternoon passed in pleasant camaraderie as we watched a couple episodes, bickering back and forth about which Winchester brother was cuter – Sam or Dean. I’d been in camp Dean from the get-go while Liam was definitely all about Sam. I’d decided early on in the series that Sam was far too whiny and melodramatic for tastes. Dean however, was the silent and brooding hero, his inner demons fueling his desire to be a better man, giving him just enough of that bad boy edge to make him alluring. The fact that he was drop dead gorgeous didn’t exactly hurt either.

“Hey Rache, I was thinking of grabbing some dinner in a while. You want some?” Liam asked as he stood from his spot on the couch and stretched, his back popping loudly as he stifled a yawn.

“Oh umm, Matt is making me dinner,” I replied, blushing at the thought of Professor Davis and what awaited me. Glancing at the clock on the cable box I almost shrieked as I saw that it was a quarter till six and I was still lounging around in my bathrobe.

“Crap!” I cursed as I leapt off of the couch, earning a warm and affectionate chuckle from Liam.

“Wow, you must have it really bad for Dean to make you forget about your date!”

“Yeah, it must be love,” I quipped as I took my empty mug into the kitchen and deposited it in the sink.

Going into my bedroom I began digging through my closet looking for my red silk wedge sandals that I wanted to wear that night. With those secured, I automatically opened my underwear drawer and pulled out my sexiest pair of underwear, a pair of black lace boy shorts that I had bought on a whim when Jake and I first started dating.

Then I remembered instruction number four:

You may wear a bra (something sexy if you like), but you are not permitted to wear any panties.

Stuffing them back into the drawer I focused instead on finding a bra, ultimately deciding on a dark pink lace push-up bra, another purchase that I had hoped to wear one day for Jake but never had.

Well now I’m wearing it for Professor Davis, so Jake can suck it
, I thought with a vengeful smile.

Adding my favorite red silk, drape-necked camisole and a white cardigan to the clothes laid out on my bed I nodded to myself in satisfaction.

Gathering up my clothes I ducked into the bathroom calling out to Liam that I was taking a shower. Once the water was running hot I stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain closed behind me and tilted my head back into the flow, a long breath easing out of me as the water pounded against my skull. I took my time shaving my legs and underarms, using the shaving cream and new razor to get a sensuously close shave. Washing my hair I was sure to condition it thoroughly, actually letting it sit for the recommended three minutes rather than rinsing it out right away like I usually did.

After drying off and applying moisturizer everywhere I blow-dried my hair until it fell in a glossy dark red sheet around my shoulders, gleaming in the light above the sink. Thinking back to Professor Davis’s instructions for the hundredth time that day I tied my hair back in a thick braid, taking care to make sure that it was tight and smooth. After applying a few light dabs of perfume to my neck and wrists I was left with nothing to do but get dressed.

My entire body felt sensitized, the silk of my shirt making me shiver as it brushed against my back and stomach, my nipples already hard and aching beneath the lace of my bra. Securing the zipper on my skirt I slipped on my shoes and stood back to admire myself in the mirror, my hands nervously smoothing my skirt. My stomach was tight with paranoia, the thought that anyone who saw me would know that I wasn’t wearing any underwear flitting through my mind. I knew it was absurd to think that people would be able to tell just from looking at me, but the feeling of naughtiness was so great that it was surely written all over my face.

Glancing at my phone again I saw that it was just after six thirty, time for me to leave. Checking myself in the mirror one last time I retrieved my bag and the printed directions for Professor Davis’s house from my room. Stopping by the kitchen I asked, “So, how do I look?”

Turning, Liam beamed at me.

“You look amazing, Rache. Knock him dead.”

Smiling in return I snagged my keys and headed out the door.

Chapter Seven

Professor Davis’s house was a beautifully restored Craftsman two-story that sat in the middle of a sleepy tree-lined street not far from campus. Several lights were on inside the house, shedding a warm and inviting glow on the lawn as they shone through the gauzy window coverings. Nervousness and excitement lay coiled inside me, as I parked my Jeep on the street in front of the house. Pushing my trepidation aside, I checked my hair in the mirror once more, making sure that my braid was tight and smooth.

Sliding out of the car, I adjusted my skirt, uncomfortably aware of the air moving around my nether region. The skirt that I had loved so much in the store suddenly seemed inadequate in covering my backside though I knew that it was no more revealing than any of the other skirts in my closet. And yet, mingled with my mortification at being so exposed down there, was a thread of excitement and anticipation. It felt naughty and daring to be in public without any underwear and with my pubic area shaved smooth.

After locking my car and dropping my keys into my purse I purposefully walked up to the wooden gate. I paused for only a moment to gather my courage and then slipped into the yard, moving up the walkway admiring the lush and fragrant lilac bushes that lined the path. Stepping up to the large wooden front door I raised a slightly trembling hand and rang the bell, the soft chime echoing faintly inside the house. Rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet I glanced around nervously as I waited for him to answer the door, my gaze dancing over the well-manicured lawn, the precisely trimmed bushes, and the large Weeping Willow that dominated one corner of the yard, spilling its trailing fronds out onto the sidewalk.

It was obvious that Professor Davis took pride in his yard. The mental picture of him out here working shirtless in the bright sunshine, light glistening on his bare skin as his long hair floated around his shoulders, brought a deep blush to my cheeks and caused my heart to race.

“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Parker,” his warm and smooth voice intruded upon my daydreaming, bringing a startled gasp to my lips. Spinning around I found him standing in the doorway, one arm resting casually on the door frame as he regarded me with a raised brow.

“Good evening, Sir,” I said as I ducked my head, wishing my hair was loose so that I could hide the deep blush in my cheeks behind it, instead settling for anxiously toying with the end of my braid.

“Come in… if you dare,” he said in a rich baritone as he stepped back from the door, his mouth tilted upwards in a teasing smirk.

I darted inside the house before my nerves could buckle and I ran back to the car like a coward. His chuckle was like warm silk as I brushed past him and barely managed to hide my flinch as he shut the door behind me and turned the lock. I stood awed in the foyer, the wide wooden stairs in front of me leading up to the second floor in a left-hand dog-leg, the wooden banisters gleaming in the soft light of the stained glass chandelier overhead.

To the left was a shadowy room that appeared to be his home office, the shapes of a large desk, chair, and a wall of bookcases barely visible in the gloom. A narrow hallway led back into deeper darkness past the office and behind the staircase. On my right was a large living room, its huge windows looking out onto the front lawn, the light from several Tiffany lamps spilling through the pale cream gauze curtains that covered the window. A comfortable looking dark brown couch and two matching chairs dominated the room, a low wooden coffee table between them with a small stack of books piled at one end as if their owner was leisurely working their way through them. A familiar pair of wire-rimmed glasses lay beside them.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, reminding me that he was so close, and making me warm as I remembered why I was there.

“Please,” I said with a nod as he ushered me into the living room, revealing the dining room that lay beyond, occupied by a large wooden Craftsman table with six chairs and a matching buffet.

“Wine okay?” he asked as he gestured to the couch. Nodding, I perched on the on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting the strap of my bag around my fingers. Locking me in place with that laugh again, he moved through the living room and dining room with comfortable ease, stepping around a corner to the left and disappearing into what I presumed was the kitchen. He reappeared moments later with a glass of white wine in hand.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he said as he handed me the wine glass before settling into one of the arm chairs across from me.

“You’re not drinking?” I asked as I raised the glass to my lips, relishing the crisp and cold wine as it slid over my lips and coursed a cool path down my throat.

“No, I prefer to keep a clear head,” he replied smoothly, his gaze implying far more than his words as they settled on me with a heavy heat.

“You have a beautiful home,” I said, grasping at anything to make him stop looking at me like that.

“Thank you,” he said with a gracious nod of his head, his lips once again touched by the hint of a smirk, making me frown at him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice warmed by the barest traces of humor.

“You’re laughing at me,” I muttered, dropping my gaze to my hands in my lap.

“What of it?” he pressed, his smile bubbling over into his words.

“It’s not fair.”

In a rush he closed the small distance between us and loomed over me, his knee resting on the couch beside me. One hand was braced against the back of the couch behind my head while the other cupped my chin and turned my face up towards him. I was instantly struck by how similar the situation was to the fantasies that had plagued me ceaselessly in recent days.

“I thought I made it quite clear, Miss Parker, that I play to win,” he murmured darkly, his face cast in shadow and his eyes gleaming like icy shards of emerald. “I care nothing about being fair.”

“Oh,” was all I could whisper in response, my heart beat ratcheting up several notches as I stared breathlessly up into his face. Trailing his thumb along the edge of my lower lip he smiled devilishly at my sharply inhaled breath.

“So innocent,” he mused, his eyes sparkling as they watched the slow progression of his thumb, and then widened as I gave in to the sudden urge to flick the tip of my tongue against the pad of his thumb. “And yet so curious,” he amended with a dark chuckle as he wiped the moisture from my tongue on my lip before drawing up to his full height and stepping back.

“I believe dinner is ready,” he said with a rakish smile as he ran his hand back over his hair, a gesture that I was beginning to think was an expression of frustration.

Several minutes later we were settled comfortably in the dining room at the table, a simple yet delicious meal of rosemary roasted chicken, steamed carrots, broccoli and cauliflower, and roasted potatoes spread out between us. Music filtered softly out of the small iPod dock on the buffet, the sultry voice of Adele somehow reassuring in its familiarity. I slowly sipped at my wine between bites while he drank iced water, the sight of his long throat working as he swallowed bringing an unexplainable tightness to my belly.

“This is delicious, thank you,” I said into the not wholly uncomfortable silence, earning an honest smile of pleasure from him as he inclined his head towards me in thanks.

“There are berries for dessert… if you are a good girl,” he replied. That damned teasing smirk lifted the corners of his mouth and crushed my hard won sense of calm, leaving me breathless and full of nervous flutters.

“Evil man,” I muttered under my breath as I stabbed a carrot.

“Pardon?” he asked with a raised brow, the humor glinting in his eyes letting me know that he had heard me just fine.

“Nothing,” I said, popping the carrot into my mouth.

He cleared the table once we were done eating, urging me to stay seated when I offered to help clear away the dishes. Sitting back contentedly in my chair I looked around the room. The backyard was barely visible through the large picture window behind his chair, the sun having fully set now. A large landscape showing a gnarled tree branch in stark relief against a backdrop of misty water and distant mountains hung above the buffet. Pushing my chair back from the table I moved to stand in front of the picture, lost in the play of light on the water.

Spying the scrawled signature on the matting I called absently over my shoulder, “Is this a signed Ansel Adams?”