When The Words Are Spoken E-Book

Simone Beaudelaire

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After years of waiting, English instructor Sheridan Murphy is fed up with waiting for her former professor, Dr. Michael Burke, to bring an end to their unrequited longing.

She finally takes initiative and asks for the relationship they both want. But what should have been the romance of a lifetime is quickly derailed by the secrets each of them has kept from the other.

Can Michael and Sheridan overcome their tragic pasts and find their way to the love they were meant to share? Because when the words are spoken, there's no going back.

This book contains graphic sex and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

Leseprobe

WHEN THE WORDS ARE SPOKEN

HEARTS IN WINTER BOOK 2

SIMONE BEAUDELAIRE

CONTENTS

The Sunshine Woman

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Afterword

Next in the Series

About the Author

Other Books by Simone Beaudelaire

Copyright (C) 2013 Simone Beaudelaire

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Thank you to my beta readers: Guy Bailey, L.M. Boils, and Margaret Tanner. Without your help, this wouldn't have been possible. I really appreciate the feedback and support.

This book is dedicated to my parents. Thank you for always supporting me in my dreams.

THE SUNSHINE WOMAN

Out of the icy darkness,

Howling demons claw my flesh.

There is no shelter, no respite.

Where can I turn?

Where can I find a place to rest?

A home? A fire?

Far on a hill

A beacon beams

Golden light

Gleaming in the night

Warming the cold.

It is she.

In supplication, I raise my arms,

Reaching for that

Which shall always remain

Just beyond my grasp.

Sunshine woman, banishing night

From all around you,

Shine your glorious smile

On this one dark soul.

MICHAEL BURKE, PHD

CHAPTER1

Ah, convocation, one of my favorite times of year. Sheridan thought as she stepped through the doorway into the university's fine arts auditorium. The noise in the room nearly deafened her as hundreds of professors greeted each other after summers spent traveling, researching, and doing whatever it was professors did between spring and fall semesters.

Her gaze scanned restlessly over the crowd. Where is he? Michael never misses a responsibility, so he must be here.

Eventually, she found her former professor and mentor and current colleague sitting, as usual, near the rest of the English faculty but somehow separated from them, as though not really sure he deserved to be part of the group.

She walked directly to him and sat down, leaning over to give him a friendly hug, which he returned.

Ah, his embrace is so warm and lovely. I wish I could stay in his arms forever. She noticed he didn't rush to let go of her either and the hug lingered unusually long.

She smiled. This isn't going to be so hard. The thought immediately revealed itself for the lie it was as her stomach swooped. “How have you been?” she asked, taking in his dearly-missed appearance.

As always, his clothes fit poorly, hanging too loose and too ragged around his frame. He probably had a pretty good physique under those rags, but she couldn’t be sure. His shoulder-length hair hung, lank and scraggly, around his face, accentuating his piercing black eyes, but it also made his beaky nose stand out. He sure isn't hot, just like Erin always said, but I still can't make myself care. He's special.

Michael shrugged at the question. “Can't complain. You?”

“Oh, well you know I worked first summer session,” she reminded him.

He nodded, a hint of a curve lingering around one corner of his mouth.

That's as much of a smile as I ever get. I'll take it. “Then I went up north. My family lives in Duluth, you know? I spent six weeks with them. Turns out my brothers have never grown out of teasing.” She grinned at the memory. “My brother Sean and his wife are expecting their fourth baby.” The thought caused a pang in the vicinity of her heart. She swallowed and pushed it away.

Michael's cheek twitched, his response unreadable. “I'm glad you had a nice visit, but I'm also glad you're back.”

He's glad I'm back. Yes! she cheered internally, but her voice, when she spoke, sounded demure. “Thank you. It's good to be here. I can't wait for classes to start. It's still hard to believe I've achieved my life's goal of being an instructor at a university. It seemed impossible when I was eighteen.”

“Well, I remember you at nineteen,” Michael replied, the sharpness in his eyes softening. “I knew even then that you'd achieve whatever you set out to. You have the fire. I must say, I approve of your choice.”

Despite the roar of voices swirling around them, their own conversation stilled into one of those intense silences that often rose up between them, a silence that spoke words neither of them had been able to say.

This ends tonight. Again, her belly squirmed at the thought.

A few moments later, their friend, Dr. Davontay Jones, took a seat on Sheridan's other side. The tall, well-spoken black man was adored by students and faculty alike. Sheridan considered him a dear friend.

Having just returned from a summer-long work exchange in Paris, he sported new and fashionable clothing. “Bonjour,” he said, his low voice overflowing friendly good humor as he gave Sheridan a long, approving look. “Paris was magnifique. How's life in the frozen north?”

“Still nice so far,” she replied, ignoring his appraisal. “I intend to enjoy every moment of sunshine before the snow blocks us in for the next five months. Would anyone care to join me for a picnic and walk by the river this weekend?”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Davontay replied eagerly, “I'll be there. Michael?”

“If you want,” Michael shrugged. He met her eyes and she could see the awkward shyness hiding under his feigned nonchalance.

“It's a date then.” Sheridan grinned. She settled back in her seat, leaning a little closer to Michael than was really necessary, and listened to the president of the university give her opening speech.

Later, after coffee, cookies and fruit, Sheridan set her plan into motion. She had stuck like glue to Michael through the whole convocation ceremony, pleased he made no attempt to escape her presence. Once the food had been consumed and the instructors began to drift away, she sprang her trap.

“Michael, could I ask a favor of you?” she asked, with wide-eyed innocence.

His dark eyes swept her face before settling into the habitual smoldering gaze that reached deep into her soul and held on tight. “Sure, Sheridan. What do you need?”

“My Buick is on the fritz again. It's in the shop. I took the bus down here, but it's getting dark, and I don't feel safe on the bus at night.” She paused, tilting her head, looking at him with wide, enticing hazel eyes. “Would you be able to give me a ride home?”

It wasn't a lie. Sheridan's car had been giving her trouble for years. A hand-me-down from her best friend Erin, who had bought it heavily used and gnarly, it was a slightly ambulatory wreck more than a car. This is the first time I've been delighted about the old P.O.S. breaking down.

“Someday, I hope, you'll buy a new car,” he admonished. “You spend as much fixing that junk heap as you would on payments for something better.”

“You're correct as usual, Dr. Burke,” she teased, playfully throwing out his title even though he'd invited her to use his first name years ago. “I promise to work on it this semester. But until then?”

The side of his mouth curved into a pale imitation of a smile. “Of course I'll give you a ride. It wouldn't do for my best colleague to be mugged before the semester even gets started.”

Best colleague? That sounds promising. “Thanks, Michael. I knew I could count on you.” Sheridan slipped her arm through his, like in an old-fashioned movie. He paused a moment as though not sure what to make of the unexpected gesture. Then, he shrugged and went with it. Patting her hand, he walked her out to his car. She noticed his fingers felt like ice.

Just look at that sexy beast, she thought, eyeing the shiny black Firebird. Who would guess someone so obviously unconcerned with appearances would drive such a fancy car? She felt like a modern Cinderella as he opened the passenger door for her.

They drove along in companionable silence.

I'm glad Michael's not inclined to be chatty. The more I think about what I have in store for him… The thought trailed off in a flutter of nerves. It's past time to act on our feelings, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy. Rejection is the most likely outcome, and there's no defense against it. I simply have to speak, and if he breaks my heart, so be it. I've lived through heartbreak before.

Remembering, she turned to the window, her eyes moving over the oak, maple, and pine trees without seeing them. Yes, she survived, but the months, the years of agony, and the lingering hurt that never went away reminded her she had once been a victim.

If Michael breaks my heart, it will be just as painful. Maybe it really isn't necessary to say my piece. Maybe I can just continue drifting, hoping he'll wake up and ask me out one day… or never. Most likely I'll be an old woman before Michael decides to make a move. It has to be done.

As he drove up in front of her apartment building—a stocky, red brick structure framed in the front by a shady boulevard lined with maple trees—Sheridan laid a hand on Michael's arm. “Would you please come up with me?” she said softly, so softly she could scarcely hear her own voice over the hammering of her heart. “I asked you to drive me because I wanted to talk to you in private, outside of work.”

He gave her a considering look. “Of course, Sheridan.”

He walked close by her side up to the front door, where she entered her security code, and then led the way down a tiled hallway to the elevator, where she pressed the number five. Her stomach swooped, whether from the movement or her nerves, she couldn't tell. The bell dinged, and she walked him down a hallway with brown carpet and walls papered in matching brown with metallic gold paisleys, to the door into her one-bedroom flat.

Fumbling with the key, she became intensely aware of his presence beside her. He stood so close she could touch him without extending a hand. Trying to get a grip on herself, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, dropping her keys in a crystal bowl on the small table her brother had made for her.

Next to the bowl sat a framed photo she had received from her brother's wife for Christmas many years ago. In the photo, Sheridan stood staring up into Michael's face, her expression revealing what she had never said in words. His own face spoke of powerful, unexpressed emotion.

She glanced his direction and saw him regarding her with a similar look on his face, only this time curiosity blended into the intensity.

Grasping his arm, she led him into the living room and urged him into a seat. He looked right at home on her antique sofa; his shabby, outdated suit fit right in with the curvy wooden legs and red upholstery. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered.

“No thank you.”

Damn. No social niceties to smooth—or delay—the moment. Sheridan swallowed hard and took a long moment just to look at him. Erin asked me what once I see in him. She said he isn't hot… but she's wrong. The heat in those eyes more than compensates for great hair or more refined features. The man behind the face is so much more important.

As she studied him, his expression changed from intense to puzzled. “What's on your mind, Sheridan?”

Enough delaying. Sitting beside him, she laid her hand on top of his. His fingers still felt cold, but they warmed quickly under the heat of her palm. She gazed into his dark eyes and he looked back steadily. “Oh, this is more difficult than I thought,” she babbled, not knowing how to begin. “Michael, I really appreciate all you've done for me. You helped me achieve my dreams. You've supported me in every step of my training. Without you, I wouldn't be where I am now. I've always thought of you as a friend, not just a teacher, not just a colleague.”

“Of course we're friends.” Michael's heavy black eyebrows drew together at the gush of words. “What's going on? I don't think I've ever seen you look so grim. Where's that signature smile?”

“I'll smile later, I hope.” She laced her fingers through his, her palm against the back of his hand. It feels so nice to touch him. I hope it will last. “The thing is, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, shoot.”

Shoot is right. Sheridan deliberately drew inward, closing her eyes to blot out the passion in his gaze. Instead, she let her own feelings well up until they overwhelmed eight years of fear and reticence. “I want something from you. I want to be… more than friends. I want to be with you, Michael.” It all came out in a rush, and her cheeks heated to scalding.

Michael sat blinking for several long moments, beyond stunned. Random thoughts swirled in his mind, preventing any sort of reaction. The idea that Sheridan, his beautiful, amazing Sheridan, might want him had never crossed his mind. He adored her, of course—it was impossible not to love such a special woman—but he didn't think anything would come of his affection, so he never acted on it.

It was stupid, really, he realized at last, his brain chattering at pace with his pounding heart. I've seen the signs. She hugs me often. Well actually, she hugs everyone, but she must hug me twice as much as anyone else, and there was that one time, during her senior year when she kissed me on the cheek. Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of something in her eyes when she looks at me…something like longing.It seemed impossible,and yet, shockingly, it's also true. Sheridan Murphy just asked me, Michael Burke, to be her boyfriend.

She bit her lip, looking strained. “Well, can you say something?”

He tried to think of the words to reassure her, but nothing came to mind. Instead of responding normally, he blathered, “Sheridan, I… wow. That wasn't what I was expecting. Okay, give me a moment, please. I need to realign several years of thinking.”

Sheridan waited, trying to be patient, but looking ready to jump out of her skin.

Michael, sensing her discomfort, lifted her hand onto his knee and laid his free hand on top of hers, so it was sandwiched between both of his. He felt a hint of tension leave her. “Okay, I can see what it cost you to say that, and I appreciate your directness. First, I need some clarification. When you say…be with me, what do you mean? Like dating? Going to dinner and a movie and all that?” It was an asinine thing to say, and he mentally kicked himself the moment the stupid words crossed his lips.

“Why, Dr. Burke, was that a cliché? I'll have to mark down your essay,” she teased, easing the tension.

He gave her a lopsided half-grin. Thank you, sweetheart. His grin sparked one of hers, not the sunshine-bright smile that normally left him stammering like an adolescent, but a more cautious, nervous curving of the lips.

She hurried on. “Okay, I'll stop kidding. It was a lame joke anyway. Yes, something like that, except we're not teenagers. We don't need to go to a movie unless we both want to see it. I could see us… I don't know. I like going to concerts, walking in the park, having picnics, visiting museums. I know you like those things, and it would be fun to do them together. Also, just spending time together doing nothing at all.”

It sounded wonderful, perfect, but his brain remained hazy and unfocused while his mouth, completely unbidden, spouted nonsense. “Sheridan, we already do many of those things.”

“Yes, but as friends. I'm hoping to go as a couple.” Her eyes pleaded.

Such beautiful hazel eyes. And those lips, saying the things I always dreamed of but didn't think I'd ever hear. “When did you decide to do this?” Why did he sound like he was arguing? Stop arguing, you idiot.

“To ask you? Over the summer. I just couldn't wait another minute. Michael, I've wanted you since the end of my sophomore year.” Her fingers tightened on his.

“Really?” His dark eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because you're so… amazing. I don't know. The more time I spent with you, the more I wanted to spend. You're just special.”

Okay, I'm asleep and dreaming this again. “Good Lord, you must be joking. I'm nothing special. Just a grumpy old professor. And you… you're so beautiful. I guess I can't imagine what about me would be attractive to you.” He lifted his uppermost hand from the top of hers and reached for one springy, golden curl, but stopped short of actually touching it.

Sheridan's face fell. Her next words made him wince. “I would have thought, as much of my writing as you've read, as much time as we've spent together, you of all people would know I'm not so shallow.” She squeezed her eyes, and when she opened them, moisture shimmered in the corners. “That hurts. What have looks got to do with it anyway? I'm attracted to your mind, Michael, to your soul. Don't you feel anything towards me?” Her voice grew smaller with every word. Then she lifted soulful eyes, regarding him through thick, wet lashes.

Oh boy… He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it, a courtly gesture.

She rotated her hand in his, so they could lace their fingers together.

“Don't be sad. I… okay.” Get control of your mouth, man, before you ruin the moment. “You've been forthright with me; I can do no less. You're right, this is difficult.” Deliberately steeling himself to do one of the most terrifying things he'd ever done, he told her the long-concealed truth. “Yes, I have feelings for you.”

Her beautiful eyes lit up.

“I'm attracted to your beauty, of course, and your smile…” He broke off as his heart clenched. “And you're right. I know better than to assume you're shallow. In fact, I think I've been attracted to you about as long as you say you have to me. You were my student for so long. I couldn't do anything while you were in my class. And you kept on taking my classes, semester after semester.”

He released what was left of his breath. No wonder she was babbling. Once I pulled the cork, the dam gave way and the whole river came flooding through.

“I wanted to be near you,” she explained. “I also wanted you to be proud of me. Most of all, I wanted you to know me. I wouldn't have written as well for anyone else because I would have held back. I trust you. But, Michael, I haven't been your student in two years. Why haven't you said anything since then?”

“Shyness,” he said ruefully, “and the knowledge that you couldn't possibly be interested in someone like me.”

Her lips curved, though he'd hesitate to call it a smile. “You were wrong.”

“And that shocks me. You know,” he said as heat suffused his cheeks, “you were my muse as well.”

“I was?”

“Yes.” He flushed hotter. “Remember all those times I gave you poems different from the rest of the class—the anonymous ones—because I said the others were too easy for you?”

“Yes. They were very beautiful,” she replied, and the pinkish glow on her golden skin spoke to the resonance of their feelings.

“I wrote them.”

“Oh, Michael.” Her warm hand squeezed his palm.

He swallowed hard. “I wrote them for you.”

Her bottom lip sagged. “I'm the sunshine woman?”

“Yes.”

The curving of her lips no longer looked so nervous, but still fell short of her full, ebullient radiance. “Well then, I guess that answers the question, doesn't it?”

“It does?” He tilted his head, pondering her meaning… and her face.

“With this degree of mutual attraction, it's clear we belong together.”

Yes! a little voice inside him roared, but he responded mildly. “It would certainly seem so. You have to understand, though.”

“What's that?”

Lord, she’s beautiful. Has anyone ever turned such a gaze on me? “I don't know how to do this,” he admitted.

She looked at him with a quizzical expression.

Michael examined his fingernails. Bitten to the quick, as usual. “I've never really dated.” He dared a glance and found her considering him closely.

“Never?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I never wanted to… until I met you.”

She raised his hand in hers and pressed her cheek to it. Her skin felt velvety soft. “Don't worry, Michael. We'll work it out. I know you pretty well, and I have some idea what to expect.”

This time, Michael forced himself to think. Finally, he spoke, his voice dark with emotion. “If you're willing to… fumble through it with me, then yes, I would like to try being a couple.”

She flashed him a dazzling Sheridan smile that lit up the whole room and impulsively hugged him.

He slipped his arms around her waist. At first, he felt a little awkward, but soon he relaxed in the lovely warmth of her body. Sheridan was made for cuddling, and he had no defense against her lusciousness. There's something different about this hug than the ones with which she's ambushed me over the years. It speaks of a greater heat than mere friendship. The heat shot straight to his groin.

After a long moment, she pulled back a fraction, looking him full in the face from a short distance. The impact of her hazel eyes hit like a punch to the gut.

Michael swallowed hard. You know what she wants. This is no time to hold back. Releasing her waist, he laid one hand on her face.

She leaned her cheek into his palm.

Heart pounding, he forced himself forward and touched his mouth softly to hers. His belly thrilled at the warm sensation of her full, wonderful lips.

As kisses went, it was simple and chaste, but the years of suppressed emotion behind it lent it power. He could feel the strength of her affection, and it mirrored his as they lingered, brushing their lips against each other over and over until nerves faded and kissing Sheridan felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He released her so he could take in the sight of her. Her hair, a nimbus of golden curls, spilled down around her shoulders He'd tried to avoid ogling her figure for so long, but at last, he failed. His eyes traced a shape favored by a bygone generation; soft shoulders, full breasts, narrow waist, curvy hips and bottom. No scrawny miss, Sheridan had a figure like a siren. She's glorious, like a nature deity. She has the kind of figure to make any man—even one who lives like a monk—think of only one thing. She's deliciously beautiful, and shockingly, she wants me.

She stared up at him with a dazed expression in her hazel eyes. A plump lip slipped between her teeth and she worried it in a mixture of uncertainty and provocation.

The sight made Michael feel feverish and achy. He kissed her again, a brief, intense smudge of his lips that promised hot, sweet things to come… another day. Then he stood, helping her to her feet beside him.

“I have to go for now. We both have class early tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied with a wry twisting of her lips. “Are we still on for the riverfront this weekend?”

“I wouldn't miss it,” he told her earnestly.

“Goodbye, Michael. See you tomorrow?”

He thrilled to find himself able her silky cheek without prompting.

She leaned into his touch.

“Certainly. Thank you, Sheridan, for being willing to risk yourself this way. It means more to me than you know.”

“And you taking a chance on me is more than I could have imagined,” she replied.

He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. This is not taking a chance, sweetheart. It's a dream come true.

She wrapped her arms tight around his chest, leaning her head on his shoulder. He rested his chin on her springy curls. With every inch of her womanly softness compressed against him, he thought he might just go off like a rocket.

Her hand left his back and slid up his shoulder and neck, capturing his cheek and drawing him down so she could initiate a last soft kiss. “Good night, Michael.”

Opening the door was the last thing he wanted to do. Once he found himself in the hallway, he felt just as deflated as he'd feared, and yet, elation warred with his body's eagerness. Somehow—I'll never know how —we're actually together.

CHAPTER2

The next morning, Michael found himself staring blankly at a new crop of sophomores—fifteen in all—who each held a syllabus. Eyes flitted from the paper to his face and back. As always, he wondered what they were thinking.

“The world of college English is far from settled,” he told them. “Many professors steer students into literature courses. You are all English majors or minors, so I suspect a heavy dose of lit courses in your future. However, in order to be successful, you not only have to be able to read literature and understand it, you also have to be able to make arguments about it and articulate them in the written word. Of course, the expectations of you will be much higher than students in many other fields because reading and writing are your future career, not just a corollary to it. Freshman composition isn't enough.” He regarded the faces before him.

They stared in rapt attention.

“I'm sure you've heard about this class. It won't be easy. I'll expect you not only to complete the assignments I've laid out in your syllabus on time, but also to think about each step of the process. You should not expect to write a paper or article the night before it's due and pass. Adequate writing, and by that, I mean not only the structure but the depth of thought behind it, will earn you a C. To get a B you'll have to dig deeper, beyond the obvious, and make connections to other sources. If you want an A, you'll have to select one of the many ongoing conversations in the field, situate yourself in it, and defend your position. I don't give that high a grade often. Showing up to class will not do it.”

Michael lost his momentum as a memory of Sheridan—of exactly how her lips felt pressed against his— welled up in his mind. Not now, Burke. Class, man, teach the class. Finish your lecture before you lose them.

He made eye contact around the room and realized suddenly his students, rather than glaring mutinously, were actually nodding in agreement with what he had outlined. It's as though they know what to expect and are eager to begin honing their skills.

A hand shot up.

“Yes?” Michael asked, eyeing the slender young man. “Mr.…”

“Matsuda. Jack Matsuda. I've been reading over some journals and I'm interested in transfer theory. Do you think that would be a good topic for the end-of-term research paper?”

Michael's eyebrows drew together. A sophomore exploring composition pedagogy theory? “Yes, that would be an excellent topic.”

Another hand flew into the air. Michael turned to a baby-faced girl with long brown hair drawn into two childish braids. “I'm interested in the alignment between linguistics and feminism. Can I research that?”

This time the shock took Michael's breath away. Are these students or some kind of mutant aliens? “Yes, that would be fine, but it's a bit broad. You'll need to narrow your focus a bit. Remember, a mile deep, an inch wide. Those broad five-paragraph essays you wrote in high school no longer work for our purposes.”

All over the room, heads bobbed in eager agreement.

“Dr. Burke?” Another young woman broke into his thoughts. “Can you tell me more about your expectations for the journal article we'll need to write?”

Blinking, Michael leafed through the syllabus to a chorus of rustling paper.

At noon, Michael returned to his office. He sprawled in his comfortable leather chair behind a chunky mahogany desk, surrounded on three sides by bookshelves crammed with volumes from all time periods and genres of literature, from Antigone to Zorba the Greek; from Beowulf to The Parrot in the Oven.

Rolling his mouse to activate the computer, he began making up a record-keeping chart and entering students' names in it. A playful knock at his open door interrupted the tedious task. Looking up, he saw Sheridan's golden curls and pinup girl figure outlined from behind by the late summer sunshine pouring through the windows across the hall. She looked like an angel in a knee-length gray pencil skirt and short-sleeved blouse in a delicate shade of blue. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. I have never wanted anything so badly in my life… Oh wait, that's last week's thought. Today, she's mine and I can greet her with a kiss if I want to. How intoxicating.

“Come in. Shut the door, please,” Michael urged. She complied, and he stood, crossing the room in a few long-legged strides to receive the warm hug she offered. He kissed her cheek, enjoying her soft skin beneath his lips, and noticed the sound of paper crackling behind his head.

Releasing her, he saw it was a take-out bag. He smiled, aware of the stretch of muscles pulling at his lips. I’m a little rusty at this smiling thing.

“I bought us some food,” she said unnecessarily, and he could see she felt shy with him today, not sure of what to expect.

He wanted her to be more comfortable, so he kissed her again, on the lips this time. A brief brush since they were at work, but soon he planned to increase the intensity. The thought of what he planned to do, of how her mouth might taste, sent heat boiling through him. I bet she'll like that. I can't wait to find out what it's all about. Meanwhile, the chaste peck had revived her glorious smile, and they walked down the hall to the teachers' lounge, fingers laced together like teenagers.

Sheridan practically bubbled over with joy. Holding hands with Michael, kissing him, it's fantastic. I remember last night he said this is his first time being with someone. Naturally, that means this will progress slowly, which suits me just fine. No need to rush.

Sitting together at a small round table in the faculty lounge, they divvied up chips and salsa before opening two burritos with rice and beans.

“Mmmm,” Michael hummed in appreciation. “Carne guisada from El Chaparro?”

“You’d better believe it. I felt like Mexican, and I know you appreciate it, so…”

“Good choice.” He inhaled the fragrance of stewed beef in spiced gravy, and then took a generous bite. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the delicious food, as well as each other's company.

Well, this won't do, Sheridan thought eventually. We really ought to be… talking. So, she took the initiative. “My classes are great so far. What about yours? How's the dreaded sophomore writing?”

“Surprisingly good,” he replied. “They all seem prepared for what I'm asking of them, even eager to get started. I've never seen anything like it.”

Sheridan smirked.

“Hey, what's that look?” he demanded.

“That look, mon ami, means you've discovered Sheridan's secret teaching strategy.” At the sound of an interjecting voice, they looked up to see Davontay, a cafeteria sandwich and a bottle of juice in his hands, coming to join them. He grinned at Sheridan, a gesture she returned in full measure. She also slipped her free hand into Michael's. He squeezed gently as they marked each other as private territory. Davontay noticed, his smile slipping, but he didn't say a word.

“What secret teaching strategy?” Michael asked, giving her a quizzical look.

“Oh, it's nothing,” she brushed aside the comment with a casual shrug. “You know, I had those kids last semester as freshmen, and when I found out which ones were going to be English majors, I pulled them aside for extra tutoring. They knew what to expect from you, which is why they didn't object to it.”

“Actually,” Davontay interjected, “it was a bit more than that. She's turned the English majors into a group, a writing club she sponsors. She's convinced them that being successful in your class is the key to being successful in the rest of their academic careers.”

“Hey, it's true,” she explained. “I had to go through this years ago, and I would really have appreciated being better prepared before I arrived in your classroom. You certainly don't have time to tutor everyone one on one, so I did it for you. That's all.”

“How on earth did you convince them that my class was the key?” Michael demanded.

“I showed them,” she replied, meeting his eyes, willing him to understand. “I showed them my essays from before I took your class, ones I wrote during that semester and stuff I've written since. It was very convincing. I told them you wouldn't take it easy on anyone, but if they could swallow their pride and take your advice, you were fair and would reward hard work and progress.”

“She's a genius in the classroom,” Davontay added.

The compliment made her cheeks heat with pleasure. “Why do you think I haven't gone for a Ph.D.? I don't care much about research, I just like teaching students. But I love being part of this team. I feel like I can do so much to help these guys get ready for their futures.”

“You're the foundation,” Michael said, his voice intense. “If today is any indication, you're doing great.”

She smiled. Michael's approval felt like a warm hug, wrapping her in transcendent joy.

Both men's smiles faded at the sight of hers.

Oops, better turn down the voltage, she thought, returning her face to its relaxed state.

The three friends continued chatting idly for the next half-hour or so, discussing students, lesson plans, and club activities.

At last, Sheridan rose. “I have another section of Comp I in a little while,” she said. “I need to prepare my materials.”

“See you, sugar,” Davontay replied, winking at her. “Teach those fish something worthwhile.”

His easy charm made Michael grind his molars together, but he didn't speak. He flirts like he was born to it. I can't even smile without feeling like my face is about to crack.

Sheridan hugged Michael gently around the shoulders, touching her lips to his cheek. Then she smiled sweetly at Davontay and swept out.

Both men watched her leave. The way those curves draw the eye, how could I look away?

“So,” Davontay said after the door closed behind her, “you two, huh?”

“Yes,” Michael replied simply.

Though Davontay didn't say another word, the look on his face suggested disappointment.

It's no surprise. Sheridan is a desirable woman. I wonder why she came to me. Amazing. He could fathom no explanation, and so he shrugged and let it go. It's enough to be thankful for what I have.

CHAPTER3

The week inched by on slow turtle feet. Longing to join Michael and Davontay for their picnic, Sheridan felt each second as though it spanned an hour. On the other hand, her classes had begun well, and even better, she and Michael spent their lunch breaks together, and sometimes went for walks around campus when the open spots in their schedules coincided.

After what felt like about fifteen years, Saturday arrived. Despite being the second weekend of September, the sun shone bright, and the forecast called for eighty degrees and breezy. Perfect outdoor weather. She made sandwiches, pasta salad and brownies and packed them up in a wicker basket, preparing to meet her friends at the river.

Her jalopy belched, groaned and sighed as she pulled it into a parking spot. She smiled to see Michael standing beside his Firebird. Leaving the basket in the car, she walked straight into his arms. At this early hour, the youngsters had not yet arrived, and so the couple had the park to themselves as they enjoyed the coolness of an early autumn morning. He held her for several long minutes under the gently swaying trees. They were still green, but perhaps faintly yellowing as the days grew shorter.

Then Michael’s lips came down on hers in a kiss of intense, powerful emotion. He opened his mouth and swiped her with his tongue.

Sheridan parted her lips and he entered gently, not driving deep, but tentatively touching inside her mouth. She caressed his tongue with hers, feeling desire she could never have expressed with words.

Kissing is pure poetry, Michael thought. Shelley couldn't have done it better. Hmm, maybe Shelley's appropriate under the circumstances. Pulling back, he whispered in her ear, “‘Nothing in the world is single;/ All things by a law divine/ In one another's being mingle;—/Why not I with thine?’”

“Ooooh, Shelley in the morning,” she cooed, her eyes lighting up with a combination of laughter and arousal. “You know, though, he was asking for a bit more than a kiss when he wrote that.”

“One thing at a time. I'm enjoying this part,” he said. It's the truth. I'm not ready to consider more, just yet. An ache in the vicinity of his zipper informed him he'd not have that luxury for long.

“Me too.” She finished the quote. “‘And the sunlight clasps the earth, /And the moonbeams kiss the sea;—/ What are all these kissings worth,/ If thou kiss not me?’”

“I do kiss you,” he breathed against her skin. “I do kiss you, Sheridan.” He demonstrated. The second kiss was just as delicious as the first.

They lingered, lips clinging in tender passion. Every sensation imprinted itself on his memory: the minty softness of her mouth, the scent of peaches that hung around her, the curves of her body compressed against him. Though he tried not to think about what was next, tried to live in this perfect moment, the fullness in the front of his pants told him the time for lingering in innocence would be short. The ache of arousal did nothing to dissuade him from claiming her lips in a thousand different ways, and she matched him kiss for kiss, her hands tangled in his hair to hold him close.

Eventually, children began to show up to play on the swings and slide, and they reluctantly released each other, just as Davontay drove up in his black SUV. He vaulted out of the vehicle and drew up short at the sight of the couple, their hands clinging. Casting one longing glance at the beautiful blond, Davontay sighed, shoulders sagging, and shook his head.

Michael pretended not to see. He felt no embarrassment about his burgeoning romance with Sheridan, but he didn't want to make his friend uncomfortable. I know what it is to desire this amazing woman without hope of reciprocation.

The moment passed, and the friends settled into a normal pattern, conversing as they enjoyed the beauty of the day. The river gurgled cheerfully, and the wind sighed through the branches.