AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Time to snap out of it. I need the data for the staff workload model.’
‘I haven’t—’
‘What do you mean you haven’t? You’ve had two weeks to sort this out! I need to get the completed model to the faculty at the end of the week.’
‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘You can start by inputting the information on the hard copies into online system,’ and she points to a set of papers on the edge of a desk.
I get up to collect the papers.
‘Leyna, just so you’re aware, I’m going to have to make a note of this.’
Of course, she will. Without another word, I grab the papers, perhaps a bit too brusquely, and make a start.
––––––––
AFTER AN ENTIRE MORNINGspent with a temperamental photocopy machine and then a quick lunch with Lorna staring at me, as if to say,You don’t have time for lunch, I now have to walk up to the research office to collect lord knows what for Lorna. Again. Honestly, I don’t know why my original job description didn’t just say,Do Lorna’s bidding from 9am-5pm.
The campus is nice, not that I get to see it very often as I’m usually stuck inside the department, with minimal windows and minimal sunlight. Despite my shit tasks from Lorna, someone has smiled on me because the sun is shining and I get a bit of a walk outside for a change—in the middle of the day, even.
Whoever designed and landscaped the university campus obviously tried to maintain a bit of nature here and there, including a few paths through wooded areas. Nothing so cut off or remote, but shortcuts to get to different sections of the campus. They’re not always used, with many students and staff sticking to the main cement paths and walkways. But I love them and fully intend to take advantage of what little time I have outdoors, even if it is running errands for Lorna.
The cut-through I’m following is fairly steep and rambling. Big tree roots stick up and out of the ground and it’s uneven and rocky in parts. You couldn’t do it in anything but proper shoes which is probably why not many people take it, assuming they even know it’s here. It’s also nice because these walks carry you away from the large, imposing brick buildings and concrete to a veritable wooded oasis. And some of the paths cut directly across the campus at the hilltop, through meadows so that, in the summertime, vast swathes of wildflowers grow rampant. The sweet smell and the dull buzz of bees and grasshoppers transports you out of this chaotic mess, even for just a short while.
As I’m daydreaming about summer, despite the miserable November chill, I don’t realise I’m about to walk into someone until—I do.
I’m smack dab in the middle of one of those small, wooded areas where the path cuts sharply around a corner as it snakes its way up the embankment. No one is ever on this path. Clearly, he wasn’t paying attention either.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I start to apologise but then I look up.
Sweet Jesus.
Of all the people I could have run into. Of course, it had to be him. The one person I’ve been trying to avoid all day long.
Professor Jack Stanhope.
His cheeks are flushed, like he’s been walking for some time, and of course he’s dressed in that tweed jacket he so often wears, his thick brown hair mussed up on top of his head, a bit of a change from his normally exceptionally tidy, put-together appearance. It’s probably just the wind.
He looks just as startled as I am. ‘Miss Burrows...’
Are we going to play this game again? I can’t keep track anymore of what I know, what I’m pretending not to know, what he knows... The truth is, we both know exactly what’s going on. Perhaps things would have been different if we’d met somewhere in the department, around prying eyes and snooping ears. Instead, here we are, with not a soul in sight, surrounded by tall pines, elms, and oak trees, as though we’re wrapped in a spindly cocoon of grey branches and evergreen needles. As though the woods and its inhabitants would keep our secrets forever.
That’s when I decide to slip into my new skin, the one I’ve been fashioning for myself for some time and without even thinking I say, ‘Jack.’ I breathe his name deeply, letting the sound echo in our ears amongst the wild growth and thorny brambles. To be fair, I am a little out of breath from climbing the hill. In the commotion of crashing into one another, we’ve gotten twisted around so that he is now looking up at me. Because we’re on an incline, our faces are but inches apart, despite the fact he is at least a foot taller than I am.
I look him in the eye and brush an imaginary fluff out of his hair. I’ve wanted to touch him for so long and I let my hand linger a bit, the backs of my fingers brushing against his cheek as my hand drops.
He looks startled by the movement and his eyes singe as though they are made of a liquid blue fire. Without any indication at all, he suddenly drops his bag and grabs my face with both of his large hands. His mouth grazes mine first, insistent and needy, but holding back. He is so gentle, but I can feel just how much he is reigning himself in, how the tide of pent-up desire roils behind every brush of his lips against my own.
I grab onto him for support and deepen the kiss, my tongue slipping just inside his mouth, exploring its contours. It’s all the permission he needs to let go a little more, kissing me back with more vigour, more force. A little sound escapes from his mouth and the tone of it, the stark desire and neediness of it, weakens my knees. I need this, but this man, I can feel how much he needs this, too. Our lips brush up against each other, teasing, relaxing, and then deepening once more. The more of him I taste, the more I want. I never knew a kiss could be so all-encompassing that everything around us, every sound, every tree, doesn’t exist so long as my lips are pressed against his. Before I know it, other parts of my body are wakening up, too, and, without thinking, I press my hips against his. I can feel the hard bulge protruding from his trousers and, if I was in any doubt before, it’s the physical proof that he’s turned on just as much as I am.
But then he groans, a deep and guttural sound, like an animal in pain, and he shakes his head. He places his hands on my hips to stop me from pressing up against him. I let out the tiniest whimper of a moan and he pulls away, tearing his mouth off mine. With swollen lips and smouldering eyes, he picks up the bag he so unceremoniously dropped a few moments ago. I think he’s about to leave but he surprises me again. He reaches out a strong hand and clutches the back of my neck once more. He plunges his mouth atop mine but this time it’s different. It’s short, sharp, and surly and I realise—he’s angry. He’s angry that he’s allowed himself to capitulate in this way, to have fallen before me. His lips are gruff and uncivil, like he’s at war with himself and kissing me more forcefully is the only way to win this battle. I smile against his lips because I’m happy to let him ravage me, to let him plunder my soil for the riches lying in wait. Let him fight with himself—it’s only a matter of time—because now we both know that the searing fire that burns between us, the electrifying currents that pass between our bodies, are not going to dissipate no matter how hard we try to ignore it.
Abruptly he drags his mouth off mine, eyes glowering.
And then, just as swiftly as when we bumped into one another, he turns and walks in the direction from which I’ve just come. Ten seconds and he’s completely out of sight and I’m still standing there, in the woods, papers strewn on the ground wondering just how long either one of us is going to manage to fend off whatever it is that is sweltering between us.
