Flat-Out Sexy(55)

"What are you looking at?" Tamara asked her, leaning toward Imogen to read over her shoulder.

Imogen looked at her friend and sociology professor in satisfaction. "My thesis. I'm looking at my thesis."

Did dating rules result in success when altered for a specific occupation?

Imogen was going to follow them and find out.





TY McCordle ducked out of Tammy and Elec's front door and quickly moved  to the left on the porch, away from view of the picture window. He  desperately needed a bit of fresh air and a breather from Nikki's  constant chattering. It was obvious to him that he had been dating Nikki  way past the point of novelty. She got on his nerves just about every  minute that he was with her, and he had reached the moment he hated in  dating. He had to break things off with her, and that was bound to  result in a couple of things from Nikki he had a hard time dealing  with-tears and anger.

Truth was, he shouldn't have let things go on nearly as long as they  had. He'd known from jump that she wasn't even remotely close to his  type for a long-term relationship, but he had been lonely and bored and  she had been more than willing to hop into bed with him.

But after a time, not even her enthusiasm could make up for the fact  that the sound of her voice made every muscle in his body tense with  irritation, and now he was dodging her at a damn dinner party.

It was ridiculous, and it made him feel like a pansy-ass wimp. Yet he  wasn't going back in there, was he? It was pouring down rain outside, a  nice little fall thunderstorm, and the air was clear and crisp, the  temperature still balmy. Ty loved the sound of the rain hitting the roof  and the ground, and he leaned forward to feel the mist settle over his  forearms and hands. Even if she figured out where he was, the rain would  keep Nikki in the house. She wasn't big on nature or anything that  might ruin her hair, her makeup, or her shoes.

So Ty was going to stand there on the porch and take a breather, then go  back into the party, say his good-byes to his friends, collect Nikki,  take her home, and break things off with her. In a minute. Or two.

A light appeared in the driveway and Ty glanced over to see what it was.  A car door slammed shut and the light went back out. Through the rain  Ty saw someone running toward the porch, hands over her head. A thin  woman with dark hair and glasses pounded up the steps then stopped when  she achieved shelter, her arms falling to her sides, her breathing  heavy.                       
       
           



       

It was the woman who was some kind of assistant to Tammy at the  university, the one who had the name Ty couldn't remember or pronounce.  He had seen her inside the house since there were only twenty or so  people at the party, but he had avoided her. Something about her  intrigued him, made him want to see if the shy and serious woman could  open up and laugh or, better still, moan in pleasure, but at the same  time, she made him feel stupid with her fancy education, expensive  clothes, and complicated name.

At the moment he just felt sorry for her. She was taking deep breaths  and almost wheezing, like the shock of having a boatload full of rain  dump on her had just caught up with her.

Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and forehead, her jeans were wet  clear to the knees, and her black sweater was molded to her chest. For  some reason she reminded him of a puppy, startled and forlorn, and he no  longer felt so intimidated by her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"It's raining harder than I thought," she said, pulling her clinging  sweater forward off her stomach. "I think I should have waited a few  more minutes. But I had to go out to put up my car windows that I left  down, and I got trapped inside my car. I waited, and debated just  leaving and going home, but not saying good-bye to anyone would be  phenomenally rude, and the rain wasn't letting up, so I went for it. I  think, it's safe to say, that was a miscalculation."

It was a hell of an explanation that Ty only heard half of because he  was so distracted by the fact that her glasses were covered in rain  spots. He liked to see a woman's eyes when he talked to her, and he was  curious what color whatsername's were. He was also curious as to how he  was going to ask her yet again what her name was without sounding like  the total jackass that he was. Reaching out, he lifted her frames off  her face.

She jerked back with a squeak. "What are you doing?" She wiped the  bridge of her nose dry then followed his hand to retrieve her glasses.  "I need those."

"I'm drying them off. You can't possibly see anything with them  waterlogged." Ty used the bottom of his T-shirt to polish them to his  satisfaction.

"Oh, thank you."

He lifted them and guided them onto her nose.

"I can-"

Before she could finish her sentence, he had the glasses back on, frames tucked over each ear.

"-do it myself," she said.

"Too late." He smiled and, using the tip of his pointer finger, pushed  them a little higher on her nose. "And now I know they're blue."

"What?" Her head tilted slightly to the side. "What's blue?"

"Your eyes. I was wondering." Emma Jean or Imagine or whatever the hell  her name was had eyes that were unaltered by makeup, and they were big  and a deep, rich blue, like denim. She smelled like rain and shampoo,  her soft skin covered in a dewy sheen. He was standing damn close to  her, and he was aware that he was very much attracted to her and his  body knew it. That was an erection popping out to greet her.

Fortunately, she was looking at his face, not his crotch, so she didn't know the direction his thoughts were strolling in.

She had a slight frown on her face. "Why would you be wondering what color my eyes are?"

That was a damn good question. He chose not to answer it. "You need a towel. You're dripping." And shivering.

"I don't want to go in there like this." She glanced at the front door. "I'll track water all over the hardwood floors."

"I can go get you a towel," he said. Though he would have to dodge Nikki to do it, which might be difficult.

"I'll be fine," she said. "I should probably just go home and call Tamara and apologize."

"You're going to run back through the rain?" he said in disbelief. "I don't think so."

"It's slowed down," she insisted.

But when they looked out at the front yard and the driveway, the wind  was whipping torrents of rain down at an angle. "Or not. It's a freaking  monsoon out there. You won't have anything dry on you to even clear off  your glasses when you get to your car. Can you see to drive without  your glasses?"

"No." She sighed, staring toward her car with obvious longing.

"What's under your sweater?"

"Excuse me?" She turned so fast to stare at him that she bumped shoulders with him.

"If you're wearing a shirt underneath it's probably dry. Just take your sweater off."

"I have a cami on," she said, biting her lip.

Ty didn't know what the hell a cami was, but it sounded promising. "Perfect."                       
       
           



       

She seemed to debate for a second, then she took off her glasses and handed them to him.

"Hold these, please."

"Sure."

Then he didn't even try to look away when she peeled off her sweater to  reveal a little white tank top, small breasts clinging to the fabric,  her nipples taut. Yeah, he was just full of brilliant ideas. Nothing  like telling the woman to strip off clothing when he was standing on his  buddy's front porch in full view of a dinner party.

"That's better, right, Emma Jean?" he said as she dropped her sopping wet sweater over the top of the porch railing.

She held her hand out for her glasses and smiled at him. "You know my name's not Emma Jean, don't you?"

He did know that. He just didn't know what her name really was. He  suspected that aside from the fact he had never heard her name at any  point ever in his life prior to meeting her, that it was his dyslexia  making it difficult for him to retain her name. She had spelled it out  loud for him previously, but the letters had just jumbled in his head.  Which pissed him off severely. But he would cover, make it look  intentional. "Yep. But I think Emma Jean suits you."

Laughing, she put her glasses back on. "It does not. As much as I hate  to admit it, I am much more of an Imogen than I am an Emma Jean."

Ty had almost caught it that time. The end sounded more like gin, like the alcohol. "Why do you say that?"

"Dark hair, glasses." She pointed to each as she listed them. "Flat chest. Shy. Definitely not an Emma Jean."

Maybe those very things were the reason he found her so fascinating,  though he wouldn't call her shy. Quiet, but not shy. He gave her a  smile, one that even as he did it, he knew was flirtatious. He  shouldn't, not there, not with her, but he couldn't seem to stop  himself.