Night Moves Chapter One As I touched her thighs, she put both hands down to stop me with a suppressed 'oh'—neither action or word, those of a woman who was shamming.—It wasn't the fierceness of a girl who first feels a man's hand about her privates .... It was the exclamation and manner of a woman not accustomed to strange hands. ... The words flowed off the page of My Secret Life, sparking Ella's imagination and surrounding her with a haze of sensuality so thick and so hot that her pulse rate increased, and breathing became an effort. Like someone trying to suck in a deep breath in a sauna. She'd been enrolled in the class for three weeks now, and she still felt a jolt of excitement when she read a sensuous passage. Little sparks deep down inside that made her wish for long nights with a determined man. She'd never expected to be quite so intrigued by the words, although she'd signed up for Professor Archer's class not only because of Veronica Archer's stellar reputation as an expert on erotica through the ages, but also because Ella, frankly, needed to do something just a little wild. Just a little bit off the straight-and-narrow. Not that she'd told Tony that. No, she'd told her boyfriend that she was taking the class out of loyalty, and in order to more fully investigate her professional field. After all, she'd known Ronnie Archer for a few years now, and the two had become friends. So naturally, she was curious about her friend's expertise. Plus, Ella was working towards her masters in art history, and Ronnie knew a lot about erotic art through the ages. So much, that she'd been recruited to teach at the university in an adjunct capacity. It was a reasonable explanation, and Tony hadn't batted an eye. It wasn't, however, an entirely true explanation. The truth was, she'd seen something in Ronnie's work that she needed. Something that reminded her of her past. She used to drive fast cars and date fast men. She used to ride motorcycles along country roads with her best friend Shane, or take a skydiving class just because he'd dared her to. Lately, though, she'd slowed down, the rough edges of her life smoothing out. She liked that, wanted it. But that didn't mean she'd erased the past—or that she didn't have the odd moment where she wanted to go a little crazy. She smiled a little as she thought of Tony, with his clean-cut good looks and bank officer wardrobe. While he'd indulge her with a night on the town to satisfy her wild streak, he was never comfortable with it. His sisters were another story, and when Tony was away or working, Ella and the girls sometimes went dancing or rock climbing or out to the track to rent and race fast cars. Fun, but not her life anymore. She was with Tony, now, and unlike his sisters, Tony wanted a calm and orderly life. A family, with a picket fence and a dog and the whole nine yards. And she wanted that with him, even though there were downsides. This class, for one. She'd tried twice to read him particularly enticing passages, but he'd managed to shift the subject, the mood, and very handily got her to drop the whole thing. Talking about sex—experimenting with sex—those weren't Tony's things. Not that sex wasn't his thing. It was. The man was just fine in that department, if a little unimaginative. She loved him, though, and that made everything else balance. He was exactly what she wanted in a boyfriend. And, if she was reading the hints right, in a husband. Any day now, she expected him to give her a ring, and she'd slip it on her finger without hesitation. Because Tony was everything she wanted, the man himself and his family. A big, boisterous, happy family. Exactly what she'd always dreamed of and never had. Idly, she flipped the page of the book in front of her, thinking how lucky she was to have Tony. She needed to get back to work, though, and she firmly pushed thoughts of her boyfriend from her head, then forced herself to concentrate on the pages she was turning. Not difficult, since the lusty words caught her attention, pushing the last remnants of boyfriend thoughts from her head and replacing them with erotic descriptions that forced her imagination to work overtime to bring her a vivid mental picture. My, oh, my... She leaned back in her chair, only half realizing that she was using a battered manila folder to fan herself. Usually, her favorite study carol in the back of the library was quite chilly. Today, however, it seemed remarkably warm. I had drawn her near to me—was feeling all round her bum with one hand, and wetting the finger of the other in her — Wow. How could anyone approach this from a purely academic angle? She certainly couldn't. At least not today. A particularly frustrating fact considering she was camped out in NYU library for the specific purpose of working on her term paper. Or, rather, for the purpose of deciding the topic of her paper. She knew she wanted to do something that juxtaposed historical erotica against modern works, but that was too broad a topic. And as for brilliant plans to narrow her theme, so far, she was drawing a blank. Not good, since she was due to meet with Ronnie on Monday to go over the paper's thesis and outline. Usually she was much better at focusing, but today, her mind had been all over the place. Maybe because it was a stifling summer Saturday. Or maybe because she'd already finished papers in the two other classes she was takingthis summer. She'd piled on a killer course load, as usual, and the workload was probably getting to her. Not hardly. The familiar voice in her head was her own, and she knew exactly what it would say: she wasn't cowed by a heavy workload. Deadlines and pressure were what got her going. She was an adrenaline jockey all the way, and had been all her life. No, as much as she hated to admit it, her distraction wasn't caused by anything relating to her degree program. The explanation was both simple and complicated: Shane. He'd been her best friend for years, but now he was abandoning her to move from Manhattan back home to Texas, and she still hadn't quite gotten her head around the fact that he was actually leaving. He'd been in her life for as long as she could remember. They'd done elementary school together, and they'd split the cost of a U-Haul when they'd both come to New York as freshmen, thrilled to be escaping their equally nightmarish families and vowing to help each other through every ordeal the city might throw their way. Seven years later, Shane had blown through college and law school and was now working as an assistant U.S. Attorney. Just as ambitious, Ella was moving more slowly, with a degree in history under her belt and several credits in the pot toward her masters. She was determined to rack up the best academic credits and recommendations. The kind that would get her a job at the Met—or, if her fantasies prevailed—the Louvre. She and Shane might have taken different paths, but they'd come the distance together. That he was now leaving wasn't something she liked to think about. A whole jumble of emotions kept washing over her. Hurt, anger, betrayal. They'd promised each other, but still, he was going back. What made it worse was her certainty that Tony was going to propose. How was she supposed to plan a wedding without her best friend there for moral support? Although she had to admit that Shane might balk at that particular duty. She could occasionally talk him into crossing the threshold of Sephora with her, but Shane was a guy's guy. Wedding planning was probably a little too frou-frou for his blood. Still, though, she wanted him nearby. And she couldn't quite get her head around the fact that in two days, he'd be outta here. That went against everything she believed in, most particularly, her firm belief in happily ever after. Shane was part of hers; his friendship essential. And she hated the idea that they'd be nurturing that friendship from 1500 miles away. She hated it, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Lord knows she'd tried. Part of her wished Monday would never come, so that he'd never leave. And part of her wished it were already next week so he'd be long gone and her head could get back to focusing on her work. Right. Her work. As if beckoning, the pages fluttered in the breeze stirred up by the makeshift fan she still held in her hand. Her gaze drifted back down, and the evocative language caught her attention once again. Ella closed her eyes, her own imagination supplanting the words on the page. She wanted to pretend she was a total academic, interested in the language only to the extent it served some higher literary or scholarly purpose. A nice fantasy, but so not true. Instead, the language intrigued her, heated her blood just as she'd known it would. And made her wish she'd stayed in the privacy of her own apartment to study rather than coming to the library where anyone who wandered into her dreary little corner might see her face and figure out exactly what was on her mind. In the story, the man wasn't described at all. In her mind, though, he had dark hair, almost black. Tony's hair, of course, because who else would her imagination conjure? And although that hair could be smooth and debonair, at the moment, it was tousled by her fingers running through the course strands. A wilder Tony, who existed only in her imagination. His hands were rough, as if he occasionally worked with them, but not gnarled or calloused. They were strong and confident, and as she leaned her head back, his hands kneaded her breasts, his thumb and forefinger finding her nipple and rolling the soft nub between the pads of his fingers. In her mind's eye, she arched back, hot wires of pleasure shooting from her breasts all the way down to her clit. He was there, between her thighs, the rough stubble on his cheeks scratching her sensitive skin as his tongue laved her, a delicious counterpoint to the thrill of his hands on her flesh. She couldn't see her lover's face. Just the dark hair on the head so intimately nestled between her legs and the broad shoulders, muscles straining under the thin t-shirt as he stroked his hands down her belly, closer and closer to where his mouth was providing such wonderful attention to her secret parts. She might not be able to see Tony, but she knew his touch. Strong. Confident. Just like the man himself. Soon, the pad of one thumb joined his tongue, and the added sensation sent her almost over the top. His other hand pressed on her lower belly, though, calming her and silently promising even more thrills if she was patient. Oh, yeah. She could be patient... She shifted just slightly in her chair, still half-aware, thank goodness, that she was in a library and that this was a fantasy she had to keep in her mind if she didn't want to be thought of as the library harlot. The devil between her legs shifted as well, the brush of his cheek against her thigh sending a fresh wave of sparks swarming through her body. She almost moaned aloud, but her breath caught in her throat because right then his head lifted enough so that she could see his eyes—and they were not the deep brown of Tony's chocolate eyes. These eyes were emerald green and all too familiar. No. It couldn't be. There's no way he would be in her fantasies. But then she could see his entire face, and there was no mistaking that fabulous jaw line or that devil-may-care grin. She knew this man, all right. This man, with his tongue on her clit and his hands on her body. Oh, yes. She knew him well. Shane! Her best friend. And a man who didn't belong within a hundred miles of her fantasies. So what, she thought, was he doing there now?