Versed in Desire by Anne Calhoun Page A

intriguing.
    â€œYou made me falter, Luke,” I said, mustering irritation to cover something far more primitive simmering in the pit of my belly.
    Up close, I saw dense lashes and a mouth that walked the seductive line between full and sulky. He was just a couple of inches taller than I am, but I was wearing heels. Barefoot, or better yet, naked and spread for him, I’d tuck under his chin just right.
    A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth as he watched me assess him. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said.
    Still not even a hint of apology in his demeanor, so I continued with mildly irritated. “What on earth could make up for me looking like a slam virgin in front of the frat boys?”
    His dark eyes held just enough amusement to tell me he took the remark no more seriously than I’d meant it. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”
    A surprisingly blatant offer from a man still water-calm in the midst of a party bordering on outrageous, but I’d take it. I’d lay him back and fuck him until I was satiated and he was the one fumbling for words.
    After I knocked some of that confident amusement out of his eyes.
    â€œRestitution is most meaningful when the offending party designs the recompense,” I said archly. “ You tell me what I want.”
    His gaze never left mine. “You want me to put you up against a wall.”
    I’m not often stunned speechless. Luke had accomplished that feat twice in five minutes. I gaped at him, the rapid thud of my heart echoing in my ears.
    â€œIn those heels we can probably manage it,” he added, the cadence of his words rumbling under the party’s high-pitched din. He looked around nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just traversed the gap between introduction and intimate with a single sentence. “Finish your drink first. You’re a poet?”
    I welcomed the opportunity to sound like a rational human being, and the game wasn’t over yet. While I loved the spoken word, the sound and shape and taste of syllables in my mouth, arranged on the page, performance poetry was my labor of love, working as Tony’s admin my labor for money to pay the bills. Given Luke’s focus I doubted he cared much about either. “Just a word geek. You?”
    â€œMath geek,” he said.
    This time he startled me into a laugh because I’d no idea math geeks looked like the devil incarnate. Self-possessed Luke studied me as if I’d disappear if he blinked. There was no doubt in my mind he wanted me up against that wall as badly as I wanted him to put me there.
    I don’t remember what we talked about after that because the connection that had snagged me from ten feet away was like holding a live electric wire up close. He asked reasonable, thoughtful questions, a nice change, but the way Luke listened, his attention totally focused on me, drew me in as surely as if he had me on a hook. Every time he looked at my mouth as he leaned a little closer to hear what I was saying, electric pulses skittered down my backbone and heat flared in my pussy. After twenty minutes of me talking and him listening, sheer, visceral longing thumped in my veins.
    I swallowed the last of my wine and set the glass down with a cluster of others on the battered grand piano, then cocked an eyebrow at Luke. He took my hand with a casual possessiveness then lifted it to his sensual mouth for a single, simple kiss, his languid gaze holding mine.
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” he said.
    The more polite equivalent of your wall or mine?
    We were working our way through the throng that was surely in violation of the fire code and had made it as far as the foyer when my new boss, Tony, appeared from the door leading to the rooftop garden. Luke dropped my hand to give him a three-step, back-slap handshake. The familiarity of their greeting gave me pause, but my blood turned to ice when Tony said, “Corryn,