I blocked out the thousand nagging voices of my body that urged me to test the muscles of his thighs by falling into his lap or taste the potent scotch flavor that must have lingered on his lips.
"No, I haven't read it." I sat down on the edge of the sofa as prim as before. "You must have."
Ford smiled. "It's a favorite."
I flipped through the dog-eared pages and wished I could take the copy home with me. The pages he marked and the passages he underlined made me wonder more about him than the story of a young Hemingway in Paris. I imagined climbing into bed with a book he knew so intimately and the thought fired another blush across my cheeks.
Focusing my eyes on the open page in my hands did not help. The passage spoke about settling into bed with his wife, their books, and the open window showing the stars outside. Longing was a sharp burn through my chest. The simplicity and peace of that scene and the loving way it was worded made me want the same with all my heart.
Ford had underlined it and bent the corner of the page. I wondered if he read it with the same ache. He said nothing and gazed out the open window of his narrow office. The last clinging ivy rustled quietly and the faint scent of cold drifted in. The season was moving on to winter any day now, and it added to the bittersweet tone of the words.
The sound of faraway laughter reached us, but we were both content to sit in the quiet of the top floor. I knew we were the only ones in the building, and even the light from the hallway seemed reticent to join us.
Foolish, romantic junk, I thought.
That's why I worried my writing was frivolous. My head was always filled with silly notions or daydreams that would never come to pass. Ford was just being polite and he was probably counting the seconds until I woke up from my schoolgirl trance and let him go home.
Ford rocked gently in his office chair, his feet still up on the corner of the desk. He looked perfectly content until he caught me gazing at him again.
"I'd let you borrow my copy, but it's all marked up. I know it's practical to buy used books, but you really should take the chance to approach a book entirely from your own view." He sat up and clapped his feet on the floor.
"Doesn't that sort of negate the whole point of college lit. classes? What would Professor Rumsfeld say?" I asked.
The teasing brought a deeper, sapphire blue to his eyes. "Students only get what they put in," Ford said, "so, by all means, if you want to skim the parts that touched me instead of letting the story reach you, then go ahead and borrow that copy."
I flipped through a few more pages and glanced over the marked passages. Ford leaned forward to crane his neck and I wondered if he knew how romantic the lines he had chosen really sounded.
"I don't think it would distract me," I quipped. "You've underlined pretty much every word."
The corners of his mouth curved up. "If you don't have a book like that, then you need to spend a lot more time reading."
Our conversation faded to the background as I wondered how his lips could appear both hard and soft. The smile warmed them while the hard line of his jaw promised a force that could crack inhibitions.
I couldn't breathe. "Sorry, I have plenty of reading for class," I said.
When I went to stand up I tripped and Ford shot off his chair to steady me and we tangled together in the small space. I couldn't step back because the sofa edge promised to trip me and Ford's leg was caught by his office chair. We teetered for a moment, arms clinging to each other, and then laughed.
"Hold on," Ford said, his breathless laugh near my ear. "Get your balance."
My balance was gone, along with clear thought, and any sense of control. Ford pulled me to him stronger than gravity and I stepped closer. His quick intake of breath encouraged me to come closer.
My hands had flown to his chest, not to push him away, but to cling. Underneath one palm, I could feel his heartbeat galloping. All I could do was look up into his dark-blue eyes and let him draw me closer.
Ford's supportive arm around my back tightened and I felt the hot pulse of his muscles flex as he tugged me gently against him.
The small office plunged into darkness, barely rebuffed by the small desk lamp and a digital clock that read midnight. Neither of us moved as our privacy was confirmed. No one else was in Thompson Hall anymore, and we were all alone.
Ford's lips parted, but he said nothing. His arm continued to press me in and my fingers flexed on his hard chest instead of pushing him away.
A question appeared in his eyes and I nodded, more a reaching out than an answer. I found my footing and reached up on my toes with perfect balance.
Ford swallowed a frustrated groan and slipped his other hand around my waist. He pressed his lips together to wet them then let out a surrendering sigh.
My hands inched up his chest to the bare skin at his unbuttoned shirt. Warning bells and worries sounded in my head, but a wildfire of desire pushed them away.
Just one kiss, I told myself.
One kiss would be enough to get rid of the pressure, to release the delicious anticipation, and leave me with clear thoughts. One kiss would snap us both back to reality.