Free Learning Curves by Elyse Mady Page A

returning her attention to her marking. But her focus was undermined by the fact that between her shower, heating some soup for a late supper and marking essays, she checked her email with far more frequency than she normally did.
    Her email program finally chimed just as she was climbing into bed. Telling herself she was just being conscientious, not eager, she clicked it open. One unread message. From Brandon. She opened the message gingerly, unsure of what to expect.
    To:[email protected]
    From:[email protected]
    Subject:Re: Tix?
    Leanne—I’m in studio in the morning but I’ll drop them by after my rehearsal.
    Brandon.
    PS—and I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t wanted you to come.
    Sinking back into the cushions piled against her headboard, Leanne read the message one more time. He couldn’t really mean that he wanted to continue to see her, did he?
    Even if he was interested in sleeping with her again—and their rain-fueled kiss had laid any doubts she might have had on that count to rest—she knew there was no future for them. She had her career and more immediately, the Walters Prize to consider. And while she didn’t know what drove Mr. Brandon Myles, she’d bet her next shot at a tenure-track position it wasn’t anything involving commitment or a relationship. He gave off a vibe—an edgy, don’t-pin-me-down kind of vibe—that made anything long-term an impossibility.
    Feeling unaccountably vexed at that conclusion, she clicked off the bedside lamp and sank into the warm flannel of her bed. In the dark, her mind wouldn’t quiet, replaying their incendiary encounter under the portico, playing back their angry accusations and their even angrier embrace. She was still jittery and aroused. Slowly, her hands slid down, across her stomach, and parted the moist curls at the apex of her thighs. She caressed the sensitive bud, circling round and round. In her mind’s eye, she remembered the feel of her body Saturday night, stretching to accommodate Brandon’s long fingers.
    Panting, she stroked herself harder, slipping her fingers inside. She crested hard, her breathing labored, as images of her fantasy flashed in sexual Technicolor against her eyelids.

Chapter Five
    “Miss?”
    After a troubled night with little sleep, Leanne found it hard to summon her typical enthusiasm for her weekly seminar discussions. These small groups were supposed to supplement the larger lectures and allow students to develop their ideas. It would help if some of the students had original notions to expand on. And it probably wouldn’t hurt if more than half of them actually opened their readings.
    “Amy. What can I do for you?”
    “I have a question about the term paper.”
    “Sure.” Turning from the broad desk at the front of the crowded seminar room, she settled against the table as Amy rummaged in her book bag for her laptop.
    The young girl opened her laptop and pulled up the beginning of her term paper. A quick read through of the opening lines revealed troubled syntax and a garbled thesis statement. With only a few minutes until her next seminar, there was no way Leanne could help Amy rework her paper right now. They’d have to meet one-on-one.
    Leanne reached behind her for her day planner, then flipped through the pages until she could see her schedule for the remainder of the week. Her office hours were already busy, since the end of the term always brought with it a flurry of late-onset diligence, but Thursday might work. She had an appointment with Armstrong at eleven and a committee meeting in the afternoon but maybe earlier in the day?
    Amy moaned softly under her breath.
    Leanne looked up. “Are you okay?”
    The hairs on her neck stood at Amy’s dazed look.
    Schooling her face into a mask of friendly neutrality, Leanne turned toward the open doorway. Her diagnosis had been correct. Another case of Brandonitis. If only there was an inoculation against the infection. But thus far, and despite