Free A ruling passion : a novel by Judith Michael Page B
Authors: Judith Michael
understand it or share it, and yet she couldn't get him out of her mind. How could she feel this way about someone she couldn't understand.> It was beginning to make her nervous. She was getting restive too. They were together so much now, studying together, eating together, spending the night together when his roommates were away, that it was beginning to feel like a marriage. She hadn't met a new man for four months, and she was spending less time with her women friends. It didn't seem to bother Nick that he wasn't meeting new women, and, though he still saw his friends, Valerie came first. He seemed settled for life. The thought made her quiver with alarm.
I'm too young for this, she thought. I'm not supposed to get involved with anybody for years.
But I'm not really that involved with him; not at all. It's like a shipboard romance; it will end when we leave here. Probably before.
The professor ended the lecture, and Valerie looked at her notebook. It was covered, in her slighdy erratic handwriting, with numbers, diagrams, notes, even the tide of a magazine article they were to read before the class met again. It seemed she had taken down the contents of an entire hour without hearing a word of it. From his mouth to my hand, she thought with a laugh; I wonder if Nick will think that's an achievement or a distinct flaw in my character.
Damn it, she thought, the first thing I think about is telling Nick. I'm always doing that lately. She left the building, pausing in the shadowed loggia to let her eyes adjust to the bright April sun. Every time something happens that's funny or surprising or just plain interesting I can't wait to tell him. Well, this time I'll skip it. There's absolutely no reason to tell Nick Fielding everything that happens to me; I have my own life and I refuse to open all of it to anybody.
"So I wrote for the whole hour," she said at dinner that night in his apartment. "Took wonderful notes and never heard a word of his lecture. I was thinking of other things."
Nick chuckled. "You should think about going into politics. If you can think one thing and write another—better yet, say another— you're the perfect candidate."
"I wouldn't like that. I'd rather do my faking in my personal life; it's more honest."
They laughed and Nick poured their coffee and then cut the cake Valerie had brought from the bakery. She watched him, loving the
look of his hands: smooth, tanned, long thin fingers. She remembered the feel of his fingers inside her and began to want him again. She never seemed to get enough of him in bed. I thought about that in class today, she recalled.
I also decided not to tell him I took notes without hearing the lecture. I was so sure I wasn't going to tell him. She picked up her fork and toyed with her slice of cake. Somehow it didn't seem important now. She felt so warm and good, being there, watching him move about his kitchen, thinking about going to bed with him and discovering again his tenderness and forcefulness that always seemed new to her, she couldn't recall her perfectly good arguments against getting too involved.
There seemed to be a big difference between what she thought when they were apart and what she did when they were together. I'll have to sort that out one of these days, she thought. But there's no rush; after all, it's all going to end when we leave Stanford, so why do anything now, when I'm having such a wonderful time and he's so much fun to tell things to?
Although thafs just the problem. He's becoming a habit that might be awfully hard to break.
Chapter 4
r/1
■ M / ybille looked down at the closed eyes and open
X^_^K^ mouth of Terence Beauregard the Third, news di-
^1 j^r rector of KNEX-TV, whose overweight nude body
W ^^ bulged between her legs. "Nice," he said, his
\^___ I breath coming in little bursts. "Nice, nice, nice...'
She shut him out by closing her eyes. She couldn't stand to look at a man who was in her bed. Instead, she
I'm too young for this, she thought. I'm not supposed to get involved with anybody for years.
But I'm not really that involved with him; not at all. It's like a shipboard romance; it will end when we leave here. Probably before.
The professor ended the lecture, and Valerie looked at her notebook. It was covered, in her slighdy erratic handwriting, with numbers, diagrams, notes, even the tide of a magazine article they were to read before the class met again. It seemed she had taken down the contents of an entire hour without hearing a word of it. From his mouth to my hand, she thought with a laugh; I wonder if Nick will think that's an achievement or a distinct flaw in my character.
Damn it, she thought, the first thing I think about is telling Nick. I'm always doing that lately. She left the building, pausing in the shadowed loggia to let her eyes adjust to the bright April sun. Every time something happens that's funny or surprising or just plain interesting I can't wait to tell him. Well, this time I'll skip it. There's absolutely no reason to tell Nick Fielding everything that happens to me; I have my own life and I refuse to open all of it to anybody.
"So I wrote for the whole hour," she said at dinner that night in his apartment. "Took wonderful notes and never heard a word of his lecture. I was thinking of other things."
Nick chuckled. "You should think about going into politics. If you can think one thing and write another—better yet, say another— you're the perfect candidate."
"I wouldn't like that. I'd rather do my faking in my personal life; it's more honest."
They laughed and Nick poured their coffee and then cut the cake Valerie had brought from the bakery. She watched him, loving the
look of his hands: smooth, tanned, long thin fingers. She remembered the feel of his fingers inside her and began to want him again. She never seemed to get enough of him in bed. I thought about that in class today, she recalled.
I also decided not to tell him I took notes without hearing the lecture. I was so sure I wasn't going to tell him. She picked up her fork and toyed with her slice of cake. Somehow it didn't seem important now. She felt so warm and good, being there, watching him move about his kitchen, thinking about going to bed with him and discovering again his tenderness and forcefulness that always seemed new to her, she couldn't recall her perfectly good arguments against getting too involved.
There seemed to be a big difference between what she thought when they were apart and what she did when they were together. I'll have to sort that out one of these days, she thought. But there's no rush; after all, it's all going to end when we leave Stanford, so why do anything now, when I'm having such a wonderful time and he's so much fun to tell things to?
Although thafs just the problem. He's becoming a habit that might be awfully hard to break.
Chapter 4
r/1
■ M / ybille looked down at the closed eyes and open
X^_^K^ mouth of Terence Beauregard the Third, news di-
^1 j^r rector of KNEX-TV, whose overweight nude body
W ^^ bulged between her legs. "Nice," he said, his
\^___ I breath coming in little bursts. "Nice, nice, nice...'
She shut him out by closing her eyes. She couldn't stand to look at a man who was in her bed. Instead, she
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