Page 139 of Any Port in a Storm

He drags his mouth down my neck, coaxing my breath to hitch with every kiss. “No.”

He lowers our joined hands and pulls mine around his neck, then reaches beneath my thighs and lifts me onto the counter. When he steps into the cradle of my hips, I can feel him harden against me.

Looking directly into my eyes, he drags my underwear down my hips and over my legs, tossing it roughly onto the ground. Then, he eases my thighs apart on the counter.

I’m grappling with his shorts, which he kicks off like they’ve personally wronged him, when my hands close around him.

“That feels so good,” he groans. He seats his hands on my waist and pushes in, dragging a moan from deep within my throat, too.

“Another thing in the pro column for the museum job,” I manage.

“What’s that?”

“These counters are exactly the right height.”

Nick’s grin is devastating.

It’s quick and hot and hurried after that, but I don’t mind. Because it means he’s here, and that I haven’t lost him. It’s proof that we’re in the same place, mentally and physically—that we both need the same thing. That our urgent magnetism for each other means we feel the same way. And the fact that we can have it; can bring each other pleasure to counteract the pain, means neither of us is truly alone.

FORTY

last july

Ismooth my skirt and look anywhere but at my advisor. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”

“Sure,” she replies bluntly.

“I think maybe there’s something we should discuss.” She’s giving me a look like I’m the dumbest person on the planet, so I add quickly, “Before we get into talking about my dissertation.”

Spillinger’s hands tighten around her water bottle. “Okay. Go ahead.”

I drag in air like it’s been infused with courage. “It seems to me there was a bit of a misunderstanding between us, back in the spring.” Her expression shifts, but only just—a deer-in-headlights look about the eyes. “Some confusion surrounding Nick O’Connor.”

She laughs uncomfortably. “Who you spend time with outside of class isn’t my business, Laurel.”

“Okay,” I hedge. “But, given your…history.” She cringes, but I keep going. “It seems like some of our disconnect today might be related to what’s gone on in the past. With Nick.”

“Our disconnect? This is purely about your paper.”

“Is it? Because things seemed to be fine until the day you saw Nick and me together.”

Spillinger’s glare is immediate. “I’m a full-grown adult, Laurel, and I’m your professor. I can’t allow my personal feelings to color how I assess your work.”

“You’re right,” I say coolly. “You can’t.”

She doesn’t respond.

My mind races back over my conversation with Ivy. “Would it help if I told you Nick broke my heart also?”

Spillinger looks like she’s torn between a laugh and a frown. “Again, your relationship is none of my business.”

“It’s related, though. Because finding out about your relationship with Nick is what ended mine.”

The color drains from her face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Nick and I have been friends for years.” Or at least we were. “But when I realized how convoluted everything had become? That it might impact my future?” I shake my head. “My career is too important to me. I had to end things.”

Spillinger surveys me thoughtfully, then something in her expression shifts. “Why don’t we take a look at your dissertation together,” she suggests in a gentler tone. “Maybe I judged it a little too harshly.”