Her hands were shaking as she stood, carefully smoothing her dressing gown. He was apparently absorbed in—Was he taking apart one of her new atomizers? She took a deep breath.

“Professor Moore—”

“If I just connect this more firmly it’ll pull better—”

“Sam,” she said, and he looked at her. “Would you like to make love to me?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sam stared at Alva. Then he stared at the little glass bottle. When that didn’t offer any helpful suggestions, he stared at her again.

She was slowly turning pink. Her shoulders were flung back, her posture rigid. It was her belligerent stance, which he had come to adore. It did, however, make him wonder if he’d heard right.

“Sorry,” he said, putting the bottle down. It made a small click in the suddenly silent room. “It’s possible my wishful thinking has run away with me. Did you—”

“Yes,” she said, her tone formal enough to sign contracts. “You’ve indicated in the past—or at least you’ve implied—”

“That I want to make love to you,” Sam said. He leaned against the wooden desk she kept her cosmetics on and considered. “I hope that’s not the only thing I’ve indicated.”

She flushed a deeper shade of rose. “It’s the only thing currently under discussion. Do you?”

“Yes,” he said.

The quick little breath she took went straight to his manhood.

It was becoming difficult to think, and that was bad, because he had a nagging feeling thought was required.

“Alva,” he said, gripping the edge of the desk so he wouldn’t take two steps forward and pull her against him, “you’ve had a shock—”

She untied her robe and dropped it to the floor.

“Or possibly I’ve had a shock,” he said faintly, staring at the thin, lacy nightgown. He hadn’t really seen the front of it before. It was … not opaque. He could see the curves of her breasts, even the faint shadows of her nipples.

She lifted her hand to the first of the buttons running down the front of the dress, and his fingers dug so firmly into the wood he thought the whole edge might snap.

“Wait,” he said, his voice sounding desperate even to himself. “This isn’t—where is this coming from?”

She stopped, her hand frozen by her throat, her head tilted a little to the side. “You’ve read the newspaper stories,” she said. “You’re a kind person, so you haven’t mentioned them, but you also wouldn’t have come here without doing your research. You know what my reputation is.”