Читать книгу The Sex Test - Patty Salier - Страница 9

The telephone number Professor Rachel Smith had dialed rang and rang in her ear.

The textbook-filled office she shared at the university with her friend, Professor Kim Woods, suddenly seemed so stuffy and cramped that she could barely breathe.

“He’s not answering, Kim,” Rachel said tensely as she gripped the white telephone. “Maybe I should hang up.”

“You haven’t given the man a chance to get to the phone,” her friend said. “Will you relax?”

“I can’t,” she said, the dreaded ringing hauntingly echoing through her head.

She couldn’t even sit still. She abruptly stood up at her desk, fighting the urge to disconnect the phone before he answered.

“Kim, I can’t do this!” Rachel screeched as she heard the ringing stop and his phone being picked up.

“Zane Farrell’s residence,” an out-of-breath male voice resonated in Rachel’s ear. “How can I help you?”

The deep sensual tone of him momentarily made her heart leap.

“Ahhh, hello, can I speak to Zane Farrell?” she stammered, helplessly glancing at Kim for support.

“Are you bringing me good or bad news?”

Rachel looked at Kim questioningly. Kim immediately leaned her head against Rachel’s to listen in.

“Mr. Farrell, I’m Professor Rachel Smith at State University. I’m calling regarding the university sexuality research study.”

“A sex study?” His manly voice deepened with sudden interest. “You’re kidding, right?”

Rachel exchanged a confused glance with Kim.

“Mr. Farrell, I’d like to set up an appointment to come over to your house. Our first interview should take no more than an hour.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he said, sounding astounded. “You want to come over here and ask me questions about my sex life?”

“Don’t you recall, Mr. Farrell?” she continued. “You volunteered for the study by E-mailing your résumé to the university. We’re doing research on the sex lives of the nineties single male. I’d like to discuss with you—”

“Oh, I get it,” he interrupted. His voice lightened, as if he was smiling over the phone. “You’re trying to scam me, right?”

“What?” she bellowed, insulted that he was doubting her sincerity. “I certainly am not!”

“Come on, Professor,” Zane stressed with a chuckle. “Admit it. You’re a radio talk-show host. Am I close? And you’re trying to entice me into making sexual innuendos over the air to titillate your listeners.”

She angrily grabbed his résumé from Kim. “Is this Zane Farrell at 312 Crescent Road in Bel Air?”

“Right name, right address,” he replied. He lowered his voice like he was telling a secret. “But I refuse to tell you the shade or size of my cotton briefs.”

“How dare you!” Rachel blurted. Her heart was hammering. Her blood pressure was soaring. “I’m not scamming you, Mr. Farrell. If you’d stop being a pigheaded—”

“Rachel!” Kim called out, pulling the phone away from her. “You’re representing the university.”

“But he’s ridiculing me!”

“Just talk him into the interview,” Kim insisted.

Rachel angrily grabbed back the phone. “Mr. Farrell,” she began, trying to suppress her fury. “I have your résumé right in front of me. You graduated from high school at fourteen years old. You received your master’s degree and Ph.D. by age twenty-four. Now you’re an entrepreneur who owns PLT Corporation, Zantic Corporation, and Afloment Industries.”

“Did I really do all that?”

He was impossible! “Mr. Farrell, I’m not sure why you E-mailed your business background instead of the personally-slanted bio we requested, but that’s your business. However, if you are afraid to participate in our sex study—”

“Who’s afraid?”

“Are you still interested, Mr. Farrell?” She inwardly gloated that she’d finally gotten to him the same way he’d gotten to her.

“I’m one hundred percent intrigued.” Then, in a bass voice almost in an intimate whisper, he added, “Will you ever forgive me for doubting you, Professor Smith?”

The warmth in his voice. His lips seemed so close to the phone that Rachel could almost feel his breath on her face. A pleasurable tingle radiated through her veins. She quickly looked away from Kim, embarrassed by her sensual reaction to him.

“There’s no need to apologize…” she began, clearing her throat.

“How could I have let my memory lapse on such an important project?” he went on. “I’ll be glad to assist you in every way I can.”

Kim shot her a satisfied smile, but Rachel didn’t return it. She got the distinct feeling that Zane Farrell was still goofing on her.

“When can we set up a time to meet?” she asked, preparing herself for his next smart-alecky remark.

“How about right now?” he suggested with an enthusiasm that both irked and excited her.

“Now?” she repeated.

“Sure. I’m very eager to find out what your sex test is all about.”

She glanced uneasily at Kim who mouthed, “Take him up on it.”

“Well, I—” she stammered, plopping down in her chair.

“Great! I’ll be waiting for you.” Then he hung up.

“Kim, I’m not going!” Rachel said, slamming down the phone and turning Zane Farrell’s résumé facedown on her desk.

“You’ve got to,” her friend insisted. “You were given three case studies, and Zane Farrell is one of them.”

“He’s already making it difficult for me,” she said, exasperated. “This is my first research project for the university. I want to do good, Kim. Why, oh, why did the topic have to be sex?”

“I can’t believe you’re complaining.” Kim stared at her incredulously. “I know five female professors who begged on their knees for this assignment, but you were lucky enough to be chosen by the administration.”

“Lucky?”

“You can’t fool me, Rachel Smith,” Kim said. “I know exactly the reason you’re doing this sexuality study on the nineties single male.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to meet the sexiest, hottest men in Los Angeles, that’s why.”

“Oh, no, definitely not!” She blindly fiddled with the case-study folders on her desk, suddenly aching inside.

Kim studied her. “Rachel, you’ve got to forget what happened with you and Kent. That was two whole years ago.”

“I’m over Kent,” she insisted. “I really am.” And she was. Kent was out of her system for good.

“Then why aren’t you dying to meet a great guy?”

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Even though Kim was her best buddy, she’d never told Kim the real reason that Kent had called off their wedding only three days before the ceremony. She was too ashamed and humiliated by what she’d learned about herself.

“I’d better not keep Mr. Farrell waiting.” Rachel quickly grabbed her briefcase. “I don’t want him catching a cold in his cotton briefs.”

After the phone call with Professor Smith, he barreled up the lavender-carpeted steps of the Bel Air mansion three at a time into the master suite.

He yanked off his oil-stained coveralls and work shirt and hurled them through the open master-bathroom door onto the tile floor.

“Man, oh, man, what the hell did I get myself into?” he said out loud in frustration. The professor’s telephone call had totally blown him away.

He grabbed a neatly pressed white shirt and clean jeans and rushed into the bathroom.

As he turned on the shower spray, he replayed her conversation. He couldn’t believe it. A sex study? Jeez! He’d never talked about his sex life with anyone in his entire life.

Sure, he’d kidded around with Professor Smith over the phone about talking sex, but the reality of the idea bashed into his sense of privacy. It was outrageous of her to expect him to answer even one question about how his loins functioned.

Why didn’t he immediately turn down the sex interview with her? He knew why. It was that velvety voice of hers that got to him. She’d sounded slightly unsure and a bit nervous talking to him. And she’d had a fiery reaction to his sense of humor that had instantly appealed to him.

He adjusted the steamy hot water the way he liked and stepped naked under the sizzling spray. He thought his taut muscles would relax under the wet heat. But he was tenser than ever.

Why had he said yes to that sex interview? Had his brain completely collapsed? He couldn’t take part in that study.

How could he let Professor Rachel Smith ask him sex questions? She was expecting to hear the sexual ins and outs of Zane Farrell.

But he had one very monumental problem. He was not Zane Farrell!

Rachel chugged her mint-green Valiant up the winding road of wealthy Bel Air. The Los Angeles September air pushed into her open car window like a gush of ovenburning heat.

She lifted the spaghetti straps of her dress off her burning shoulders. She was hot not only from the dry Santa Ana wind coming from the desert.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the rich timbre of Zane Farrell’s voice over the phone, and the sexy tease of his words. Her sensual reaction to just a phone call with him made her feel even more uneasy about his interview. How could she feel comfortable asking him personal sex questions if she was turned on by him?

As she drove past vast estates of lush green pine trees and walled-in properties, she kept one careful eye on the curvy Bel Air road and glanced at Zane Farrell’s address on her dashboard.

Rachel stopped her Valiant in front of a wrought-iron gate that seemed to tower as high as the wall separating King Kong from the jungle villagers. Out of her driver’s window, she pressed the black buzzer pad, signaling her arrival.

She spotted the eye of a video camera zooming in on her. She impulsively touched her brown bun at the back of her head. She quickly smoothed her damp dress across both thighs to appear university-like. Moving her hands to the steering wheel, she wished she could stop them from trembling as she held on to it.

The iron gate grinded open to welcome her onto Zane Farrell’s estate. She wasn’t afraid of entering the unknown property of this stranger. Before their interviews, all sex-study volunteers were followed up with thorough behindthe-scenes investigations into their character. Zane Farrell had checked out as an honest, law-abiding, very, very rich citizen.

With brown leather briefcase in hand and suddenly dizzy with excitement about her first interview, Rachel eagerly pressed the square-lit doorbell of the double copper front doors.

Just then, the doors flew open like a hurricane wind.

“Well, hello,” said that familiar deep male voice.

“Zane Farrell?” she asked, wonder-struck. She had to blink five times at the six-foot solid frame of the thirtysomething man in front of her.

“You’ve got the right door,” Zane Farrell replied with a smile that sent laugh lines sprouting from the sides of both twinkling eyes. “Have I got the right professor?”

“Wh-why, yes,” she quickly said.

A pair of Pacific Ocean blues gazed down into hers so intensely that her insides melted like butter in the sun. His smile was warm and confident. He had curly black hair that yearned to be twirled around her fingers. And a muscular body under that white shirt and jeans that put her breath on major hold.

When Zane’s twinkling sea-blues glided from her breasts down to her bare legs, she felt her nipples harden against the cotton fabric of her dress at his visual caress. She momentarily fantasized his masculine fingers slipping down her spaghetti straps and crushing her bare breasts with his hands.

Her face flamed at her sensual thoughts. What was with her? She’d barely met the man.

“So you’re here to put my libido under the investigative light, are you?” Zane pondered out loud. He extended a massive hand to her. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” she replied, trying to appear totally in control.

But when she slipped her small hand into his large palm, his grip was firm, warm, and she felt a hot electric current slam straight through her body.

She quickly disengaged her hand from his. Why was Zane Farrell having such a powerful effect on her? No man had grabbed her insides that tight—not even Kent.

Zane leaned his strong hands on each side of the door frame only inches from her, only inches from caressing her. She felt compelled to leave that instant.

“I didn’t mean to rush you into this interview,” she told him in an unsteady voice. “We could hold it at a more convenient hour for you.”

“Absolutely not,” he said with welcoming warmth. “I’m looking forward to this.” He released one hand from the door frame and stepped aside for her entry. “Please, come in.”

As Rachel slipped by him, her shoulder brushed against his hard-muscled chest. He smelled of soap and musky after-shave. She wouldn’t stay for long. She definitely couldn’t stay for long.

“Make yourself at home,” he suggested. “The staff’s on vacation, so feel free to roam. I’ll get us something cool to drink.”

Once alone in the kitchen, he frantically searched Mr. Farrell’s refrigerator for a beverage to serve her. The compartment was empty except for a half carton of low-fat milk. Jeez! He was nervous enough trying to make the right Mr. Farrell impression, but milk?

He grabbed for the milk container. How the hell was he going to pull off this sex interview? He had no other choice, did he? He was obligated by a commitment he’d made to the real Zane Farrell—a commitment he couldn’t break.

As he frantically sifted through the unfamiliar kitchen cabinets for glasses, he flashed on Rachel Smith’s inviting brown eyes that had sucked him right in. And her voice rang of honey-sweetness that he found irresistible.

Man, oh, man, he’d better keep himself in check. It wasn’t going to be easy pretending to be someone else with a beautiful woman like the professor about to ask him probing intimate questions. He didn’t feel one iota comfortable about this sex-test business, especially since he had to act as if it was Mr. Farrell’s sexual preferences she was studying, when it would actually be his own!

Rachel set her briefcase down on the oval glass coffee table. She tried to breathe normally again. Zane Farrell was not supposed to be charming, friendly and a hunk! How was she going to ask him personal questions about his sex life when she was fantasizing about being an integral part of it?

She had to get a grip. She was at his mansion purely for academic research. She couldn’t allow her sudden over-whelming attraction to possess her and ruin her first research project for the university.

Rachel walked to the sliding glass door overlooking a sparkling green kidney-shaped swimming pool. Her attention landed on the inviting Jacuzzi beside it.

She had a fleeting image of Zane’s strong nude body pressed snugly against her nakedness as they soaked in the warm, foaming, swishing—

“So, Professor Smith, what do you want to know about my sex life?” Zane’s bass voice sizzled through her like a lit Fourth of July sparkler.

She whirled to find him staring at her with intensely interested eyes. His hands were holding two glasses of milk.

“Milk?” she asked, looking at him sideways, suppressing a grin.

“I need to revitalize my body for your sex test,” he said, almost as if he was slightly embarrassed.

That little-boy quality captured her. But she couldn’t help being very, very aware of him as a full-grown man. Without thinking, her eyes wandered down his very vitalized muscular frame. Her gaze stopped dead center on his tight jeans that accentuated his generously manly bulge. She quickly diverted her focus to the masterpiece paintings on the wall.

Why, oh, why, hadn’t she fought harder against participating in this sex research project? It wasn’t for her, oh no, not for her.

“We don’t have to jump right into the interview,” she quickly told him.

“From your phone call, I got the idea you want some major erotic details,” he began. “Like the way I—”

“Before we get into any specifics,” she conveniently cut in, “I’d like to get a solid sense of your male identity.” Her fingers were trembling as she searched through her briefcase for his résumé. “I believe you received your master’s degree from—”

“Harvard,” he filled in.

She finally found his résumé and frowned. “But your curriculum vitae lists Yale University.”

“Right, right,” he said. “I always get those two places mixed up.”

“Really?” she asked. “I thought a semi-genius like you would hold your university affiliations in high regard.”

“Nah,” he said. “I tend to file away my past and concentrate on current pertinent data. Like, for instance, your being here with me to examine my sexual need for the female species.”

“Ahh—why don’t you show me your house?” she suggested, avoiding his twinkling direct gaze. That’s it, she told herself. Keep the conversation safe, neutral, and on more wholesome topics.

But how long could she delay her sexy questions?

Zane studied her for a long moment. “Maybe I’m dead wrong,” he began, “but am I making you nervous, Professor Smith? Because if I am—”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she insisted. “I have no problem with—”

“Asking what turns me on in bed?” he boldly finished. His eyes were playing with her, teasing her, daring her.

Why, he was definitely getting pleasure from her uncomfortableness!

“I knew this would happen,” she blurted out, shoving his résumé back into her briefcase.

“What?”

“Men don’t take the university sex study very seriously,” she went on, unable to control herself the way Kim had advised. “One anonymous male wrote on his volunteer form that he made love one hundred times a day, eight days a week. By any chance, was that you?”

She was not going to let this man with the soaring IQ challenge her ability to competently complete her first interview.

Zane’s grin came slow and easy. “Sex can make a man say wild things,” he said. “Like when I have sex with a woman, she can make me forget where I am, what day it is, or even who I am. Does sex with a man do that to you, Professor?”

“Me?” she asked, taken aback. “I—I—” How could she tell him that sensual pleasure was like a fever to her—hot and dangerous. And that it was sex that had destroyed her future marriage to Kent.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Zane quickly added. “You don’t have to answer.” There was a sudden caring in his voice that she couldn’t help noticing. “How about I give you a tour of the house?”

“Sure,” she said, relieved. Though she couldn’t completely figure him out, for that second, Zane had somehow tuned into a painfully vulnerable place in her that no one had ever been aware of but her.

She felt a sudden closeness to him that she hadn’t felt with a man in a very long time.

Zane led her through a long Mexican-tiled hallway. She heard his footsteps echo beside hers as though they strolled through a huge cathedral.

“Do you live here all alone?” she heard herself ask. That question was not a requirement on her study list. “I mean—this place is so huge.”

“It’s just me,” he replied. “What about you? Do you live by yourself, Rachel?”

Hearing his deep-toned masculine voice utter her first name sent a warmth of intimacy through her. Suddenly he stopped walking and leaned against the hallway wall, watching her with greater interest than that of an ordinary interviewee. Was he thinking of asking her out? She caught herself secretly hoping he was.

She immediately straightened her spine and tightened her grip on her briefcase. What was she thinking? She was a professor on an interview. She couldn’t let herself get personal with him.

“Actually, my non-professional life is irrelevant to the study,” she told him.

His eyes held hers. “Maybe to the study, but not to me.”

She nervously bit her bottom lip. At that moment, she yearned to share with him whatever he wanted to know about her, things she’d never told anyone else. Somehow, she felt that maybe he’d understand. But she knew her job didn’t permit it.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t see how my living condition affects this research study.”

“It’s very simple,” he explained. “You want me to get relaxed enough to reveal myself to you, right?”

“Yes,” she hesitantly replied, wondering what he was leading up to.

“How can I?” He leaned a little closer to her. “I need to get to know you better, don’t I?”

She swallowed. “I see your point.” She was trying very hard to act cool and professional, but deep inside, oh, how she wanted him to get to know her better. “I live alone just like you.”

“Ah-ha,” he mused aloud. “A single woman interviewing the sex life of a single man. Could hold a lot of intriguing possibilities. Like, what if—”

“The tour?” she reminded him, to get his mind off that train of thought fast.

“Of course, the tour, Professor,” he said, very mannerly but obviously getting a kick out of all this.

But no matter how much she tried, Rachel could barely concentrate on his house. In his spacious hi-tech kitchen, sunlit breakfast area, elegant dining room, floor-to-ceiling library of books, and movie screening room, she saw only Zane.

Because Zane Farrell didn’t seem like a man she’d just met. She felt as if she’d known him for aeons.

“What do you think of the gym?” Zane asked, breaking into her reverie.

The shiny hardwood-floor gym had blue floor mats, weight machines, treadmills, StairMasters, rowing machines, barbells, and stationary bicycles. Small red dumbbells were carelessly strewn on the floor, and she had to sidestep a couple to avoid tripping.

“This place is bigger than my local health club,” she commented.

“It’s unreal, isn’t it?” he agreed.

“You sound like an amazed visitor rather than the owner of this place,” she noted.

“Can’t I appreciate the exquisite sight in front of me?” He was gazing straight at her, as if she was the only sight he was aware of.

She nervously clutched her briefcase and stared down at the gym equipment. For a second, she fantasized Zane, halfnaked, working up a heated sweat with his muscles bulging as he lifted the heavy weights.

“Professor, I suppose you’re viewing this gym in a sexual way,” he said.

“N-not exactly.” Her cheeks flamed, thinking he had lasered into her fantasies.

“Really?” he went on. “I thought you experts say exercise increases sexual endurance.” The roguish glint in his eye made her realize that he was still having fun with her interview. He wasn’t treating it seriously at all.

“Is the need for sexual endurance the reason you pump iron?” she asked, her chin up for battle.

For a split second, she thought she saw him wince at her insinuation. She wished the words hadn’t come out of her mouth so fast.

He tilted his head to one side. “Professor, my pumping is not restricted to bars of metal.” He kiddingly winked at her for emphasis.

Suddenly furious that he was ridiculing her sex research, she quickly stepped back to exit the gym when her foot stumbled over a dumbbell.

“Ohhhhh!” she screamed as she felt herself go flying.

“Rachel!” Zane called out.

Just then, his powerful hands circled her waist and lifted her. With her feet off the ground, she clutched his strapping upper arms to steady herself, feeling the forceful, protective strength of him.

Zane’s firm broad fingers were gripping her body just below her breasts. His large thumbs were pressed up againsteach swell. Suddenly her nipples ached to be squeezed and fondled by him.

Zane’s face was so near she could smell his warm minty breath. His marine eyes focused on her lips.

Her heart jolted, and her pulse pounded. More than anything, she wanted him to kiss her.

She could feel his breath quickening. The muscles of his arms tensed under her palms as he pulled her closer to his hard body. His mouth edged toward hers, and her lips impulsively moved to his.

But as his lips grazed hers, she abruptly became conscious of her unethical behavior. What was she doing? She was a representative of the university, but she was acting like a foolish woman mesmerized by a very sexy man.

Rachel immediately freed herself from Zane’s sturdy grasp and set both feet back on the floor. Maybe she shouldn’t have allowed two years to go by without being with a man. Maybe all her pent-up sexual energy was suddenly letting loose on the very masculine Zane Farrell.

She avoided his confused eyes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. She grabbed her fallen briefcase and smoothed down her dress, which had risen to her bare thighs.

“This entire interview has been a big joke to you, hasn’t it, Mr. Farrell?” she blurted.

His jaw muscles tensed, momentarily stung by her words. “Is that what you think?”

“Darn right!”

“Am I supposed to act like Joe Serious while you’re questioning my virility?” he shot back. “You’ve been peering at me like I’m some guinea pig for sexual dissection.”

Her eyes widened in red fury. “Then why did you volunteer for the study?”

“I obviously made a tremendous mistake, didn’t I?”

“Are you saying you’re withdrawing your name from this research project?” Her voice was so high-pitched she could barely recognize it. “Because if you are, go right ahead!”

“Fine, Professor Lady!” He abruptly turned to lead her downstairs straight to the double copper doors.

Her hands were sweating against her leather briefcase handle as she hurried after him. What was she saying? She couldn’t afford to lose her first case study. The university’s administration would surely contact him to ask why he’d dropped out of their research project. He’d inevitably tell them that she’d completely ravaged the interview. She couldn’t let him ruin her very first research project!

She bit back her pride for one torturous moment.

“Can’t we discuss this matter more calmly, Mr. Farrell?” she asked, searching for the right words to get him back on track with the study.

“Zane,” he corrected as he stopped walking and faced her.

“Mr. Farrell,” she deliberately stressed.

His sparkling blue eyes grew wide with sudden amusement. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” She impatiently tapped her foot on the floor. Any second, she was out of there, any second.

“Come on, admit it. You still want me to participate in your research. Yet you refuse to acknowledge that we’ve just gotten past phase one.”

“Phase one?” she repeated, glaring at him from the corner of her eyes in defiant confusion.

“The formalities. The awkwardness. The prim-andproper front you’ve put on since you walked through the door.”

“That’s it!” she howled. “I’m gone!”

She almost dropped her briefcase in her scurrying to grab the door handle. Forget impressing the university administration. She would not be insulted by this gargantuan man!

She rushed out of his house, almost tripped on one of the porch steps, but finally made it to her Valiant. She had to get away from him—far, far away. But her driver’s door was stuck, and she couldn’t get it open.

“I hate this old car!” she bellowed as she unsuccessfully tugged and tugged to release the door.

Suddenly, Zane was beside her wanting to help. The heat of his body only inches away radiated against hers.

“Don’t try so hard, Rachel,” he whispered as if he was talking more about the interview than the car door.

With a click and a turn, he unlocked the driver’s door with great ease, which further infuriated her. He was about to politely hold it open for her, but she pushed past him into the car.

“Thank you,” she seethed as she slammed the door closed. Her face felt so hot with anger she felt ready to burst like a balloon.

She started up her Valiant. It belched out a cloud of charcoal smoke that practically surrounded her entire car.

“Professor, your car is screaming for an oil lube,” Zane called out. “I can recommend an excellent mechanic—”

“No way!” she cut in, needing badly to get back to State University, her apartment, the Los Angeles Zoo, anywhere but near Zane Farrell!