Pulling her closer again, he slipped his hand inside her pajama bottoms. His fingers began to explore, softly at first, teasing her, and then more firmly. And then suddenly his finger was inside her, making her gasp. Phoebe reached between his legs and stroked him.
“Why don’t we get in bed,” he said.
While she found a condom in the dresser, Duncan peeled off his blue jeans and boxer briefs. As she reached the bed, he stripped back the comforter in one move and lay her down. He tugged off her pajama bottoms and began to explore her with his mouth and his tongue. She pulled on his hair, urging him up and inside her. The strokes he used at first were long and torturously slow, and she writhed beneath him. Suddenly he quickened his pace, moving faster and faster, and it was only seconds before she climaxed. He slowed his speed so that she could concentrate on the waves, and then moved faster and faster until she felt him come inside her.
Afterward he held her, spooning. He stroked her hair with his hand. “Was the invitation for the entire night?” he murmured into her ear.
“Absolutely,” she said.
A little while later she thought she sensed him drift off to sleep. She had thought the sex would enable her to fall back asleep easily, but she suddenly felt wired. The image of the dead rats came rushing back. After lying quietly for a while, unsuccessfully willing sleep to come, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom. In the mirror she saw that her cheeks were still flushed red. She wet a washcloth with cold water and, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, held it to her face. Had she been crazy to go to bed with Duncan, to start up a fling with someone at the school? Maybe, she thought mockingly, I was suffering from posttraumatic rat syndrome and couldn’t think straight tonight. But she knew that wasn’t true. Her desire for him had been building since he’d sat across the table from her eating spaghetti carbonara. And what she knew for sure was that tonight had done nothing to quell that desire. She wanted him all over again.
She stood up, hung the washcloth on the towel rod, and massaged lotion into her face. It was now after midnight, and she had to force herself to sleep so she would seem reasonably sane in class tomorrow. She switched off the bathroom light and snuck quietly down the hallway. The darkness made her heart skip just a little. As she approached the bedroom, she stopped in her tracks. She could hear the murmur of Duncan’s voice. He was talking to someone.
12
AS PHOEBE STEPPED into the room, she saw a pinpoint of light floating above the bed. It was from Duncan’s cell phone, she realized; he was talking into it in a low voice, propped up on an elbow. He muttered a good-bye, and from the dim glow of the night light, Phoebe watched him toss the phone onto the chair where his clothes were lying and flop onto his back.
“Everything okay?” she asked, puzzled.
“I was just checking my voice mail to see if Miles had called with any news. He was going to search the lab again just to be sure.”
“Oh, I thought I heard you talking,” she said, puzzled.
“I left a message on his voice mail at work, telling him to call me if he found anything. How you doing? Still feeling a little rattled?”
“Not so much,” she said, shrugging off her robe. She slipped back into bed. Duncan shifted position so his body was facing hers. “You have a nice way of calming a girl down.”
“Oh, is that right?” Duncan said. She could sense his mouth form into a smile. He dragged his other hand down the length of her body. They made love again, this time even more intensely, and seconds after he pulled out of her, she fell into a deep sleep.
Her alarm went off at six. Phoebe stirred, then reached up and slapped the snooze button. Suddenly she remembered Duncan, and her eyes shot open. The opposite side of the bed was empty. Oh, please, she thought. Don’t tell me he’s just taken off.
Then she heard him on the stairs. He came into the room—pants on, shirt off—carrying two espressos.
“I hope you don’t mind me co-opting your prized espresso machine,” he said.
“Hardly,” Phoebe said. “And I can’t believe I’m being served in bed.”
He lowered himself next to her, and after Phoebe propped herself up, he passed her one of the small cups. The smell of the coffee mixed with the musky smell of Duncan’s body. Phoebe wondered if in the rude light of day she would begin to find him wanting in some way, but no, that didn’t happen. She liked the way he looked and sounded and smelled.
“I also took the liberty of tidying up your freezer a bit,” he said, smiling.
“Oh, wow, that’s even better than coffee in bed,” Phoebe said. “I don’t think I even would have worked up the courage to open that door again.”
“I’m a bit more comfortable with rat fur than you are, and I hacked out the remaining traces of it. Besides, I had to figure out some way to thank you for last night.”
I can think of one, she thought. Come back to my bed again soon.
She pulled on her robe while Duncan dressed. As they left the room a few minutes later, Duncan nodded at the night-light by the door.
“You know what I love about that,” Duncan said.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe you noticed it,” Phoebe said, rolling her eyes
“No, no, it’s good. It gave me another glimpse of the soft, tender side of Phoebe Hall.”
“Hey, I’m in a strange house,” she said. She nudged him with her elbow. “I need to wake up at night and know where I am.”
A few minutes later they descended the stairs, and when they reached the front door, Duncan pulled Phoebe toward him and kissed her softly on the lips.
“So are you going to let me cook for you one night?” he asked.
“I’d like that,” she said.
“How about Friday night?” he asked. “Unless, of course, you have plans to eat alone at Tony’s.”
She smiled. “What do I have to do so you’ll finally let me off the hook about that?”
He laughed.
“Trust me, I’ll think of something between now and Friday.”
As she heard Duncan’s footsteps tripping down the steps of her porch, some of the discomfort from the previous night rushed back. She walked hesitantly into the kitchen. It looked exactly as it had when she’d left yesterday afternoon: the two glasses in the drainer, the faded yellow dish towel threaded through the drawer pull, the row of small gourds on the windowsill above the sink.
Get it over with, she told herself, and yanked open the door of the freezer. Duncan had been good to his word—there wasn’t a trace of anything foul in there. It was also totally empty inside; he’d tossed out her two tubs of sorbet and she found that he’d put the ice cube trays in the dishwasher.
An hour later, showered and dressed, Phoebe double-checked all the windows and doors before leaving the house. She took her car to campus this time, and bought a cappuccino and bagel at Café Lyle—since she hadn’t had the stomach to fix anything in her kitchen. Just as she planted herself at a table, Glenda called.
“You okay, Fee?”
“Yeah. I keep waiting to develop symptoms of bubonic plague, but so far I’m not hacking up any blood.”