Flights of Fancy

Ailanna King felt her spirits lift as she began ascending the iron staircase spiraling to the research loft high above the main floor of the Putnam City Library. It was still very early in the morning and Ailanna knew the third floor would be in empty solitude…a perfectly private domain where she could work undisturbed on her psychology thesis.

The air conditioning unit in her car had stopped working – again - and the stifling Oklahoma heat wave that lay over the city made driving the short distance to the library a wilting chore, even at 9:00 in the morning.

A cooling shaft of air from a hidden ventilator mildly billowed her suit skirt as it swept cool fingers of air up her legs to her silk panties, which were already damp with perspiration.

"I'll bet that felt good," drawled a husky masculine voice from directly below her.

Ailanna caught her breath in surprise as she glanced down the steps into a dark brown pair of amused eyes.

"I -- I beg your pardon?"

A faint smile of interest was spreading across the ruggedly handsome face of the man at the foot of the staircase. Ailanna could feel the heat of embarrassment rushing into her cheeks. My God, she inwardly quaked. I bet he can see straight through to Paris!

Raising one hand to her heart, as if to stop its fluttering, Ailanna attempted to hold down her pleated skirt without dropping her briefcase.

"The air on your -- the cool air -- coming from those vents. I'll bet you enjoyed it as much as I did."

Nicholas Calhoun was no teenager, but now it was his turn to blush. “A welcome change, I mean, to the heat outside."

Lordy, this woman is breathtaking!

Nick watched the woman’s face turn from a pristine alabaster to a glowing pink … which was a very nice match to the panties she’d innocently displayed. His heart thudded as he appreciated her trim figure and shapely legs. The neatly styled, blonde hair and flashing blue eyes didn't hurt the portrait she made, either.

"It is a nice relief."

Her velvety soft voice reminded Nick of a purring kitten. "May I join you in the loft? I need to do some research. I won't disturb your work, I promise," he said.

Ailanna gulped a steadying breath. Too bad he hadn't promised not to disturb her! Nodding her consent, she continued up the stairs as the man followed closely behind her. She entered the third-floor haven of leather-bound volumes on topics from astronomy to zebras, keenly aware the man's choice of after-shave was her favorite: ‘Rugged Country'.

Seating herself at a long oak table, Ailanna watched the man purposefully ignore the other vacant tables and seat himself next to her. She chided herself for noticing more than his choice of a seat. The man was a centerfold spread of virile maleness: tall and well built, wearing snug fitting blue jeans, complete with just-shined cowboy boots and a hat that must have been the ten-gallon type.

Wanting to ignore him, Ailanna pulled out a pen from her purse and began circling a few notes on her legal pad of paper, desperately trying to keep her mind on the information she needed for research.

Casting an overt glance in his direction, Ailanna was surprised to see him staring at her, an all-too familiar gleam of -- dare she name it? -- sexual attraction in his eyes.

Her concentration flagged.

The man was just too sensual for the library, she mused, as her thoughts became traitor to her self-imposed, nun-like existence of late. 'No men' had been her battle cry for the last year and a half. She claimed they were too big a distraction for an independent woman like her.

And she was right.

Rising to leave the table in search of reading materials for her research, Ailanna retreated quickly to the middle aisle of books, drawing a shaky breath. After a few minutes of searching, she chose three large volumes from the second shelf, walked slowly back to the table, and hoped she didn't appear as flustered as she felt.

"Allow me," he growled warmly, standing to pull out the high-back chair in one fluid motion to seat her.

With the graceful ease of a tiger on the prowl, the man sat back down - beside her. Ailanna's heart palpitated in somersaults. She grew more aware, with every move he made, of the well-conditioned, sinewy muscles flexing beneath his pale blue shirt.

"By the way, my name is Nicholas Calhoun."

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Calhoun.”

Ailanna's hand grew warm within the firm grasp of his proffered handshake. If her father's theory on the topic of handshakes was correct, there was a lot more to Nicholas Calhoun than met the eye. But what?

Perhaps -- no, she couldn't ask him that!

"I'm here to do research for a psychology thesis; why are you here so early in the morning, Mr. Calhoun?"

"I'm a freelance writer -- wildlife and travel, mostly.”

My, he has the nicest smile, Ailanna thought, trying to hold back her growing interest in the man to a 'politely courteous yet disinterested' level. Did freelance travel writers even need to do research? Why was he really here?

"That sounds fascinating."

It’s not really a fib, she told herself, smiling as she lowered her gaze to the three-inch thick volume of "Freudian Interpretations" that lay in front of her on the table. Wildlife and travel might be very interesting.

Her attempt at coolly considerate wasn't working. He was peaking more than her curiosity.

"You're a psychologist, then?"

His voice was low and gravely. She liked it.

"No; I’m just taking some college courses in psychology.”

It was then that Ailanna decided to get his reaction to her occupation.

"I write, too -- for a living, I mean." Her gaze locked with his. "Books," she added, when he didn't comment.

"Oh, I see…like bibliographies, how-to-do's, mainstream non-fiction."

He'd made a statement, not asked a question.

Ailanna shook her head and smiled. "No, novels. Works of fiction."

She saw his eyes widen. Now she had his attention!

"My name is Ailanna King; I write historical romance."

She waited for him to quickly try to hide a snicker then excuse himself and move to another table. Instead, she watched as he did the exact opposite.

Nicholas Calhoun scooted his chair even closer. Although her reply had been professional enough, the soft, sultry tone was a dead giveaway. Ailanna King had passion burning in her soul; she was a temptress in a business suit, studying Freud. What a sweet disguise!

Nicholas felt like she’d shared a soul secret with him. He leaned in towards her, his head mere inches from hers.

"You’re a romantic, eh? Goes well with the package."

Nicholas enjoyed the effect he had on her; he watched her dove gray eyes darken to an intense, charcoal color as he spoke.

Ailanna felt the potency of his heated perusal igniting tiny sparks of anticipation within her.

It was happening! Those euphoric sensations that she imagined for the heroines in her books! Delightful, erotic feelings were bubbling up from the center of her being, taking her from the cool waters of inspection to white rapids of interest in this man.

Images of possibilities began to cascade through her mind like a waterfall as she became more acutely conscious of the man’s firmly squared jaw, sensual mouth, and deep-set, dark brown eyes. Eyes that were peering into hers as if he could plumb the depths of her soul.

Ailanna was hypnotized in the moment; unable to draw her gaze from those whiskey-colored eyes: eyes that entranced and embraced her with each glance.

"You're staring, Mr. Calhoun," she murmured.

"Nick," he corrected with a whisper.

"Nick, you're staring." Ailanna repeated. She could barely breathe.

The prevailing quiet of the library loft was momentarily interrupted.

"So are you, my dear Ailanna."

An overpowering magnetism drew Ailanna towards him like so many slivers of fine steel. She couldn't close her eyes – didn’t want to - she wanted to watch as it happened!

Parting her lips ever so slightly, she accepted, and returned, his tender kiss.

Nicholas held his breath. The touch of her lips to his began to erase the disconcerting patterns of his chaotic lifestyle as a bachelor, her mouth a sweet, delicate flower opening to him, silently petitioning him to taste of its rare, rich nectar.

A parade of emotions marched around his heart as her mouth upon his wordlessly spoke to him of living, instead of merely existing!

Nicholas' heart was pounding. It was a powerful connection.

He drew back slowly.

There was a watercolor picture forming in Nicholas Calhoun’s mind: one of a home, children, and a fireplace to make love before…all with Ailanna.

He was as a man thrown overboard, and she was his life preserver.

"Dinner at eight?" he whispered.

Ailanna's unsteady fingertips, resting upon the broad expanse of his chest, felt a heartbeat that matched her own.

"Cocktails at seven?" she shyly countered.

Nick broke into a satisfied grin as he gazed into Ailanna's upturned face. He'd never seen such an alluring smile as the one playing upon her just-kissed lips.

"Pick you up at six-thirty."