Page 3 of Erotics Anonymous (Strangers in the Night)

Once again her thoughts drifted toward Jonathan Danvers. If only he was her creative writing professor. Oh, the assignments she would turn in. She’d write the hottest, dirtiest stories for his private perusal, and then she’d put on her tightest dress and visit him in his office…

“Chelsea? May I speak with you?”

With a start, she realized that class had ended. Professor Deveaux’s dark eyes watched her. “Oh, of course.” She headed to her desk.

Professor Deveaux smoothed her chignon, and then fixed Chelsea with an implacable stare. “I wanted to ask if you reviewed the comments on your story, ma chère.”

“I did. I’m sorry, Professor. This isn’t my best work.” Chelsea blushed to the roots of her fair hair.

“I know it isn’t. And that’s why I’m going to let you earn extra credit.” Professor Deveaux’s dark eyes met hers without sympathy or generosity, but a challenge.

Chelsea processed the words. “I—what? That’s so nice of you. I tried to do well on this, I really did, but the dorm—”

“I know. The dorm is hardly conducive to writing good work.” A rare smile cracked Professor Deveaux’s aloof face and then she shocked Chelsea further by brushing aside a loose strand of hair from Chelsea’s face. The tender gesture left her speechless. “It’s always been that way with my more…sensitive students.”

Chelsea tried not to blush again. “Well, I don’t know if I’m sensitive…”

“Oh, you are, Chelsea. You are.”

For a moment, the professor’s brown eyes bore into her with a special meaning. Chelsea swallowed and shifted her feet.

Again, Professor Deveaux gave her the sideways smile that drove all the male students crazy. “About that extra credit. Why don’t you write me a small essay on the poetry of Anne Sexton. The library has some wonderful critical essays on her work. You can turn it in…this weekend? Is that too soon?”

Chelsea nodded fervently, trying not to sound too grateful. “That would be great.”

She thanked her professor again and hurried from the building. She’d probably be the only girl at the library on a Friday night, but she didn’t care. She wanted to please Professor Deveaux and show her that she was serious about her work.

“It’s the weekend, Chelsea. Please don’t tell me you’re going to stay home and read!”

Chelsea moved around her dorm room without meeting her roommate’s eyes. “No, I’m going out.”

“Where?” Nikki sounded impatient. “Just come to the Tri Delt party. We need to kick off the new semester in style. And who knows—you might meet someone. You know you need to get laid, Chelsea.”

Chelsea shook her head, pulling on her favorite red sweater and a pair of jeans. “I’m just going out for pizza with some friends from my sociology class.” She lifted her hair out of the sweater and turned away. She didn’t like lying to her roommate, but if Nikki knew where she was really headed tonight, she’d never hear the end of it.

As it was, Nikki groaned loudly. “Ooo, that sounds exciting… God, Chelsea, you’re turning into an old maid.”

Chelsea ignored her. Instead she put on her coat and scarf, then slipped out of the room.

It was a bitterly cold January night. Across campus, she could see students huddled in their coats, some already clutching cups of beer. She ignored the frat boys who called to her. Sexually frustrated as she was, the last thing that appealed to her was being picked up by some drunken jock. Instead she headed to the library, which was predictably quiet on this Friday night.

“We close at nine tonight,” the security guard warned her as she entered.

“I know.” She wouldn’t need that long. She headed up to the poetry stacks and looked for the critical essays on Anne Sexton that Professor Deveaux had mentioned. With a furrowed brow, she hunted through the books. Finding the right book was always a matter of chance, given how many were stolen or misfiled. Then she saw it.

A leather-bound thesis authored by Jonathan Danvers.

Jonathan Danvers?

Her heart began to pound. A hot flush of excitement burned her cheeks as she quickly grabbed it out of the stacks. Yes, it was truly her idol’s final project, somehow misfiled here in the poetry criticism section. Unbelievable. Whatever miracle had connected her with it, she didn’t know, but this just had to be a sign that they were destined to meet. She touched the pages reverently. Then she saw inside it a handwritten note that another student must have left.

Check original manuscript in the special collections room…

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? As a successful alumni, some of his original work was no doubt collected here at the library. She had to get into that special collections room before the library closed and see it for herself.

Quickly, she crept down to the basement. She knew this was where original manuscripts, rare books and private collections were housed, deep in the dusty archives of the library. It was very rare that anyone came back here. She glanced at her watch. It was just past eight-thirty. She would only have a few minutes to look through his collection. But she had to at least try. The thought of tracing Jonathan Danvers’ actual handwriting with her fingertip gave her pussy a violent throb of longing. Maybe it was adolescent of her, but touching his penmanship was as close to him as she could get.

As the door of the special collections room shut behind her, a heavy silence settled over her ears. Chelsea glanced around at the leather wing chairs and green-shaded lamps. Yes, this was the perfect room in which to read his personal papers. Yet, as she moved toward the stacks, she heard something else.

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