Jane Air

what you have or haven’t seen. It’s about what I want to show.”
Jeans are on. Uncomfortable, since I’m still soaking wet, and I’m pretty sure I trapped some leaves and twigs dangerously close to my crotch, but at least I’m dressed.
I stuff my underwear in a pocket and fist my bra in my hand, looping the towel over my arm.
“You can turn around now.”
He does, slowly. I’m upright and out of the water, but can still barely make out his features. I don’t recognize him, but damn that voice is familiar. The moon isn’t as bright as it was the last time I was here, and I wish I had brought my phone to help me make it back through the woods.
“Good, now let me walk you out.” He steps towards me, into a ray of moonlight, and I realize who I’m looking at.
Shit.
It’s him.
Movie star.
Cyborg-human super spy.
Pervert in the woods.
Call him whatever you want, but normal and disappointing do not apply. I make a mental note to tell Kate she’s an idiot.
Piercing blue eyes beneath dark brows. Slightly more than five o’clock shadow, and hair long enough to just touch his ears. He’s even taller up close, shoulders broad. His arms look like tree trunks, lines of muscle visible through the fitted, long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing.
“Ohhh…” the word is slow and long coming from my mouth. His brow arches. My recognition is clear on my face.
I nod slowly, trying to think of something to say, something to do.
Kate would tell him he looks better on screen and walk off, head held high.
Christine would fall over herself apologizing and leave an “I’m sorry” cake on his doorstep.
Dory would never find herself in this situation because Dory does not strip naked in strangers’ backyards.
Jessica would hit him. Still might, actually, if I tell her what happened.
Penelope would make a move. Maybe. Or ask for an autograph.
And me? I guess I’ll just stand here. Staring. Barefoot and braless. Hair like a drowned rat.
Looking at the sparkling eyes and full lips, that granite jaw and regal nose, I finally understand what Movie Star Good Looks means.
Penelope might be onto something.
“That’s why you’ve had naked women break into your house before,” I blurt out.
Both brows go up, as if that was the last thing he was expecting me to say.
“I mean, because celebrity culture is so dysfunctional,” I bend to put on my shoes, not bothering with laces. “Public figures are interpreted as publicly accessible and some people assume a relationship with a public figure that would lead to assumptions of access, and maybe even-”
“Are you ready to go?” He interrupts, standing closer and I can watch the shadow of his lower lip play against his chin. I have a sudden urge to lick him there, to show him how inappropriate some fans can be.
“Yeah,” I shake myself out of it, whatever my moonlit revelry is. “Yeah. Yup. Yes.” I nod, like an idiot. “I’ll just, uh, head out.”
He moves his arm up, sweeping it ahead of both of us, clearly wishing to lead me out.
“I actually go out this way,” I point over my shoulder to the small path I follow to get back out to the stone wall.
“I’ll walk you,” He stands, watching me.
“You know, I’m not a stalker fan. I swear,” I look over my shoulder as I walk forward. He is following me, eyes dark and on my every move.
“Hmm,” a deep, smooth growl comes from him, reverberating up through his chest. If I didn’t feel like I was being arrested, or dragged to the principal’s office, it would be sexy, walking with a man like this, in the woods at night, my body still tingling from my swim.
Frankly, even with the threat of criminal indictment hanging over head, it still is pretty sexy. I feel my nipples straining against the wet fabric of my t-shirt and wonder whether or not I’m still cold.
“I’ve actually only seen one of your movies,” I pause. “No offense.”
He mutters something I don’t catch.
“What-” I turn, trying to hear what he’s saying, but my foot catches on a root and I stumble. Before I know it, his arms are on me. One swung high around my waist, the other grabbing a hip, fingers precariously close to my butt.
It’s even darker under the trees, but his eyes seem to pick up whatever flickers of light surround us, something deep and mysterious glints from behind them.
We both freeze. I don’t struggle to right myself. He doesn’t seem in a rush to release me.
“What do you do with yourself, if you don’t watch movies?” His arms remain around me, and I swear I can feel the heat of his skin through my soaking clothes.
“I’m a professor. I-” I stop myself, worried I’m about to spill my life story to this man.
I work at the local college. You know, the one on Forrest Lane?
My office is on the third floor of the Humanities department. You can find me there most days, September through June.
Otherwise, I’m at home, the pale blue bungalow on Primrose Avenue.
My name is Jane.
And I think I would like to have sex with you.
Right now.
He does not need to hear any of that. Not where I work. Not what I do. Not my sudden and very uncharacteristic interest in fucking a stranger in the woods.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
“Professor?” His eyebrows shoot up as his eyes drift down. My breath catches in my throat and I swear I don’t deliberately press my breasts against his chest as I inhale sharply.
“I don’t do anything,” I say again, my face only inches from his.
“Except run naked through the woods,” he stares at me, those eyes bearing into mine.
“I was swimming, not runni-”
“You were trespassing.”
“I didn’t know-”
“And now, you’re mouthing off.”
My mouth falls open and I see his eyes dip, following the movement of my lips. My tongue darts out, just the tip, to wet my top lip and I swallow, air coming thick and heavy in my lungs. His eyes watch