Chapter 2

The Medical Center was nestled in a grove of Eucalyptus trees on the west side of the hill, separating the hospital from the research center and classrooms that were scattered over the hills. Everything on "Pill Hill," as the doctors, professors, and research students called it affectionately, was painted white and now, in the late morning sun, the hill had a magical feeling to it. Buzzing with activity, students rushed to and from classes, eyes glued to the sidewalk in worry... spring time was a time of completion -- graduation, diplomas and careers all pending.

And so, too, Ann Baxter shared in this elation of growth, although to a minor degree in her involvement with her husband's research project. Not that she didn't have any plans of her own! For if the young blonde's fantasies had any foundation, today would be the final test!

The gears of the Dexter's second car -- a blue Volkswagen they bought two years ago when new cars were purely a thing of the future -- ground and meshed as Ann maneuvered the car up the forty-five degree hill to the underground parking lot, slowing only to drop two quarters into the slot and waited for the mechanical machine to spit out a piece of paper as her receipt.

With anxious, shaking hands, she smeared on a fresh layer of reddish- brown lipstick and an extra smudge of black mascara to make her eyelashes look like spider legs. Ann couldn't remember when she'd been more uptight, unless it was at her wedding when one of her old boyfriends who'd warned her that a marriage to a man twice her age would never work, slipped her a piece of paper with his phone number on it, and right in front of Ann's mother, too! From that moment on, she'd looked on Carl with cooler, less ardently loving eyes. It was an omen she'd ignored.

From the underground parking lot, it was only a short walk to the elevator that zoomed her to the mezzanine level of the student union and from there, a half block to the Research Center building overlooking the sun-warmed city. Spring is in the air, chirped the birds hidden in the low hanging branches of the shrubbery following the sidewalk in parallel lines. Ann's heeled sandals slapped at the pavement as she half ran to the building, glancing down at her watch to see the hour hand glide past the seven. Carl hated for her to be late, especially since they'd given her a more substantial chunk of their grant in return for more responsibility...

"Well, hello there," chimed George Everett the second Ann strolled through the door, looking as calm and unhasseled as possible considering her plan of attack.

Her blood pressure quickened when with a handsome smile, the thirtyish, tall and broad shouldered doctor appeared, offering his hand in helping her out of her coat. When was the last time Carl had shown such chivalry? Little twinges of lurid excitement immediately stirred in the depths of her belly at the way he carried himself; but there was something else in her belly -- an apprehensive knot forming there too. God... she could never go through with it, even if Carl wasn't in the same office. Imagining having an affair is one thing, but going through with it is another entirely! When it actually came down to the nitty gritty... what would she do?

She turned in time to see him hang her trench coat on a hanger that clattered on the back of the door. Instantly, she wondered where Carl was. Was her courage lessening?

"I hear we have a report to get out soon. Is that true?" she asked, falteringly, feeling the need to close the obvious gap in conversation that seemed unavoidable whenever Carl was in the office.

"You heard right, Ann. Lots of work to be done. Hope you got a good night's sleep!" George suavely beamed.

"More than I'd expected, yes," answered Ann, hoping the desperation in her voice wasn't as obvious to him as it was to her trembling body.

Jesus, she thought self-recriminatingly, what am I trying to do? Just because he asked me out for a drink the other night, I've been having these fantasies of starting an affair with him. He's married, I'm married... it's ridiculous, now just cut it out, Ann Dexter, before you get yourself in trouble!

"For starters we have to finish those interviews -- they'll be very influential in getting us a grant next year to complete this damned study. Oh, and when that's proof-read and copy-tight, we have to take it to the photocopier. Think you can get that all done by this afternoon?" he laughed at the ludicrousness of his own demands.

"Whew!" whistled Ann, more relaxed now that the subject of conversation had turned to work, the only common denominator. She wiggled into a comfortable position in her desk chair near the window, and began sorting through a stack of edited copies of interviews. Out of the pile, only a few would be selected -- the ones most applicable to the study of course; the rest would be filed for further reference.

She turned her head at a scraping sound to see George pull up a chair and with a flirtatious grin, announce, "Carl suggested you and I work together on these interviews. He's back there drawing up comparison charts. You think you can stand working with me all day?"

Ann's nostrils flared. Was it her imagination or was he really coming on to her? Jesus, she wished she knew; it certainly would make her decision a bit easier. Somehow it's always more innocent and exciting being chased than chasing. It would also make it simpler to explain to Carl, if it ever came down to that.

"I... I think I could tolerate that," was Ann's nervous reply as she carefully folded the typewriter cover and drew open the bottom drawer of her gray metal desk that housed everything that could not fit on her crowded desk.

"Are you sure?" George softly questioned, gazing up at her with deep, dark eyes, the trace of a smile flickering about his attractive mouth, as with super-sensitive hands, he opened a manila folder.

"I'm sure we'll know before the day is out." There, she'd said it, now she'd let him take it from there. "Now don't take me personally," she quickly added, reluctant to discard her original bailing temptation.

"First let's start with these two interviews, m'dam." He crossed his knees and pulled his swivel chair closer to her so that she could almost taste the sweet smell of his fresh breath.

The alluring young wife tossed her long blonde hair in a characteristic gesture, then swept it back over her shoulders. The act, she was well aware, had made her bra-less, ripely full breasts nipple in provocative freedom. She was hardly conscious of her husband, Carl, entering the room, and she could barely contain the smile she felt tugging at her wetly parted lips at her handsome colleague's visible uneasiness. It registered that he must have enjoyed many sensual panoramas at her feminine expense before.

At the moment, while his perceptive hands were skillfully flipping through the file, Ann couldn't help but notice how soft and well-manicured his hands were. My God, it looked as if he polished his nails. God to have hands like that running all over her body! She swallowed hard, blinked her eyes to shut out the tempting sight, but opened them only to be drawn to the short, black masculine hair lightly enshadowing their backs, a sensory shiver dancing up her spine. She leaned forward then, supposedly to observe the case history number, coyly playing with the top button of her black knit dress, but not without a certain gracefulness. The nervousness had long since passed.

"Mmmmm... I think I can read your handwriting, Dr. Everett," she said for the benefit of her husband who had slipped into the coat room, which doubled as a supply room, for a cup of coffee. She continued to pretend to study the editing marks in assorted colors, but from the corner of her eyes she saw the lusty gleam leap into his deep, dark ones as they flitted back and forth, overly lingering each time they focused down her generous cleavage.

"How's it going, folks," asked Carl dryly, as he sipped at the instant coffee steaming in a Styrofoam cup that he always kept in his desk drawer. Carl was the practical sort.

"Just... just fine, Carl. We're going over the interviews now so that Mrs. Dexter can get at them. No problems, I assure you."

Mrs. Dexter? thought Ann. Shades of guilt before the eye- hungry husband? Something's astir and I don't think it's my imagination.

"Everything is under control, Carl," finished Ann, hoping that would send her husband back to the catacombs where he belonged. Over her shoulder, she could almost feel George's eyeballs snapping back, then he lowered his head as if studying the file folder's contents, his gentle fingers flipping through the pages, but Ann wasn't fooled. While his broad brow hid the recesses of his eyes, she knew he was straining them damned near out of their sockets to feast on the alluring, hardened nipples beneath her black knit dress that molded her lithe body.

"Should we glance through the second one now?" He fumbled, dropped the folder, retrieved it. Almost pathetically, he looked up then to catch her suggestive little smile of understanding.

Angelically, Ann crossed her hands in her lap and, which her blue begging eyes asked, "Now what kind of paper do you want this typed on? All I have in my desk right now is canary. That can't be used for Xeroxing, can it?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Everett, but I don't know where to find it..." she turned her blonde head, looking in the direction of the multi-purpose room behind them that served as a store room and coffee room, the only nook of the four room office that offered any privacy.

"I'd be more than happy to show you," George eagerly replied, rising to his feet and glancing out the window, almost as if he couldn't weather another dose of her voluptuously presented charms.

Ann was delighted! She'd reached him, all right! In fact, she'd wager that the slight bulge in the front of his trousers he was uncomfortably trying to conceal wasn't perpetual. Damn, she sure had reached him, and in good style! "Yes, I think we should use the heavy bond... takes wear better," he managed.

"I'll help you find it," announced Ann, looking him straight in his perplexed, burning dark eyes.

"Of course, come along... it's back here!" he finally got out, his nearly tremoring voice cracking twice. "It shouldn't take a minute."

"Yes, then I'll get right at it," Ann heard herself say, while intensive, if timorous, excitement, gripped her as she followed him into the coat room.

"You... you've got typing paper in your desk. I saw it when you put your typewriter cover in there," he hissed, his breathing short and raspy as he stared at her.