Title: The Englishman by Nina Lewis
Publisher: Onmific Publishing
Genre: Contemporary, Romance
Length: 436 pages
Anna has landed her dream job as an Assistant Professor of English literature at a prestigious college in the South. Instead of charging ahead with her career, however, she is confronted by hurdles, pitfalls and mysteries. Why does no one restrain the demented hoarder who secretly uses her office as his private storeroom? Who is responsible for her sudden loss in salary? What is behind the vandalism in her department? Is it a personal attack against her irreverent and somewhat unconventional teaching style?
Professor Giles Cleveland is supposed to mentor her in all this, but he’s arrogant, sardonic, condescending, disconcertingly attractive and – Anna keeps reminding herself as the temptation to start a kamikaze affair with him becomes overwhelming – absolutely out of bounds. Anna and Giles grow increasingly reckless and it is only a matter of time before they will be caught and Anna’s career will crash and burn. But when the crash comes, it’s worse than Anna imagined. And far better than she could have dreamed.
Six Fun Facts about Anna
1. Anna is a hazel-eyed brunette. This is never stated in the novel.
2. She lives in a cottage by the woods because there is something of D. H. Lawrence’s Connie Chatterley in her.
3. She’s a borderline workaholic who definitely needs to have more sex.
4. Anna finds it very difficult to Shut-The-Fuck-Up, which invariably gets her into trouble with her bosses.
5. In the movie, she would be played by Rachel Weisz.
6. Anna would never go over to the Dark Side. She’s Princess Leia, without the brass bikini and the cinnamon buns.
[Anna and Giles make out in his office.]
He pushes the low table to one side with his shin and sinks onto the sofa, pulling me with him. I try to sit demurely with my feet on the floor, but he hooks his arm underneath my knees and lifts me right onto his lap, my legs along the length of the seat. The dim light from the Christmas festoon shines onto him; and my heart skips a beat. He looks radiant. I smooth the silver hair back from his forehead and marvel at the look of happiness on his face. Incredible as it may sound, he is as delighted with me as I am with him. We kiss and kiss; his hand slides up from my waist to my breast; with his thumb he chafes the hardening tip until I gasp.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispers against my mouth. “Tonight, however…”
Then his hand is on my silken knee, caressing my thighs with a mixture of delight and confidence that is absolutely irresistible. Again his fingers glide across the lacy border between silk and skin, only this time they’re doing so on the inside of my leg, which is a dozen times more sensitive than the outside. For a while that’s where they remain, traveling along the lace edge from thigh to thigh.
“You’re not angry with me anymore?”
His fingers tighten on my flesh. “Don’t ask me that.”
“I wish I could take you in the middle of Library Square,” he says, and I can hear his hurt in the hoarseness of his voice. “At midday, on a hot day in summer. So I could see your face, and the whole world could see your face, when you come for me!” The back of his index finger runs over my lower lip, and I catch it between my teeth, bite and release.
“I don’t come for you, you arrogant male!”
“Yes, you do.” His fingertip returns to the danger zone on my lower lip, and I nibble at the pad of flesh, but gently. “I know very well that I can’t make you come.” He is watching my mouth, his eyes glistening. “If you’re willing, I can help. That’s all.”
His wry statement makes me laugh; I don’t know whether he is being coy or candid. “Mommy’s little helper.”
His eyes shoot up to mine. For a second or two he looks almost shocked; then his features soften.
“Kiss me again,” he whispers, and there is now a catch in his voice that tells me as much as the state of his cock that playtime is over. I kiss him without hesitation, and as our tongues meet, his fingers slip inside my panties and he finds me. My entire consciousness gathers in the pool of sensation between my legs; my whole self is at his fingertips as they inch across the fleshy mound and descend into the moist curls of hair. For perhaps a quarter of a minute he sits motionless, cupping me in his warm, large hand. Then one finger, the whole length of it, dips between the swollen, exquisitely sensitive lips. My hips pick up the rhythm and move against his hand.
“Like that?” he asks huskily.
Nina Lewis wrote her first story when she was nine years old, a drama of love and jealousy set in a circus. Her best friend and she performed it to themselves over and over again, for ever changing the dialogue, conflicts and endings. It strikes her as ironically appropriate that her first published novel is set on a college campus – the habitat of many a strange, loveable or fierce creature. When she isn’t busy training animals to jump through the hoops of college education, Nina is knee-deep in her second novel, which is set in England during the French Revolution – historical romance being her favourite genre of fiction.
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