"I've got a book," she said.
"Aha. Romance. A blonde hulk who will carry you away." Oliver was looking levelly into her eyes.
A small smile turned the corners of her mouth down. "I'm waiting for someone my size." They were in her office. Oliver registered that it was very warm. He saw her shudder and give in to a wave of longing. Her lips parted and her breasts lifted. He reached for her in slow motion and stopped himself just before he touched her.
He was shocked. "I . . ."
"I know," she said. She closed her eyes. "God, I know."
"Suzanne . . ." She shook her head and smiled helplessly.
"I'll read my book."
"We've got to talk sometime," he said. She nodded. He took a deep breath and left.
Oliver was trembling as he drove away. What was that all about? He and Suzanne had become more friendly as time had gone by. They often talked, and she was always sympathetic. But he hadn't expected anything like what had just happened. His breathing was still messed up. When she had surrendered to him, he had been jolted by a rush of strength. He felt like Ghengis Khan or something.
Suzanne was sharp. She remembered everything he said about the computer system, repeating things back to him word for word months later. She was very helpful. He depended on her support, he realized. There was something about her that got to him, a lonely bruised quality. She had eloped in high school, run away to Tennessee, and returned eighteen months later. Her family and the church took her back, but . . . She was still living in a shamed shadow.