“I never joke when it comes to research,” she said. “After you left, I wondered if there might be something to the whole aphrodisiac thing after all—especially the chocolate-covered strawberries.” Her cheeks went pink at even a sideways reference to That Night, but she soldiered on, her voice growing stronger and more excited as she explained her discovery.
“I did some in-depth testing with several groups of students as test subjects, and based on those results, I managed to isolate a particular proximate nutrient in the Fragaria plant that, when combined with the alkaloids in chocolate, augments the documented physiological effects of those alkaloids on the brain. Serotonin levels rose thirty-two-point-oh-four percent higher when the theobromine and phenethylamine from the chocolate was ingested along with the new protein strain I pulled from the strawberry.”
She paused dramatically as if waiting for Wes to leap from his seat and shower her in confetti. The image of a chimp tapping away at a calculator vivid in his mind’s eye, Wes said, “Um. That sounds … good?”
“Good?” She stared at him. “It’s nothing less than a breakthrough! Serotonin is the chemical in the brain that controls feelings of happiness. When it rises swiftly enough, it produces a euphoric state, making the owner of the brain in question more apt to be receptive to sexual advances, and able to enjoy them.”
“I get that. So aphrodisiacs can be real, I guess. Isn’t that what we were trying to prove? What are you still researching?”
Her eyes shifted to the side. If she knew how to lie, Wes would be watching for other telltale signs right about now—but Rosemary wasn’t built like that. A supposition she confirmed with her next, obviously reluctant, sentence.
“If I can distill and combine those nutrients into a single substance, maybe intensify the power of the reaction through dosage, I can create a marketable product to enhance human libido. The applications are endless—and lucrative, as it turns out.”
“Hmm, I guess there probably would be some folks out there willing to pay cash to enhance their sex lives. Especially if it’s for something actually based on scientific research rather than, like, powdered rhinoceros horn.”
Rosemary leaned both elbows on the table. “I don’t have to guess about it; I know. When I told my father about the Fragaria breakthrough, he mentioned it to a contact of his at a pharmaceutical company, and now Progressive Mutual wants to fund my continuing research.”
Wes started, heart doing the lambada in his chest. If that was true, then President Cornell and his threats had just become truly irrelevant.
He opened his mouth to tell Rosemary the whole truth about why he left the ACA in the dead of night, without a word, whether she was ready to listen or not—but then she went on, saying, “And even though I know there’s no such thing as luck, and the world is nothing more than a collection of random events and coincidence, it still feels like amazing good fortune that I happened to be at the academy when I had this breakthrough! Aggravating as it is to have to share the credit, not to mention the ownership of the research with a toad like Wally Cornell, the labs there are second to none in terms of the equipment I needed. I doubt if I could have isolated the Fragaria nutrient in any other lab in the country.”
His heart stopped. If she needed the academy lab, Cornell still had him boxed in. Wes couldn’t tell her the truth yet.
Aware of a sneaking relief that he wouldn’t have to listen to Rosemary choose her research over him, Wes’s mind raced for a way to keep her from walking out of his life forever. If he could just keep her around long enough, cement his place in her life, then maybe by the time she finished with the aphrodisiac project, he could make her forget the way he’d … used her and ditched her. Right.
But she could’ve just tracked down his phone number, Wes’s pragmatic brain piped up. She didn’t have to come all the way down here. The surge of hope that thought induced was almost painful in its intensity.
Maybe he hadn’t killed every possibility of a chance at a future with her after all.
The pause had gone on long enough to make Rosemary antsy.
“Look, I didn’t come here to try and cut you out of the pharmaceutical deal completely,” she said, tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “I’m willing to discuss a percentage. A small one.”
Wes smiled, every inch of his body alive with possibilities. “Tell me the truth, Rosie. You missed me. That’s why you’re here.”
The loosening of her jaw hinge, dropping that soft mouth open, told Wes he’d hit home.
Setting her chin at a stubborn angle, Rosemary met him stare for stare. “Let’s get back on track. All you have to do is tell me you understand, that you relinquish all rights to the project, which is only fair since, let’s face it, you’ve contributed very little—and then we’ll never have to see each other again.”
“Or,” Wes said, leaning in for the kill. “I could refuse to approve the project going forward without my involvement.”
She licked her lips, the color washing from her cheeks until she was approximately the same pale green as her dirty martini. “What are you saying?”
Blood throbbing through his veins, Wes stretched his arm across the table and easily captured her hand. He tugged at it, pulling her closer until he could bring her hand to his mouth. “I’m saying I don’t give a shit about the money.” He pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, and when her fingers curled reflexively, he set his teeth to the heel of her hand and bit gently.
She was salt and heat and life against his tongue, and the way she gasped fired him up like a wood-burning grill.
This was his chance, and he was taking it.
“But,” he continued, never taking his eyes from hers, “I want to stay on the project. I want to help with the research. And I want the chance to prove there’s more between you and me than simple chemistry.”
Chapter 15
Maybe she should’ve asked Wes if he wanted his dog back, but since Rosemary wasn’t prepared to give Lucille up, it would’ve been a pointless exercise. Polite, perhaps, but pointless.
He’d abandoned Lucille, and she deserved someone who would love her and take care of her and never leave her just because he got a better offer from someone else.
That settled, Rosemary nodded and marched down to the lobby to get some information.
The concierge didn’t bat an eye when Rosemary asked him to recommend a place to leave her dog for the day.
Instead, he clacked away on his computer for a bare moment before offering her a list of doggie day-care facilities within walking distance of the hotel.
Rosemary chose one called Peaceful Paws Day Spa, where Lucille would no doubt be pampered to within an inch of her spoiled little life. Rosemary picked it mostly because they offered a Webcam option so that anytime she wanted, she could log on to their site and pull up a live video of Lucille having her toenails painted or whatever.
When she dropped Lucille off, Rosemary found herself lingering in conversation with the sympathetic-eyed receptionist.
“She doesn’t like squeak toys, they freak her out,” Rosemary said. “And anything remotely bone-shaped is fair game, as far as she’s concerned, so I wouldn’t leave any expensive fountain pens lying around unless you’re into ink showers. What else?”
“Your baby will be just fine with us,” said the receptionist, whose stylishly understated badge announced her name as Aimee. “We’ll take wonderful care of her, Ms. Wilkins. I promise.”
“It’s Dr. Wilkins,” Rosemary said automatically. “And she’s not my baby. She’s a canine companion, and I’m responsible for her welfare.” A strange lump rose into her throat, making it hard to speak. “I’m all she’s got.”
“It’s only for a few hours, Dr. Wilkins,” Aimee soothed, gently ushering Rosemary toward the door. She’d already given Rosemary the URL for the Webcam feed and lifted an unhappy Lucille up for a good-bye kiss.
Rosemary never would’ve pictured herself as the kind of person who deliberate
ly put her face within licking distance of an animal’s tongue, but she was learning all sorts of things about herself these days.
For instance, that she was not as immune to a certain chef’s charms as she’d hoped.
It was slightly disconcerting how quickly Wes had taken the information she’d shared with him and turned all her careful plans inside out. But Rosemary didn’t get to be one of the youngest Mensa candidates in history by being slow to adapt.
Once she finally managed to tear herself away from the Peaceful Paws Day Spa’s beautifully appointed lobby, she focused her mind on the problem at hand.
Namely, on the puzzling problem of Wes Murphy and his refusal to ever react in any logically predictable way.
He was the one who left, and then sent a letter saying he was never coming back. So what was he up to now, acting as if he wanted to be with her?
That question kept her occupied on the short cab ride through Central Park, under a tall canopy of trees in full autumnal glory. She was still turning it over in her mind when they pulled up at the corner of Columbus and Seventy-seventh, right in front of the green awning with market picked out in gold lettering.
They’d agreed she would meet him at the restaurant, since he had to work, and Rosemary could set up her laptop anywhere.
He’d claimed he’d clear it with the management, but the recognition followed by alarm in the maître d’s eyes as he spotted Rosemary told her maybe Wes hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
As impeccably blond and clean-cut as a model for one of those wholesome designers who made all-American clothes for frat boys, the maître d’ hurried forward, one hand out. “Welcome back,” he said, and Rosemary had to give it to him—he didn’t sound like he was lying. Maybe it was the Southern accent. During her studies at UVA, she’d learned that the sweet honeyed drawl of the South masked all manner of unpleasantness.
Deciding to put him out of his misery, she hefted her laptop case. “Decided to leave the dog at home today. I presume a MacBook Pro won’t alarm anyone, or need to be reported to the health department.”
Relief settled over the man’s tense features like a veil. “Ah. Of course. Are you dining alone?”
“I … well.” She wasn’t sure what to say, but before she could go into the whole explanation, one of the waiters came hurrying up. It was the same young man who’d waited on her yesterday, she realized. The one who ratted her out to Wes, then gave him that cryptic advice before taking off.
“Grant, it’s okay,” the young waiter said. “She’s here for Wes. He said to stick her at the bar until the lunch rush is over.”
The maître d’, Grant, pursed his lips in annoyance. But when he looked back to Rosemary, any hint of aggravation was smoothed from his even, regular features. “Of course! Right this way.”
“I’ll show her, if you want,” the waiter offered.
Grant glanced at the bar, then back at the two of them. The door behind Rosemary opened and a group of four laughing people spilled into the entryway. Grant’s face cleared, decision made. “Okay, thanks, Jess. Enjoy your lunch!” he said to Rosemary, already moving forward to greet the new party.
The young red-haired waiter, Jess, leaned in confidentially as he led her to the U-shaped bar. “Grant avoids the whole bar area whenever possible; he’s a good manager, so we all try to help out with that.”
“Why would he want to avoid the bar?”
“He’s got some kind of feud going with the bartender, Chris. No one really knows what it’s all about, and it’s weird because, normally, Grant is the one making peace between the warring tribes, ensuring the waiters don’t annoy the chefs too much, and vice versa.”
Intrigued, Rosemary asked, “Are you this candid with all your guests? I’d think sharing gossip would be frowned on.”
Jess laughed. “You’re not just some random guest! In fact, you’ve been part of the gossip around here for long enough that I feel like I know you.”
Swinging her heavy laptop case onto an empty stool at the end of the bar, Rosemary put her hands on her hips. “Explain that in further detail, please.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, hey! Not in a bad way. And I’m not even talking about the general restaurant gossip that everyone knows, anyhow. But Wes is a friend of mine, and he’s been talking about you pretty much since he showed up here. Well,” he amended thoughtfully, “I had to squeeze it out of him after I noticed he’d get all morose and broody sometimes, and I wanted to know why, but finally he ’fessed up about this woman he was totally hung up on back at the academy. And after that, you know, common decency and a lot of beers dictated the whole thing.”
Rosemary’s head whirled, but being a genius had its advantages. Hoisting herself onto the tall barstool, she managed to unravel the stream of chatter with relative ease, and honed in on the important bits of missing information.
“He talked about me?” She needed some clarification on that point. “What did he say?”
Jess leaned on the back of the chair next to hers. “Well, at first he wanted to be cagey and, you know, like a guy about everything. But over time I got pretty much everything out of him, I think.”
Propping her head on one hand, Rosemary regarded Jess with fascination. “Has anyone ever tested your cognitive abilities? Your brain appears to function in a unique way.”
“Wow,” Jess said, a shadow lifting as he laughed, making his navy blue eyes light up. “I think that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a freak.”
“Having an IQ on the high end of the bell curve doesn’t make you a freak.” Rosemary compressed her lips. She didn’t mean to sound so stiff, but come on. What was with all the discrimination against smart people? When did mediocrity become desirable?
“That’s right,” Jess said. “He told me you’re wicked smart.”
Of course. That was the first thing everyone thought of when they had to describe her.
“He got you down pretty accurately when he told me what you looked like, too,” Jess continued, studying her face with a detached, critical air that made Rosemary feel as if he were studying a portrait of someone he knew, searching for a likeness. “If I didn’t know for a fact that Wes’s eyes glaze over whenever I talk about photography, I’d think maybe he had an artistic bent, just from the level of detail he achieved in his description. It wasn’t hard to recognize you.”
“Wes is more verbal than visual,” Rosemary agreed, scooching her stool closer to Jess. “Tell me more about what he said I look like.”
Jess opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when the bartender, a short man with longish hair who’d escaped Rosemary’s attention until now, sauntered over. “Boss man,” he said to Jess out of the corner of his mouth. “Incoming. Detonation in five. Four. Three …”
The bartender casually moved back to the other end of the bar to top up a wine glass just as Grant descended on Jess in a cloud of tense smiles and snapping eyes. “Jess! I believe table fourteen is ready to order.”
Red scorched up Jess’s neck and into his cheeks. “Oh! Right, sure, of course. I’ll get right on that. Rosemary, it was a pleasure talking to you.”
“I hope we’ll get a chance to chat later,” she said, frustrated. There went a prime source of inside information and insight into Wes’s inscrutable actions.
Maybe she could extract some data from Grant—except he was already giving the bartender a parting sneer and hurrying back to his station.
Fine. If she couldn’t make any progress on the Wes Problem, she’d just have to buckle down and get some real work done.
Booting up her laptop, Rosemary settled in at the bar and lost herself in a paper dissecting the relative merits of nutrient absorption through whole foods versus in pill form.
But every time Jess passed on his way to and from the kitchen, turning in orders and toting hot plates out to his tables, he gave her a quick, secret smile that made Rosemary think of Wes, sitting in a bar somewhere after work and unburdening himself of everything he
thought and felt about Dr. Rosemary Wilkins.
It certainly wasn’t the intricacies of nutrient absorption that kept the corners of her mouth tugging up into a grin.
The third time she caught herself fighting a smile, Rosemary paused in her reading, fingers frozen on the keyboard, suddenly suffused with fear.
She couldn’t afford to allow Wes Murphy to elicit any further emotional reactions from her. He wouldn’t be the cause of any more smiles, or any more tears—she had to keep him at a safe remove.
The memories of what happened when she let him close were too fresh, too raw. He’d hurt her once. Probability dictated he could and most likely would do it again. What kind of genius would she be if she ignored the burden of evidence and probabilities and let herself care about him again?
Well. She’d be the sort of genius who deserved exactly what she’d no doubt get—a broken heart.
Chapter 16
Most of the guys had already started breaking down their lunch mise and setting up for dinner service when Grant tore into the kitchen like a blond tornado, looking for Adam.
Wes, standing at his spot near the front of the kitchen, away from the hot line, was close enough to hear Grant’s voice tremble with excitement as he said, “We’ve got walkins!”
Groans echoed up the line. This was not good news—if these late lunchers ordered multiple courses and lingered over everything, it could seriously put the kitchen behind in terms of getting switched over and ready for dinner. At least the lunch menu was designed for the office crowd, with quick, tasty dishes that didn’t take half an hour in the oven to finish.
Still, no one was happy about a couple of extra lunch tickets at three in the afternoon—except Grant. Who was practically bouncing on the soles of his feet like a kid who needed to wee.
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