His, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  He nodded, but a flicker of expression made me accuse, “You agree with them. You’re just like them.”

  His lips pressed together, then finally opened. “Yes and no. You have a right to live your own life, and it seems to me you’re not hurting anyone, and you’re helping a lot of people. Not to mention peregrine falcons.”

  He said it dead seriously, so I held back the chuckle that rose to my lips. “So far so good. Now give me the but.”

  “Your choices are unusual ones. Your parents probably think you’d be safer if you lived a more conventional life.”

  “But not happier. They should care if I’m happy.”

  “Yeah, but maybe they can’t relate to what makes you happy. Maybe you’re too different from them.”

  “Which is exactly why I used to think I was adopted.”

  “Look at my grandparents and Alicia. Kids aren’t necessarily like their parents. It makes it hard on everyone.”

  “I should’ve been Alicia’s kid, and you should’ve got my parents. Everyone would have been happy.” Before he could protest, I waved my hand. “I know, I know. If Alicia’d been my mom, I’d have lost her when I was just a kid, then got stuck with your grandparents and that would so not have worked out.”

  I rose. “I think dinner’s almost cooked. I’ll get the rest of the food.”

  In the camper’s mini kitchen, I rinsed the carrots and strawberries, gathered up plates, cutlery, and the loaf of French bread, then went back out. Mark had retrieved the packet of salmon from the fire, then stacked on a couple more logs which were starting to blaze. He’d also topped off our wine glasses. I realized he hadn’t commented on the chardonnay. Maybe he didn’t like my selection but was too polite to say so.

  Together we spread out the food and helped ourselves. Before digging in, I studied my plate in the light of the lantern, appreciating the deep pinky-orange of the fish, the bright orange of the carrots, the vivid red of the strawberries, all so dramatic beside the crusty bread, and set off by the cream of simple stoneware plates.

  Meanwhile, Mark had taken a couple of bites of salmon.

  “How does it taste?” I asked.

  “Uh …” He took another bite, chewing more slowly this time. “It’s good,” he said with surprise.

  “You doubted me.”

  “Just never cooked anything this way.” He gave a short laugh. “Actually, I avoid cooking. Mostly I grab a sandwich or eat a handful of crackers and some cheese. Food’s not a big deal in my life.”

  “Mark, everything should be a big deal. You should be in the moment. If you’re eating, really eat. Enjoy the colors, textures, scent, flavor.”

  A reflective look crossed his face. “You made me do that with the strawberry pie.”

  “And?”

  “It was one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

  “It was truly fabulous pie, but you’ve probably eaten tons of other great things.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “God, Mark, you’ve lived in Thailand, China, other places that must have terrific food. And you missed it because you weren’t paying attention. I bet you missed their music too, and the clothing and jewelry and art and—” I threw my arms up to the night sky. “Everything. You missed everything but the ocean. Am I right?”

  “The ocean—my job—that’s what matters.”

  “And the people. And you. You matter. You can save the ocean and still have fun doing it.”

  His expression told me the idea had never crossed his mind, and now that I’d planted it there, it wasn’t resting easily. Fine. When a seed opened in spring, it sent out shoots and roots and disturbed the ground around it until, ultimately, it popped its head out into the sunshine and grew into something beautiful. Maybe, inside Mark’s genius brain, the same thing would happen.

  Turning my attention back to dinner, I forked up a mouthful of salmon. Mmm, the combination of lemon juice, wine, salt, and pepper was classic, and the fish was moist and flaky.

  “How do you like the wine?” I asked Mark.

  His lips curved wryly, and he made a show of lifting his glass, sipping, and rolling the wine in his mouth before swallowing. “Really good. Like there’s some fruit in it.”

  “Duh, it’s made from grapes,” I teased. Then, relenting, “Green apples, right? More tart than the apples we were eating earlier?”

  “Uh …”

  Right. He probably hadn’t even noticed he was eating an apple, much less how it tasted.

  I munched a carrot, then broke off a piece of bread and teamed it with another bite of salmon. Every single bite could be a different taste sensation.

  It was like men. Each was unique. Most had some great qualities, the majority had a few disappointing ones, and a few were total losers.

  I studied him curiously, noting that he was eating more slowly now, as if he was paying attention. “I get the impression you’re shocked by the idea that I’d sleep with two guys at the same time? I mean—” I quickly amended, “not ménage à trois, I’m not into that. But, you know, not monogamy.”

  His brows had risen at “ménage à trois,” then settled again. “Shocked?” He tested the word. “No, it takes a lot to shock me. Just puzzled, I guess. But wait, what’s wrong with ménage?”

  Well, how about that? I’d really misjudged the guy. “You’re into ménage? Seriously?”

  “God, no.”

  Mark had never had this kind of conversation about sex with anyone, male or female. It was totally fascinating. From a scientific standpoint, of course. At Freedom Valley, any and every sexual practice had existed. For him personally, as an adult, he was completely into one man, one woman, but he had no problem with the idea of sex that was purely casual and not aiming toward a future. If he hadn’t been, he’d still be a virgin.

  “I’m just saying,” he explained, “that everybody has their own boundaries. It’s kind of fascinating. Like you, you’ll date two men at the same time, so what have you got against ménage?”

  “It’s not a moral objection,” she answered promptly. “But I like to concentrate on one person, one thing, at a time.”

  Just as she’d said earlier, about living in the moment, he mused, chewing a mouthful of salmon and tasting the tang of lemon, the zing of salt, the sharpness of pepper. He had to admit, he’d enjoyed the food and wine since she’d made him slow down and taste them. And he enjoyed Jenna. All the moments with Jenna, whether they were exploring the beach, discussing their philosophies of life, or having incredible sex.

  She was so lovely with golden light flickering over her face and highlights gleaming in her hair, her expression intent as she studied him over the rim of her wine glass.

  Right now, she was intent on him. Totally focused. Next week, maybe tomorrow, she’d be equally intent on another man. Yes, that hurt his ego. But also, he couldn’t relate to it. If Jenna was his lover, no way would he want another one.

  Another reason they’d never be more than a temporary thing. He’d want fidelity, and that’d be like trying to harness a butterfly.

  “How long does it take you to switch?” he asked. “Like, do you need a couple of days between, or will you sleep with one man in the afternoon and another at night, or—”

  “Mark.” She held up her hands, stopping him, shaking her head so her curls tossed. “Why all these questions?”

  “Just trying to understand.”

  She shook her head again, laughing. “Sorry, I’m not a scientific equation. I don’t have any rules, it’s what feels good at the time.” Her brows drew together and she studied him. “Okay, my turn. You normally only sleep with someone when you’re in a committed relationship?”

  “Uh … I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a committed relationship.” He’d dated one woman for a year in graduate school, but they’d agreed from the start that they had no future. She knew she’d return home to India and marry a man her parents approved of. They’d enjoyed each other’s company, had good sex, but neither had harbored romantic feeli
ngs. In a way, that was like what Jenna did with her numerous guys, except she leaped into sex way more quickly than he did. “But I don’t sleep with a woman until we get to know each other.”

  “Best way to get to know each other is sex.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “You’re advocating conversation? I thought you’d never been a big talker.”

  “I hadn’t.” He frowned and rubbed his forehead. At least not until today. “Damn, you get me confused.”

  “It’s my goal in life.”

  He had to smile at that. “I guess by talk, I meant talking about mutual interests. Scientific interests.”

  “And how do you get to know someone that way?”

  You got to know them as a scientist, but not as a person.

  “Don’t you find,” she went on, “that once people are sexually intimate, they talk more? Share more? That’s when you really get to know them.”

  Disgruntled, he said, “Have you been taking lessons from your mother, the litigator? You’re pretty good at cross-examination.”

  “Hah, I’m the intellectual lightweight in the family.”

  He reflected on everything she’d said and shook his head. “I don’t think so.” Maybe she was a career lightweight in that she didn’t want to settle into one occupation, but … “You’re definitely not stupid.”

  Her eyes flashed wide, and a pleased expression crossed her face. Then her lips quirked. “Why, Dr. Chambers, you sure know how to flatter a girl.”

  He winced. “Sorry, that was clumsy. I mean, I think you’re smart and thoughtful.”

  She waved a hand. “Actually, it was okay the first time around. It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

  He snorted. “I don’t believe that for a moment. I can’t imagine you don’t get showered with far more poetic compliments than I’d ever dream up. You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, you’re fun to be around, and you challenge me to think.”

  Her lips shaped a soft curve, and her eyes glowed as she leaned across the table and touched his forearm. “You get points for sincerity.”

  He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves when he was tending the fire, and not rolled them down again, so her hand rested on bare skin. “What do these points win me?” He wasn’t sure if she was talking about sex or if this was another of her crazy games, like the stone-skipping.

  “Anything you want.” A seductive smile flashed. “Tell me, Mark, what do you most want from me?”

  He wanted her to be someone different. To have that same intellectual curiosity, perceptiveness, and sense of fun, but to be a woman who committed to one cause and one man. Because then, she’d be a woman he could let himself care for.

  Now, where had that thought come from?

  “Wow,” she teased, “you’re really putting a lot of thought into it. Okay, maybe you don’t have to settle for just one thing. How about we do everything?” She breathed that last word meaningfully, then seductively ran her tongue around her lips.

  Everything? He suspected, when it came to sex, she knew things he’d never even heard of. “You’d probably kill me,” he said honestly.

  A bright laugh bubbled out of her. “Just like Marianne said. But what’d be the fun in that?”

  Marianne? The woman in the diner? He scanned his memory. They’d been discussing serial killers and Marianne had said something to Jenna like, If you do that boy in, it won’t be with a knife.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Now he got it. Sexual innuendo. And he’d taken her literally and gone off on a lecture about female serial killers. He really was hopeless.

  What on earth was sparkly, sexy Jenna doing with a stodgy guy like him? Well, getting a ride to Vancouver. And offering him sex.

  He frowned at her bright face. “This isn’t your way of paying me for the ride, is it?”

  Her face scrunched up in puzzlement, then she said, “Sex? You mean, am I trading sex for a ride? Jesus, Mark.” She shook her head, seeming more amused than angry. “Give us both a bit more credit.”

  “But I don’t really get why you’re attracted to me,” he confessed.

  She raised her eyes heavenward, then down again. Then she extracted herself from the picnic table seat and came around to his side of the table. She shoved their now empty plates down the table, together with the leftovers, the bottle of wine, and their glasses.

  Having cleared a space in front of him, she climbed up on the bench seat then carefully maneuvered so she sat on the table facing him, one foot on the bench on either side of his hips. Old jeans hugged her thighs and the spread of her legs made it impossible not to gaze at her crotch.

  Inevitably, his breathing quickened and his blood surged. A couple of hours ago, he’d been inside her. Now, what was she doing? “Jenna?”

  “You don’t get why I’m attracted? How can a scientist be so unobservant?”

  He wasn’t used to being teased, and normally it disconcerted him and made him feel inadequate. When she did it, though, it was kind of fun and flattering. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’m great at observing the ocean. Not so good with people.”

  “Then let me enlighten you.” She leaned forward, the neck of her loose, long-sleeved T-shirt gaping so he could see her soft, firm breasts, the skin several shades lighter where she’d worn a bikini top.

  Under his fly, his cock filled with blood. He forced his gaze away from her breasts and up to her face.

  To see a grin. “You may be some fancy marine biologist, but you’re such a guy.”

  “It’s hardwired.” Show a straight guy a woman’s breasts, and he was going to look. Especially when they were as pretty as Jenna’s.

  “Well, it’s not just guys who look. First thing I noticed about you? Well, you’re sitting on it.”

  His butt? She’d ogled his butt? Nah, she had to be kidding.

  “But then,” she said, “I sat beside you and looked at your face. It’s a very angular, masculine face.” In a soft caress, she drifted the fingertips of one hand across his forehead out to his temple, down the side of his face, then in along his cheekbone.

  Sensation rippled through him. Like shivers, but warm, thick, sexual ones.

  She traced the line of his nose. “Nose like a hawk.”

  “Hawks have beaks. Curved beaks.” What was she getting at?

  “I stand corrected.” Humor laced her voice. “You don’t have a curved beak, you have a big, straight nose that’s almost arrogant. But I don’t think it’s in you to be arrogant.”

  Occasionally, he’d been accused of arrogance by workers on his project teams. He’d told Adrienne, and she said they were wrong; he was confident, judgmental, and oblivious. Like that was any better.

  Still, he was what he was. Same as with Jenna. At their ages, neither of them was likely to change.

  “Mmm, and these lips,” she murmured. With a single fingernail, she traced the outside line of his upper lip.

  Jesus, that must be an erogenous zone, one he’d never known about before. The sensation was intense, almost as much as if she’d been touching his cock, which was now painfully hard.

  She traced the bottom line.

  He’d never thought much about lips before, or kissing. Kisses were just something you did with a woman you were seeing. Not a single one stood out in his mind. Not until today.

  “Very sensual lips,” she said approvingly, teasing the crease between them with her fingertip.

  He opened, intending to suck her finger into his mouth, but she pulled it away, laughing. “Oh no, I’m not finished with the inventory yet. But to finish, I need to get a little closer.”

  Suddenly she slid forward, shifting her weight from the picnic table until she was sitting on his lap, wedged with her back against the table and her crotch pressed tight against his groin. Against the erection behind his fly.

  Heat surged through him, and even more when she wriggled her crotch against it and said, “Oh yeah, that’s one very big
reason. Then there’s your broad shoulders and lean, strong muscles. Narrow hips, great legs, sexy arms. I definitely noticed those. You’re too covered up now, but I can fix that.” She leaned away from him enough that she could reach between them and start unbuttoning his shirt. “You are definitely worth looking at.”

  Though his body urged him to grab her and get on with it, his brain hadn’t entirely shut down, and he was curious. When he’d first seen Jenna—not knowing a single thing about her—he’d felt lust. Seemed it has been the same for her, too. “So the initial attraction between us was physical. From a biology standpoint, that makes sense,” he mused. “The female goes for the strong male protector; the male chooses the healthy woman who’ll bear lots of kids.”

  Her eyes widened and her fingers stilled, one or two buttons from the bottom. “Then your biology made a bad choice, didn’t it?” The edge to her voice said that for once she wasn’t teasing.

  “Sorry, I just meant in the larger sense, the biological imperative. Not, uh, you and me. I mean, of course I don’t think we—”

  Awkwardly, she climbed off his lap, not meeting his gaze.

  He caught her hand. “Jenna, wait. I know you’re independent, you don’t want a protector, and I know you don’t want to have kids.”

  She tugged her hand free and stared at him. Her face was shadowed so he couldn’t see her expression. “Right on all counts. So much for biology.” She turned her back and walked over to the fire.

  He’d ruined the mood, pissed her off with his scientific musings. What an idiot. He rose, went to stand beside her. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean to.” Though, as he studied her profile in the dancing firelight, she didn’t look mad so much as sad. “Like I told you before, I’m kind of clueless when it comes to women.”

  She took a deep breath, loud enough he could hear over the soft crackle of the dying fire, then let it out again. “I overreacted. You were just being you, the science guy.” Hands clasped behind her back, she stared into the fire. Withdrawn. Much the way she’d looked after she’d talked to her sister and when they’d been talking about whether they wanted kids.