by Gina Wilkins
“True. I guess I just have to remind myself sometimes why it’s better that I don’t have a social life. Why sleeping alone is the best option for the foreseeable future…even if it does get a little lonely sometimes. I can’t even get a dog or a cat to keep me company. I’d feel too guilty about how little time I could spend with it.”
Thinking about Liam sitting alone in her apartment less than twenty-four hours after he’d arrived to see her, Anne pressed a hand to her clenched stomach. “Um, Haley…”
James returned to the table at that moment, smiling at them both as he played the host. “Is there anything I can get for either of you?”
“We’d better get back to work,” Anne said, deciding the interruption had been well-timed. This wasn’t the occasion to spill her secrets to her friend. “We still have to go through the pathology slides. And we haven’t even started micro.”
Returning in time to hear her, Ron groaned and looked over his shoulder. “Better grab another cookie for energy, Connor. Anne’s got that slave-driver look on her face again.”
With a laugh, Connor slid into his seat and Anne pushed her personal issues aside to concentrate again on her schoolwork.
Afternoon was fading into evening when a quiet beep from Anne’s cell phone signaled an incoming text message. Looking away from a mnemonic drawing Connor had created to help them remember several terms they needed to know for pharmacology, she glanced at the phone screen.
Sry 2 interrupt. R U eating out?
No, she typed in response to Liam’s query. Almost done.
Connor had just commented that he had to leave in about twenty minutes to join his family for dinner, and James had said he had plans for the evening. He didn’t share what those plans were, but then they were used to not knowing exactly what James did when he wasn’t with them.
I’ll cook. Any pref?
Srprz me, she tapped back.
She could almost see the sexy smile he wore as he replied, Gladly.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Sorry. What were you saying, Ron?”
He looked at her, one sandy brow lifted quizzically. “Making plans with your secret lov-ah?”
“Yes,” she replied without missing a beat. “We’ve just arranged an intimate dinner followed by a night of blazing passion.”
Ron grinned in response to what he took as a sarcastic retort. “Okay. Touché.”
Haley laughed. “I tried to talk her into going with me to a singles’ bar to raise a little hell next weekend after the test, but she said she preferred staying home and studying. How boring is that?”
“I said I preferred a bubble bath and a couple of hours of TV,” Anne corrected her, relieved her honesty had been rewarded—by everyone thinking she’d lied. “But I admitted I’d probably end up studying instead.”
Ron’s attention had turned to Haley, his expression uncharacteristically disapproving. “Were you serious? About taking Anne to a singles’ bar?”
“We were teasing. But why not? Surely we should be allowed some fun even in med school. We’ve got other classmates who make time to party between test cycles. Just because none of us particularly enjoy class keggers doesn’t mean we can’t let loose some other way every once in a while.”
“At a singles’ bar?”
Her smile growing tight, Haley shrugged. “It was just a joke, Ron. Let it go.”
Connor started gathering his things. “We made a lot of progress today. I think I’ll head on home to spend a little time with Alexis before she has to go to bed.”
Giving Ron a now-look-what-you-did frown, Haley reached for her computer bag. “I’ll finish looking through this stuff at home. Are we meeting tomorrow?”
“I have other plans for tomorrow.” James set his notes aside.
“Maybe we should all study separately tomorrow and then get together after class Monday,” Anne suggested.
Perhaps they’d been spending a bit too much time as a group. Even the best of friends needed a break from each other occasionally.
Anne walked into her apartment soon after leaving James’s place. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” she called out teasingly, assuming Liam was in the kitchen.
He stepped out of the room she used as an office instead. Wearing a gray sweater that brought out the gray in his eyes, a pair of faded jeans and socks without shoes, he looked quite at home in her apartment. He carried a perfect red rose that he presented to her with a flourish.
Touched, she accepted the gift and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance. “Thank you. Is this my surprise?”
“Oh, no.” Snagging one arm around her waist, he drew her toward him, his head already ducking toward hers. “I’ve got quite a few of those in store yet.”
Holding the rose in her right hand, she looped both arms loosely around his neck and brushed her lips against his. “I can’t wait to see what they are.”
His hands beneath her bottom, he hoisted her into the air. She laughed and locked her legs around his hips. “What about dinner?”
Carrying her as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, he moved toward the open door to the bedroom. “It’ll keep another half hour or so. Let’s start with something to whet our appetites, shall we?”
“I think that’s a brilliant plan,” she said, then pressed her lips against his again.
Chapter Three
“So, how did your study session go?” Liam asked when they settled in the living room a couple of hours after she’d returned home.
“Not bad. We got quite a lot accomplished, I think. What about you? Did you get started on your book today?”
He studiously examined his fingernails. “Um, yeah. Sort of.”
“Not going so well?”
“I spent today sort of settling in. Setting up my stuff in the office, getting organized. I glanced over the revision letter again, but I thought I’d wait until tomorrow to really dive in.”
“That makes sense. Do you have everything you need in the office?”
“Sure. All I really need is a place to set up my computer. The desk in there is fine. Comfy chair.”
She smiled wryly. “Dad bought it for me. He said I need a comfortable place to study. I’ve sat in it maybe half a dozen times. I study a lot better sprawled on the couch or sitting on my feet in a kitchen chair than at a desk.”
“Maybe that was the reason I couldn’t concentrate in there. I’m not accustomed to being comfortable when I work. I’ve written most of this book in hole-in-the-wall hotel rooms, and on airplanes and buses, or wherever I could find a quiet spot to set up my laptop or pull out a pen and pad.”
Her smiled felt a bit strained. “I guess you’ll just have to get used to staying in one spot for more than a few days at a time, and having nothing to do except concentrate on your writing.”
“I think I can manage that,” he replied, his own smile bright. “Having you here—at least part of the time—is certainly a nice side benefit.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure how I feel about being called a ‘side benefit.’”
He laughed. “No offense intended.”
Settling against him on the couch, she leaned her head against his shoulder, enjoying the rare moment of intimacy. “I could probably take another hour off before I have to get back to my books tonight. Want to watch some TV or something?”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “I’d rather just sit here with you.”
She liked the sound of that.
They spent that hour snuggling and talking and laughing. She could get used to this, she thought as they chuckled together over another funny story he told her about his travels. Too easily, actually. She had a difficult time returning to her studies when she could be nestled against Liam instead.
It was probably just as well he was only staying for a couple of weeks. She could concentrate exclusively on her work again after he left. Assuming, of course, she didn’t miss him too much to focus on anything but his absence, sh
e thought uneasily.
She was up early Sunday morning, anxious to make up for lost time. While Liam had watched television, she had only managed a couple of hours studying last night. She’d assured him the noise wouldn’t bother her while she sat at the kitchen table immersed in her books. She could study in noisy coffee shops, on buses and planes, anywhere she could find a place to sit with a book or her computer. She had the ability to tune out everything else except the material in front of her.
Although it wasn’t always easy to tune out Liam. Several times last night she’d found herself gazing at him as he’d focused on the flickering screen, admiring the way the flashing light danced over his face, the way his mouth curved upward when he was intrigued or amused, the way he frowned when he disagreed with something spouted by a political “expert” on the news programs he favored. Each time, she’d had to force herself to return to her studies, though what she’d really wanted to do was climb into Liam’s lap and taste that so-expressive mouth.
He hadn’t said anything about how late she’d worked, though she’d become aware of his looks of concern and disapproval. She’d urged him to go on to bed whenever he got tired, but he’d assured her he was still adjusting to central time and wasn’t ready to turn in yet. Finally deciding they both needed rest, she’d shut down her computer and accompanied him to the bedroom, where they’d fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
It would be all too easy to grow accustomed to waking with him lying beside her, she mused as she turned on her computer for a new day of work.
Liam ambled out of the bedroom, his short, dark hair still wet from the shower, his face freshly shaven. His jeans looked old and comfortably worn, and the cuffs of his blue twill shirt were turned back to reveal strong, tanned forearms. He wore his glasses again, but the “mild-mannered reporter” image was negated by the slight swagger in his walk as he crossed the room, knowing she was watching him.
He stopped by the table to brush a kiss over her lips. “Have you had breakfast?”
She motioned toward the cup of coffee next to her computer. “I’m starting with caffeine. I’ll work up to food eventually.”
Shaking his head, he moved toward the refrigerator. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Oh, it definitely is necessary. I’m starving.”
A common condition for him, she thought with a smile. Liam had the metabolism of a hummingbird, burning off calories even during the rare times he sat still.
She’d been so wrapped up in her studies that she hadn’t even realized Liam had gone out to the newspaper stand in the parking lot until she saw the paper folded beside his plate. Trying to be a little more sociable than she’d been so far that morning, she asked, “Anything interesting in the news today?”
He shrugged. “The usual conflicts overseas, sniping between politicians and celebrity gossip. Lots of ink given to that ugly divorce between Cal Burlington and Michaela Pomfret.”
Anne grimaced. She rarely glanced at Hollywood gossip, but even she had heard too many details about that famous acting couple’s acrimonious split. It was particularly juicy because they’d made headlines only a few years earlier by leaving their former, equally famous spouses for each other during the making of a film in which they had costarred. Now there was a child involved, along with very public accusations of infidelity, emotional cruelty and substance abuse. “You’ve met Cal Burlington, haven’t you?”
Liam nodded. “He was one of the three celebrities who appeared on that documentary I was involved with last year—the one about the crisis of the rain forests in Central America. The producers thought we’d get more viewers and attention if some big-name guests tramped through the forests with us to show the devastation there, though I lobbied for more screen time to be given to credible experts. Cal and I spent only a few days together. He seemed like a decent enough guy, despite the overinflated ego most actors have to develop just to survive in Hollywood.”
“It must be humiliating for them both to have so much attention directed toward their private lives now. The painful breakup of a family shouldn’t be fodder for public entertainment.”
“No. But I guess it should be expected when they’ve spent the past decade doing everything they could to stay in that spotlight. They certainly weren’t shy about exploiting their courtship and the birth of their child. Now they want privacy—and while I understand, and I believe they should have it while they sort out their personal problems, I can’t help wondering if they’re enjoying the attention in some twisted way.”
Anne shook her head, suppressing a shudder at the thought of living in such a fishbowl. Liam wasn’t nearly as famous as Cal and Michaela, of course, but he had been steadily building his public reputation. His agent and publicists had been busy during this break preparing for the launch of the new season of his cable program. The publication of his book would make him even more of a celebrity.
How long would they really be able to keep their secret? And how much attention would they attract when they made their announcement?
She swallowed hard, hoping she would be prepared for that scrutiny when the time arrived. Sometime in the future, she assured herself. When they were ready.
Either growing bored or uncomfortable with the topic of celebrity marriages—or rather, the end of one, Liam changed the subject. “What have you been studying this morning?”
She was just as eager to move to a new topic. “Shigella.”
“That’s a bacteria, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s a rod-shaped, gram-negative, nonspore-forming bacteria. There are four serogroups of shigella. S. dysenteriae, S. flexneri, S. boydii and…um…oh, yeah, S. sonnei. S. dysenteriae is usually the cause of epidemics of dysentery in close quarters such as the refugee camps you’ve visited.”
She had recited the facts without looking at her computer screen, tensing when she’d momentarily forgotten the name of the fourth serogroup.
“Wow. That’s a lot to remember.”
She nodded grimly. “We have to know how many serotypes are in each serogroup, the differences between each group, what diseases are caused by each, the symptoms of those diseases and the medicines used to fight them.”
“I don’t know how you remember it all.”
“That’s just one organism. There are four bacteria in this lecture alone. We have to know as much about all of them.”
“Is there anything I can do to help? I’d be happy to quiz you.”
She glanced at the stacks of papers she had yet to wade through, including several pages of practice test questions. “Don’t you have to work on your revisions?”
He shrugged. “I can work when you’re in class and with your study group. Really, I’d love to do something to help you. I’ll probably stumble over the pronunciations of all that stuff, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Well…”
“Okay, then. Let’s finish our breakfasts, then I’ll clear away the dishes and make a fresh pot of coffee and we’ll get at it. The studying, I mean,” he added with a wicked smile that made her giggle.
Having him here wasn’t going to be a problem at all, she thought, feeling the muscles in her shoulders relax. As long as they continued to avoid drawing attention to themselves, she added silently, with one more little ripple of nerves.
“Okay,” Liam said an hour later, “tell me again how many serotypes are in each serogroup of shigella.”
“Group A, S. dysenteriae, twelve serotypes. Group B, S. flexneri, six serotypes. Group C, S. boydii, sixteen serotypes. Group D, S. sonnei, one serotype.”
“Try again on Group C, S. boydii. How many serotypes?”
He watched the muscles tighten around her mouth as she sensed that her previous answer had been incorrect. “Sixteen?” she repeated, less confidently this time.
He shook his head. “No, it’s eighteen.”
“Damn.” She brought her fist down on the tabletop in frustr
ation, the thump making her third cup of coffee slosh perilously close to the rim of the large cup. “I always get that wrong. Why can’t I remember? Eighteen. It’s eighteen serotypes of serogroup C.”
“You’re getting too tense. Just relax.”
“Relax? I’ve got to remember all of this for next Friday’s test.” She made a choppy motion toward the thick stack of paper in front of her. “That doesn’t even count the four days of lectures this coming week—at least 480 more slides—that will also be covered on the test. Since I have no idea what questions will be asked from each lecture, I have to learn everything, just in case, and I can’t even remember how many serotypes are in freaking serogroup C of this one bacteria! How am I supposed to pass the exam when I don’t even know that?”
Her voice grew a bit louder and shriller with each word. Liam stood and reached out to take her coffee cup. He set it on the counter out of her reach. “I think it’s time to switch to decaf. Or herbal tea. How about a nice cup of chamomile?”
“Don’t tell me what to drink.” She buried her face in her hands and drew a deep, shuddering breath.
He kept his voice soothing when he returned to the table and glanced at the next practice question. “How can S. sonnei be differentiated from the other serogroups?”
Without lifting her face from her hands, she answered in a muffled voice, “By positive b-D-galactosidase and ornithine decarboxylase biochemical reactions.”
“That’s right. See, you know this material, Annie. One little slip doesn’t mean you’ll fail the test.”
“It isn’t just one little slip! It’s one of the easiest things I should know. How can I remember everything else if I can’t remember that?”
“Annie.” His tone was a bit firmer now. “How many serotypes are in serogroup C of shigella?”
“Eighteen.”
“Right. And serogroup B?”
“Six.”
“You’ve got it, babe. You’ll do fine.”