by Susan Lyons
“No. But, surprisingly,” a tiny smile flashed, “you’re a bit of a romantic.” The smile disappeared. “And, while that kind of relationship does sound great, how do you know it’s real? That you can trust in it?”
“That it’ll beat the statistical odds? I dunno. Gut instinct? Leap of faith?” He wondered whether she’d fallen out of love with her husband, or vice versa.
Knowing that the enforced companionship of a long flight could breed its own kind of trust and openness, he tested the waters. “I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”
“I made a big mistake, falling for Jeffrey. I learned I couldn’t trust him.”
“Damn. He cheated on you?” The guy must’ve been a right bastard and a fool.
A corner of her mouth turned up ruefully. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Not with another woman. And in fact, he didn’t exactly cheat on me, he cheated me out of recognition.”
I’m intrigued.”
She made a face, picked up her wineglass, and drained it. “For this, I need more wine.”
He leaned into the aisle, caught Carmen’s eye, and held up his own empty glass. She gave him a nod, then turned toward the galley.
She returned with the wine bottle, filled their glasses, and gathered up their entrée plates and silverware. “For dessert, we have a cheese and fruit platter, lemon cheesecake with pomegranate glaze, and chocolate Cointreau mousse.”
“The mousse, please,” Theresa said.
“Cheese and fruit,” Damien said.
“I’ll be right back. Coffee, tea?”
Theresa ordered decaf coffee and Damien asked for the same. Then, when the two of them were alone again, he said, “Go on. Tell me what happened with your ex.”
She took a drink of wine, another, then put the glass down decisively. “When we met, he was a tenured sociology professor at the University of Saskatchewan. With my brand-new PhD, specializing in indigenous studies, I’d just won an appointment in their native studies program. I had an idea for a research project, and went to him to get his opinion.”
She grimaced. “He was enthusiastic. About not only the project, but me as well. We started dating and he helped me put together a grant application. We had a whirlwind courtship—in a way that would probably strike you as hopelessly dull and academic, but all the same it seemed romantic to me—and got married two months after we’d met.”
“He swept you off your feet. I wouldn’t have taken you for the type.” Damien felt a twinge of jealousy, and also annoyance at the jerk who’d hurt Theresa and made her so cynical. He wanted to touch her, offer comfort, but her arms were wrapped protectively around her body and he sensed she wouldn’t welcome it.
“I was young. Naïve. Dazzled by his interest,” she said grimly. “Stupid.”
He tried to imagine Theresa as a girl who’d had the brains and drive to get her doctorate, yet been naïve enough to be swept up in a romance with a man who’d ended up hurting her. Now she was what? Thirtyish? And still bitter about her ex, and cynical about relationships. “So, what happened next?”
“I’d almost finalized the grant application and was waiting for Jeffrey’s feedback. Then he proposed, wanted to get married right away, and everything else got shoved aside. Or so I thought. We had a civil ceremony and a brief honeymoon. When we got back to work, I pulled out the grant application and asked when he’d be able to review it. He said he’d forgotten to tell me, but he’d already revised and submitted it. We just needed to wait to hear back.”
“And?”
“When the grants were announced, my project had got funding. But Jeffrey had applied in his own name, listing me as a research assistant but not as coauthor.”
“Wanker!”
“When I asked what was going on, he said I must have misunderstood. It had always made sense for him to apply, because I was too much of an unknown to get the grant.”
“But it was your idea and you did the work,” Damien said indignantly. “You deserved the credit.”
“Wouldn’t you think? And instead, all I’d be was a researcher again, just like when I was a student at Harvard and the New School for Social Research in New York.”
“Harvard?” The woman had a habit of dropping these amazing tidbits. “You went to Harvard?”
“Yes. So did my dad. In medicine. And no,” she scowled at him, “I didn’t get in because I was a legacy, I had the marks.”
She’d lost him. “What’s a legacy?”
“At the Ivy League schools in the States, typically ten to fifteen percent of new admissions are the children of alumni.”
Did the woman memorize statistics on everything?
“Especially of distinguished alumni,” she went on. “The kind who make donations to their alma mater. The entrance qualifications for their children are often, shall we say, a trifle lighter. The kids are referred to as legacies.”
“Well, that’s crap. Whatever happened to equal opportunity?”
“Exactly. Anyhow, you wouldn’t believe the number of people—profs and students—who assumed I was a legacy.”
“Until they saw your work.” He barely knew Theresa, but was sure she’d excel on her own merits.
Her face lightened with pleased surprise. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Welcome. And like I said, your ex is a wanker. If you didn’t yet have the reputation to get a grant, couldn’t he have sponsored you? Or at least listed you as coauthor?”
“Of course. But he wanted the credit. And had no qualms about using me to get it. The whole thing—the seduction and marriage—were all about him. Him and his career.”
“Ah, come on.” Not that he wanted to excuse the bastard, but how could the guy not have been attracted to Theresa? “He probably fell for you, then got greedy when he saw the chance for career glory.”
“I doubt that very much.” She put down her now-empty glass. “Anyhow, after that betrayal, I couldn’t believe anything he said. I couldn’t work with him, got mad every time I saw him. I told him he could find another research assistant, and another wife. After I finished teaching that semester, I left Saskatchewan.”
“That’s rough.” He squeezed her hand where it rested on her tray table.
She freed her hand from under his and firmed her jaw. “I don’t need pity. I’m a loner. That’s how it’s always been, and it’s how I work best.”
“It’s not pity, for God’s sake.” Didn’t she recognize sympathy? “I know what you mean about the loner thing, though.” Damien spent days on end writing, only breaking for a run or walk. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to socialize, just that he got so absorbed in the work. If Bry didn’t drag him out for a few beers or a backyard barbie, he could go weeks without talking to a soul other than a grocery store clerk.
Theresa snorted. “You, a loner? Give me a break. You flirt with every female in sight.”
He winked. “Didn’t say I don’t like women. But I do spend a lot of time alone.”
“What do you do?”
Crap, he’d walked into that one. If he told her, it’d break the growing connection between them. Fortunately, he could avoid the question because he saw Carmen coming with their desserts. “That looks good,” he told her as she handed him a platter with strawberries, grapes, and slices of kiwi fruit and papaya, plus crackers and small wedges of four different cheeses.
“Enjoy,” she said, voice flat, obviously still ticked at him. When she’d finished with the meals, he’d have to have a word with her, try to make things right. Ensure she wouldn’t tell anyone about his “engagement.”
Theresa took a spoonful of her chocolate Cointreau mousse and her expression told him she’d forgotten her question about his occupation. Her full attention was on taste sensations that appeared to be almost orgasmic.
He’d have liked to be responsible for putting that glow of sensual pleasure on her face.
She spooned up another bite, then sucked it slowly off the spoon, eyes closed, and his cock jerked
as he imagined those lips wrapped around it.
To further torture himself, he selected a ripe, medium-sized strawberry and reached over to dip it in her mousse. Her eyes opened, narrowed in annoyance, then he held the strawberry to her mouth. She smiled and reached up her hand to steady his, the way he’d done when he’d eaten salmon tartare off her fork. Her mouth opened, then she closed her lips around the chocolate-coated tip of the strawberry.
Oh yeah, he was definitely erect now.
The warmth of her soft fingers against his hand, the glaze of sensual enjoyment in her eyes, the way her lips wrapped around the red fruit. The damned berry was even shaped a bit like the head of his cock.
As Theresa took her time nibbling the fruit from his fingers, he was glad for the napkin across his lap. Especially when Carmen came along to pour coffee.
“Enjoying your dessert, I see.” This time her tone bordered on snarky. Unprofessional, yeah, but it had been shitty of him to come on to one woman, then ditch her for another. Sure, all he’d done was flirt, but he and Carmen both knew where they’d been heading.
When she’d gone, he watched Theresa add milk to her coffee and stir. Her bare arm moved in circles, graceful and feminine. A smart, strong woman, yet vulnerable and wary. She must have had other lovers since her divorce, but her ex had done such a number on her, she still mistrusted men. How could a guy be cruel to Theresa? “About your husband,” he said abruptly.
The spoon clicked the side of the cup as her hand jerked. “What? Oh, enough said. It’s in the past.”
“Yeah, but all the same, I’d like to meet up with the bugger in a dark alley. I’d punch his lights out.”
His words, the grimness of his tone, clearly weren’t what she’d expected. Her eyes widened. “Day! That’s…you wouldn’t. That’s so…uncivilized.”
“You’re saying civilized meanness, like white-collar cheating, is okay, but being physical isn’t?”
“Well…” Her tongue came out and ran across her top lip as she considered. Color rose in her cheeks. “Violence isn’t a solution.” Her lips tipped up at the corners, then the smile took over, widening on her mouth, making her eyes light. “All the same, I’d like to see it. Jeffrey would…” She gave a snort of laughter. “God, he’d be no match for you.”
Damien loved seeing her laugh. Man, she was beautiful. “Theresa? The guy was a fool. A woman like you shouldn’t be taken advantage of, you should be appreciated. Slowly and thoroughly. By a man who wants to make you feel like the beautiful, sexy woman you truly are.”
The laughter had faded from her face as he spoke, to be replaced by wonder. “Day? That’s a really nice thing to say.”
He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Any man in his right mind would feel that way.”
“Not so as I’ve noticed.” The humor was back, this time wry.
“Then you haven’t been looking in the right places.” He picked up a strawberry. “Want another?”
“I think it’s your turn.” She took the berry from his fingers, dipped it in mousse, and held it out to him.
He nibbled the treat and with the last morsel sucked the tip of her index finger into his mouth.
She gave a startled, “Ooh.” A flush colored her cheeks and the exposed V of her chest. Under the thin sweater, her nipples tightened.
It was those nipples he imagined as he sucked on her finger. When he freed her, he teased, “Do you blush when you’re teaching at the uni?”
Her hands went up, covering her cheeks. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I guess because I know what I’m doing. I’m confident.”
“But not with me?” He put a slice of cheese on a cracker and offered it to her.
“No thanks, I’ll stick to fruit and chocolate.”
He ate the bite himself and fixed another. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s not you, Day, it’s men. I’m not confident with men. As colleagues and students, yes, but not, uh, socially.”
That was nuts. She had so much going for her. How could she have let one man destroy her confidence? “Jeffrey has a lot to answer for.” He broke a grape off the small bunch on his plate, dipped it into her mousse, then held it out so she could take it from his fingers, her soft lips a tantalizing whisper against his skin.
“It wasn’t only him. I was always years younger than the boys in my classes. Like, graduating high school at fourteen? You can bet no one asked me to the prom.”
“I see what you mean. But once you reach a certain age, when everyone’s grown up, the differences don’t matter so much.” He fed her a slice of overripe papaya and a bead of juice trickled over her bottom lip and down her chin.
He wanted to lick it, but she caught it with her finger. “Yes, but by then I had my doctorate.” She stuck her finger between her lips and sucked it, which made his cock jerk inside the confinement of his jeans.
“I’d missed out on all the girlie stuff,” she said. She slanted him a glance, wet her lips. “And on Sex.”
Sex. The word, coming out of her full lips, sent a surge of lust straight to his already aroused groin, and he could barely suppress a moan.
“Sure,” she went on, “I knew the textbook facts about male/female relationships, but that’s not the same thing as being a normal teenager. Trying to decide if a boy really likes you, having your first kiss, wondering how far to go. Knowing when you’re in love versus in lust. Knowing when a guy’s in love versus just using you.” She’d gone from sounding wistful to bitter. Thinking of her ex again.
“Okay. But hell, Theresa, you’re grown up now. A beautiful, intelligent, interesting woman. You must’ve gained a bunch of experience since Jeffrey.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t interested in trying again.” Quickly she added, “Look, I’m not completely pitiful and naïve. Jeffrey wasn’t my first and he wasn’t my last.”
“I didn’t mean that.” Only that she was vulnerable. Perhaps he ought to back off. He didn’t want to hurt her.
Theresa jabbed a finger in the middle of his chest. Hard. “No!”
He jerked and almost knocked his food tray off balance.
“I see that look in your eyes.” She jabbed him once more. “I hate that ‘poor little smart girl’ look. Don’t you go making decisions for me. If I let you…” she went even pinker, “uh, feed me dessert, it’s because I want to.”
Feed her dessert? The woman had to be aware that the dessert was foreplay.
“Not,” she went on, “because I’m some loser who’s desperate for the attention of a handsome guy. And I want you doing it because you want to, not because you feel sorry for me.”
He gave a surprised laugh. His throbbing cock sure wasn’t sorry for her. She was damned fine to look at, sexy, and he enjoyed talking to her. He was having the most fun he’d had with a woman in a very long time, even though they were both fully clothed. “No fear of that. But I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
“God! You and your massive ego.” Interesting to note that billabong eyes could spit fire. “Day, I won’t give anyone the power to hurt me. If we do—whatever—it’s going to be fully consensual. If we’re using each other, it’s for our mutual pleasure, and that’s all.”
Using each other? Nah, that’s what he and Carmen would’ve been doing. Her wanting to fuck a celebrity, him just wanting to get his rocks off. He reached over to spoon up some mousse, then held the spoon to Theresa’s lips. “Consensual is good. But, Prof…”
Slowly she licked chocolate from the spoon, her gaze holding his.
“Prof, if we…share dessert, or anything else, it’s not about using each other. Mutual pleasure, yes. Using, no. Got it?”
“Y-yes. I do.” Her eyes were luminous.
Gently he used his thumb to clean a smudge of mousse from her upper lip. Then he licked the chocolate from his thumb. Her eyes widened. Glittered with sexual heat. “Mutual,” he said. “Pleasure.”
She nodded as if hypnotized.
&
nbsp; Damn, but he was impatient for the cabin lights to dim and give them some privacy.
Fortunately, Carmen and the flight attendant who handled the other side of the business-class cabin were clearing away dinner trays and offering final refills of coffee and tea. Passengers rose, stretched, headed for the lavatories.
Across the aisle, the great-grandparents were yawning and unwrapping blankets. She’d put her crocheting away. Damien would bet his next advance that they’d be dozing off, not staying up to watch a movie.
Theresa slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and rose. “Excuse me, Day.” She headed up the aisle to join a small queue.
While she was gone, Carmen refilled their coffee cups and offered chocolates. “Or has your fiancée had enough chocolate?” she asked sarcastically.
“Can any woman ever have too much chocolate?” He took one and put it on Theresa’s tray, beside her coffee. “Ta, Carmen.”
“Right,” she said coolly.
Now was his chance for a private conversation. “Look,” he said softly, “I acted like a jerk, flirting with you. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
Her face softened a touch. “That’s it? An apology, with no attempt to excuse yourself?”
He shook his head. “I was wrong. Period. Again, I’m sorry.” He tried out a low-powered version of the smile he knew many women found irresistible. “It’s a knee-jerk reflex, flirting with a pretty lady. And this being engaged thing is so new, I’m not used to it. We really want to keep it a secret for now, so please don’t spread the news.”
“Well, I have to say, you’re gonna break some hearts when women find out you’re off the eligible list, Damien Black.” Her expression was a degree or two warmer when she moved away to serve the people behind him.
He wondered what she’d think when his engagement was never announced.
When Theresa returned, she said, “They give us chocolates, too?”
“It’s their version of the chocolate on your pillow.” He winked. “Speaking of which—pillows and all—you weren’t planning on watching a movie, were you?”
“I really should work.” Her voice lacked conviction.