by Faith O'Shea
It was a distraction he needed to put away. At least for now. His trip to Brazil was two weeks away. Only then would he give himself over to finding the woman of his dreams.
After he shut the theater down, switched off the lights, he walked slowly to his room, where he hoped to get a start on those eight hours of sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Fiona had made toast for herself and was absentmindedly sharing a piece with Hoover. She’d gotten up early again, the need for sleep not as dire as other more physical ones. Her mind seemed more intent on reliving the kiss than getting some rest. She could still feel it, and the memory was altering her metabolism. The chemical processes that served as life maintenance had become combustible and it was doing a number on her.
A flare of anger swept through her.
He had some nerve playing that kind of game with her. And she was sure that’s all it was. How could it be anything different? He was planning a trip to Brazil to find a bride, so why was he messing with her head that way?
The only reason your head’s messed is because you’re attracted to him. You and about a hundred other women.
Her head had been messed as soon as she’d seen him standing in the kitchen, for fuck’s sake. Even after being drenched by his careless driving, she wanted to do several really stupid things, like run her fingers through his hair, kiss those kissable lips, undress that toned body. She’d never had that kind of seismic reaction to anyone before, but as soon as he called her Fifi, she’d disassembled, and gotten a grip on her emotions. He’d told her exactly what he thought of her, but it hadn’t stopped her from wanting what she couldn’t have. He wasn’t it. If she ever fell for someone, there’d need to be a correlation in genetic markers between them in such things as appearance, height, and IQ. It was a risky proposition to try and catch the best-looking guy around, at least for her. She’d be better off going for someone who matched her in height or intelligence. She had to stop panting like a puppy dog around him. She’d be confirming the name Fifi fit.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. She’d done her damn best to avoid him but even retreating to her bedroom hadn’t worked. He’d come knocking, like she was a friendly stray dog whom he could play with for a time.
At the mention of cards, she’d perked up and had gone running like he’d thrown her a stick. She wasn’t competitive by nature, but his arrogance had clicked a switch, and with her usual good luck and deadpan expression, she’d trounced him badly. He’d handled it better than she’d expected, and she’d gotten a glimpse of his humility. Who knew he had it in him? He hadn’t been as put off with her skill at as she’d thought. In her experience men didn’t like losing to a woman, tended to shy away from anyone of the opposite sex who was equal to them in intelligence or more successful in any way. The kicker was, she’d actually enjoyed his company.
If he’d only stopped there, she might have survived the longing. But no, he had to throw her another bone. Two if she were counting. Dinner and a movie. It was almost laughable.
It would have been bearable if the movie hadn’t sucked. Because it had, they’d engaged in conversation. She’d been holding her own, and then he fucking kissed her.
The chemistry in her brain had gone haywire, her hormones went to peak alert, and her heart had hammered as if she’d run several miles. Uphill.
What was she supposed to do with that?
Nothing. Not a god-damned thing.
She couldn’t let her girly parts have any say in it, otherwise…
Hoover alerted her to his footsteps, and she quickly got up from the stool so her back would be to him when he entered the room. She couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by his looks.
“Good morning, Fifi. I see you’re up early.”
His voice had that soft, buttered appeal that would have gone well with her toast. Wanting to shut down any feelings that might be developing for him, she said irreverently, “Not for me.”
“It is for me and I have to admit, I feel great. This eight-hours-a-night thing might be just what I needed.”
It seemed he wasn’t going to let her surly mood affect his, so she took another bite.
“Makes sense with all the hard work you’ll be doing today, you know, things like running.”
“It expends a lot of energy.”
He sounded insulted, which was what she was going for.
She twirled around to face him, and her guts did the jig she’d hoped to avoid.
He was in sweats, a long-sleeved tee and bare feet. How could anyone look so frigging good after just getting up?
She gulped back a moan.
“You play a game for a living. It’s probably one of the reasons you can’t seem to grow up.”
His hands went to his hips. His face turned into a scowl.
“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? Or is this your usual morning mood?”
“I…”
She dipped her eyes to the floor. She had to own her dismay with the living arrangements not shove it back at him. He was here for the duration and she had to deal with it.
“Not my usual. I’ll make myself scarce until my mood improves.”
As she went to walk past him, he reached out and took hold of her wrist. “Did I offend you in some way?”
She could have suggested his choice of a name for her might have offensive implications, but the tingles that were shooting up her arm didn’t help her infected brain. She had to look at him as if he were a virus, attaching to her as host. There were a lot of different ways she could reject it if her immune system was working properly. The problem was, it wasn’t.
Not in full command of her senses with him standing so close, she blurted out, “Don’t kiss me again and all will be well. You’re not a frog or a prince and I can do without your mouth on mine.”
He dropped her arm and stepped back.
“I meant no harm.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. It’s just another game you play.”
“I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.”
“No? There is tactile acuity to the lips and a disproportionate number of neurons that are stimulated in the brain when they touch any part of the body. You kiss when you want to maximize intimacy. That was not your goal so it must have been a game, or more plausibly your ego.”
He was looking at her as if she’d just spoken Martian. She’d gone and done it. Made this more a science lecture than a simple meeting of lips. If there hadn’t been such a sensory overload, she might have been able to leave it at that.
“I’m going out. Hoover should be good for the next couple of hours and I’ll be back by then. Have a nice day.”
He didn’t say a word while she got her coat on, just stood gawking at her, which made her move a little faster to be gone.
As she streaked out of the house, and into the garage, she thought, Well, that should cure him of any further curiosity as far as lips and kissing are concerned.
As soon as she started her car, with the garage door rumbling up, she dropped her head on the wheel, wanting to cry. She’d just made a complete fool of herself. If she could turn back the clock, turn down the offer to house-sit, spend her time hunting down a job, she’d do it. She felt miserable, not only because she’d gone off on him for being male, something he couldn’t help, but because she was enamored of all that maleness.
After pulling herself together, needing to leave the shameful exhibition of scientific proficiency and infantile behavior behind, she reversed out of the driveway. Without a destination in mind, she drove aimlessly, or so she thought. When she arrived at her alma mater, it didn’t come as a surprise. She’d been on automatic pilot over the last five years and all she had to do was point her car in the right direction and it would take over. It was her home, comfortable and familiar. It was where she could think deep thoughts, expound on scientific theory, and not be found wanting. Her thesis advisor, Terry had not only been her mentor but like a mother, one who truly cared about her
failures and successes. Clare only wanted to hear only about the wins.
She climbed down the marble steps to the basement, letting the confines of her life here surround and protect her. She knocked on the door to Terry’s office and heard, “Come in.”
When her advisor looked up to see her standing there, she got up and came from behind the desk for a hug.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite doctoral student. Come, sit. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Feeling forlorn, she admitted, “Dog walking and house-sitting.”
Terry’s forehead creased with her frown. “You’ve been out on interviews though, haven’t you?”
“Two so far. One next Friday. Not a lot in between. I’m concluding that I’ll have to assist rather than lead. No one is willing to give me a chance.”
Terry motioned her to sit and then took her place behind her desk. Her expression was one of concern. “It’s only been a couple of months since you were awarded your doctorate. Your thesis hasn’t even been published yet. The offers will come, Fiona. You’ve got too fine a mind for them not to.”
“It’s just such promising research and I want to pick up where I left off. I’m not good with idle.”
Once you’d walked that path, spent hours in the lab working on the complexities of genetics, it became your life. Without the lab, she had no identity. She knew that establishing oneself as a scientist took time, especially if you were a woman, but what she knew in her head didn’t translate well to her heart. Or ego.
Terry leaned forward and said, “I could use another set of hands here if you’re willing to lend them.”
Fiona wanted to leap at the chance, but that would be like waving a white flag, surrendering to her doubts. It would also mean abandoning Izabella, something she wouldn’t do.
“I can’t accept anything until the family I’m sitting for comes back. I know me. Once I step foot in the lab, I’ll forget all about my furry friend.”
Terry tugged at her bottom lip. “I also might know someone to talk to about your situation. You wouldn’t be working at a university but a biotechnology company. They’re doing a lot of outside-the-box research and you might be a nice addition to the team.”
“Sure. I’m beginning to think I should take anything I can get right now. My mother’s suggested I look in other parts of the country.”
Terry sat back, her arms resting on the arms of her chair, her hands steepled under her chin.
“This does not sound like the woman I met with just a few months ago at her exit interview. She was confident about her future, excited about the prospect of running a lab. What’s happened?”
Fiona shook her head. “I’m feeling a bit vulnerable right now. The interview I had at Harvard didn’t go well. Maybe I’m overshooting my talent.”
“I know that’s not the case. You’ve got exactly what it takes to succeed. It’s your ambition and single-minded focus that concern me.”
“What? Why?”
“You need more balance in your life, Fiona. How often did you take a night away, to play, grab a bite with friends, go on a date?”
“Never found anyone I wanted to get to know.”
Mumbling under her breath she said, “Until now.”
Terry sat up, looking intrigued. “Well, well. Sounds promising. Who is he?”
She shook her head, rubbed her hands over her face. “There’s a guy staying at the house, the brother of the woman I’m house-sitting for. He’s…getting under my skin.”
If she was working, she’d be able to put him out of her mind.
Terry arched her eyebrow and asked, “How?”
“He’s a ballplayer, one of those beautiful people you want to hate.”
“But you don’t.”
She snorted, “Not enough.”
Instead of commiserating as expected, Terry asked, “Does he play for the Sox or the Greenies?”
She stilled. Her former professor was waiting patiently for her answer, so she stuttered out, “He’s just been traded by New York to the Greenliners.”
Terry’s jaw dropped open in surprise. “Enrique dos Santos?”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “You know him?”
“I know of him. He’s the real deal although he hasn’t had a chance to play the position permanently over the last couple of years. And he’d get under anyone’s skin.”
“And you know this how?”
“I must have mentioned that my husband’s a real baseball freak. Sox his first love, Greenies come in a close second. He gets to watch two games a night if so inclined. I’ve watched here and there just to see the guys move. He’s poetry in motion.”
She was sure Terry must have mentioned the thing about baseball, but it wouldn’t have stuck in her memory, her mind too filled with proteomics. They talked about a lot of things over the years over coffee, fast-food lunches and apple-crunching dinners, unless Arnie, her husband, dropped off some take-out for his lab-rat recluse of a wife. Fiona liked him. He always got enough for them to share. Did baseball fill his nights as he waited for Terry to get home?
“I guess I forgot.” She’d also forgotten something else. “What does Rique play?”
Terry fell back against her chair, a knowing smile on her face.
“Shortstop. It’s a key position and the fielder has to contort his body to scoop, swivel, and throw. It’s like a ballet dance with muscles rippling. Excuse me if I start to drool.”
Fiona felt something funny in her chest, wasn’t sure it was a laugh bubbling up, trying to escape or a lump that had developed. What she’d diagnosed was a burgeoning need to see him in action…or was the better word obsessive?
“Is that the only thing you like about the game? Watching the men scoop, swivel, and throw?”
Terry was not shy about her discussing things Fiona thought should remain private, so it wouldn’t surprise her if it was the only redeeming quality about the game.
“I enjoy it at times, been to my share of games over the years. Some days you have to get out of the lab and it’s a nice diversion. My husband sat on the edge of his seat last year, watching his two favorite teams battle it out to see who came out on top. With the new additions, the Greenies might just go all the way this season. Either way it goes, Arnie can’t lose.”
“Rique wasn’t supposed to get here this early but he’s come in to train with the coach.”
“Good. I’ll pass on that tidbit to Arnie. He’ll be psyched to hear it.” She rocked back and forth in her chair, began to chew on her pen. It was her thinking mode.
“Is your reaction to him physical, mental or emotional? Are you feeling less than or…too much?”
Fiona flashed her eyes up. “None of the above.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ve never seen you thrown off by someone before. You take everyone in stride. You’re attracted to him.”
She wanted to deny it but couldn’t get the lie out. Instead she muttered, “Who wouldn’t be?”
“And you don’t think you’d have a chance with him?”
She shook her head. Vigorously. “I don’t want a chance with him. I also don’t want to feel this kind of attraction.”
Terry winked and wriggled her eyebrow. “Lust can be a beautiful thing.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. This is my first interaction with it.”
Terry leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Rip his clothes off, have your way, and then forget him.”
Fiona had a feeling the first two might be doable if she was a different kind of woman, but the third, after accomplishing one and two? She wasn’t sure.
“I might want to wait until the night before I leave to do that. It would be even more embarrassing to have to live with him after doing something so bold.”
She’d never have the nerve, but it might be fun to fantasize… The shiver told her she was wrong. It would be dangerous.
Terry seemed to be chewing on her predicament, along with the pen, before asking, “Can you move b
ack home?”
“I promised Izabella I’d stay. She says he needs someone to keep him in check.”
“And you’re that someone. Interesting.”
“He’s working on discipline which means he’s staying at the house nights. Expects me to entertain him.”
“Even more interesting. I can provide some guidance on how if you want.” The wink that followed was conspiratorial.
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I’m going to play the advisor card, which allows me to offer a personal opinion on your... unwillingness to experiment.”
“This is one experiment that defies logic. And if I remember correctly you told me once, if the brain is distracted you risk safety. And he can be very distracting.”
“When will you ever have this chance again? Bedding someone like dos Santos isn’t something you pass up…” Terry looked up as she smiled, “… if you’re single that is.”
“Bedding a ballplayer has never been on my to-do list and I’m not sure I want it as an add-on.”
“Fiona, live a little. Mix it up. You might find an endless number of possibilities.”
When Terry read the stony look on her face she shrugged and said, “Suit yourself. I’m not sure I could be so blasé about it.”
“That would mean I was used to jumping into bed with strangers and it was no big deal anymore. That is not the case.”