BODACIOUS

by Sharon Ervin

  “Sara, you haven’t looked into those eyes or been caressed by that sexy croon.” Suddenly Libby straightened and her voice dropped to a threatening tone. “You haven’t, have you?”

  Sara giggled. “I wouldn’t dare. You’d never let an amateur hustle your man out from under your nose. I wouldn’t try to get by you, Eagle Eye. No, I haven’t seen him.”

  Libby put her cup down and leaped to her feet. “I’ve gotta’ go.”

  “You’re pretty sure he’ll call?”

  “Hope so, but I need to get some sack time. I’m covering the Business and Professional Women’s breakfast at seven in the a.m.”

  Libby ambled toward the door. “I’m not kidding, Sara, Of course, an overnight with him would be a memory to carry the rest of your life, one you could take out and relive again and again. He is magnificent.”

  Standing, a drop of tea dripped from Sara’s lip to her chest. She brushed it with her fingers and laughed. “Look, you’ve got me drooling. I’ve gotta have a peek at this guy. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anyone this good.”

  “No, no, no.” Libby stopped to confront her. “I thought I’d made myself excruciatingly clear about that.”

  “Well, can I at least sneak a peek?”

  Libby rubbed her chin, pretending to consider the request. “I guess that’d be all right, but don’t get close. He wears a very unusual musk which boggles the mind. Just thinking of it gets me all hot and bothered.”

  “You sound like you’re seeing him pretty regularly.”

  “The garbage drop, the mail box, close encounters of the casual kind.”

  “Okay, so he hasn’t asked you out. Why haven’t you asked him?”

  Libby pivoted on one foot. “I’ve tried everything I can think of, invited him for supper, plied him with free passes to a basketball game. He’s real polite when he turns me down, but he just keeps turning me down.”

  “Does he say why?”

  Libby gave a thoughtful pout. “No. He just says ‘No thanks.’ I tried to pry reasons out of him, in my own charming, inimitable way, but he won’t budge. Something better break soon or I’ll be looking to Stanton for consolation. Rezabec’s always good for a morale boosting overnight.”

  Sara frowned, sobering as they reached the door. “Libby, I didn’t know you’d dated Rezabec.”

  “That’s the kind of thing a girl likes to keep quiet, especially around the office.”

  “You never mentioned keeping it hush-hush when I was going out with him.”

  Libby shrugged. “That’s because you didn’t have to worry about your reputation. After living with the crazy mountain man, you didn’t have any reputation left to sully.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Libby looked up, all innocence. “Well, surely you knew what people were saying.”

  “No,” Sara said, “I didn’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On Monday morning Sara’s car engine wouldn’t turn over, much less fire. The weather was sunny but the brightness was a decoy, luring people out into a stiff north wind with temperatures wavering up during moments of intermittent sunlight, plunging to single digits when clouds rolled through.

  Grudgingly she got out of the car, walked to the front and raised the hood. She had no idea what to look for, a wire hanging loose, a lid unscrewed, something. Nothing seemed out of place. In fact, the whole area looked spectacularly clean, for a car engine.

  She was about to close the hood when a shadow loomed beside her.

  “Need some help?” The male voice was a rich baritone.

  His back was to the sun, blindingly bright as it broke between clouds, framing him in silhouette. He was tall, apparently hatless, wore sunglasses, and was bundled in a cashmere overcoat and kid gloves.

  She frowned, directing his attention to the area under the hood. “Do you know anything about engines?”

  “No,” he said. “Sorry. Can I call someone for you?”

  She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. She needed to hurry. It was a quarter of eight. “No thanks.”

  She glanced around to see if Libby’s car was still in the lot. Gone. The BPW breakfast. Darn. She slammed the hood wondering about a city bus.

  “How can I help?” the stranger prodded, reminding her he was still there.

  She looked at him again but couldn’t see his face clearly with the dazzling sunlight still at his back. He motioned toward a sports utility vehicle parked on the street. “Can I give you a lift?”

  She fidgeted and thought out loud. “I can call someone, but waiting’ll make me late to work.” She peered up at him again. “Which way are you going?”

  “I have to stop by the Gazette, then I’m going out to the college, but I’m not on any schedule. I can take you where ever you need to go.”

  Trying to make out his face, she took a couple of quick side steps to get a clearer view.

  He seemed vaguely familiar, somber, handsome in a rugged way, maybe thirty, six-foot or better, clean-cut with dark, close-cropped hair, and a generous mouth which sported a pleasant, little smirk of a smile that didn’t show his teeth. She smiled back and was surprised to feel her pulse quicken.

  “I’m Sara Loomis, courthouse reporter for the Gazette.”

  “Alex Cadence.”

  Where had she heard that name? Oh...sure...Libby’s guy. The untouchable. “Oh, you’re...” She swallowed the words she had nearly blurted, recovering just in time. “You’re new at The Oaks. West wing, right?”

  “Right. Two-twelve. You’re upstairs, in three-twenty. I’ve seen you around.”

  Surprised, she started to ask, then realized Libby had probably mentioned her apartment number. She said, “Libby Cook’s a friend of mine.”

  He raised a gloved hand to rub his mouth as if he were smothering a laugh. “Mine too.”

  “And you’re going to the Gazette?” she asked. He answered with a nod which made the hair bristle on the back of her neck. “Good. Yes, I’ll take you up on that ride.”

  He turned and she trailed him across the street to the SUV parked at the curb. Leaning in the passenger door, he cleared books and loose papers, tossing them into the rear seat, then stepped back and indicated she could get in.

  “Why are you going to the newspaper office?” she asked, as he pulled into the traffic lane.

  “I’m new at the college. History department. The dean asked me to drop off a news release and a mug shot. I guess they run articles on new faculty people.”

  Sara glanced at his profile, then couldn’t pry her eyes from the high forehead and hawkish nose, the strong jaw line and pronounced chin. He actually did resemble some Greek god. She chided herself for thinking like a school girl...or like Libby...and smiled at the thought. “What kind of history?”

  “Military mostly. Some American.”

  She would bet an inordinate number of women would be taking military history classes this fall, once word got around. And she’d bet a week’s salary, word about him spread among the coeds on campus in a hurry.

  He stopped for a traffic light and turned toward her. She wished he’d remove those darn sunglasses. She would like to see his fabled eyes. But the morning glare was too strong to suggest he take them off.

  As they drove, she pointed out the coffee shop downtown where political types gathered mid morning; the second story club where jazz jam sessions were free on week nights, and Bloomers, a strip joint that invited college girls for amateur night once a month.

  He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his mouth before he looked the other way. “Sounds like you’re well settled. Been here long enough to know where the action is.”

  Something about the gesture and the statement made her uneasy, as if he knew she hadn’t been in town long. How would he know that?

  She winced as she solved the mystery. Libby again. Of course She’d have to speak to Libby. It was not a good idea to hustle a man by telling him too much about your girlfriends.

  He shot her a cursory
glance. “I was going to stop for coffee and a breakfast biscuit. Do you have time or should I wait until after I drop you?”

  “No, please, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

  “No biscuit?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t get ready for food until mid morning or so.”

  “Do you get to eat breakfast late?”

  She laughed. “No, I just get hungry and wish I could. I assure you, no one who knows about my breakfast fetish offers to buy my lunch.”

  He turned his head to laugh, a rolling, infectious sound. She smiled and stretched. The car was warm, the traffic not too heavy and he, an easy companion. She had a peculiar feeling of well-being.

  He pulled into the drive-through at McDonald’s near the shopping center and ordered a breakfast biscuit, one milk and two coffees with “extra cream and sugar.”

  They got the coffee first, small ones. Still wearing the gloves, he juggled her cup and the handful of cream and sugar packets.

  “Do you want some of these?” she asked, sorting them.

  “No, I take mine black.”

  She scrutinized him suspiciously. “Why did you get extra cream and sugar?”

  He looked surprised. “Didn’t you tell me to?”

  “No. You didn’t ask.”

  He shrugged, regarding her soberly through the glasses. “Well, I guess you just look like a woman who takes extra cream and sugar.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  When the clerk handed the sack through the window, Alex pulled the car over and parked long enough to bolt the biscuit in four quick bites.

  Sara watched in awe. “Is one enough for you?”

  He smiled self consciously, again turning his head away from her. “I was holding back. Didn’t want you to think I was a glutton.”

  She dumped three sugars and two creams into the coffee and stirred, reluctant to meet his gaze which she felt suddenly focused on her. With her silence, she defied him to comment on being right about the cream and sugar.

  Who was this guy? Another FBI agent? No. He was too flashy for a G-man. Not really stodgy enough for a college professor either...yet.

  He was maneuvering through traffic again before she allowed herself another look. Libby was right. This guy was a hunk in anyone’s dictionary. She needed to stop admiring him. She’d promised Libby. Hands off. He was reserved. Libby had warned her not to smile or say hello. She was probably going to be in big trouble for riding downtown with him.

  “You can pull around to the lot and we’ll go though the back,” she suggested when they neared the Gazette. “Rumors that you can find parking on the street are a cruel hoax.”

  Smirking, he followed her directions. She wondered why he kept squelching his smile. Maybe something was wrong with his teeth. Libby hadn’t mentioned it...or any other flaw, for that matter.

  Sara got out of the car and waited for him to sort through some of the displaced papers in the back seat before he turned up a file folder.

  They walked to the building side by side in silence. He was a big one, all right, but Sara felt comfortable in his company, even without the cover of running dialogue.

  When he stepped up to open the door, she felt an involuntary tingle at their proximity. Catching a whiff of his aftershave, she inhaled vigorously.

  What was wrong with her? Where did the silly tingling come from? A hand-me-down from Libby? Probably.

  Inside the building, she led him up the back stairs to the newsroom where she introduced him to Bruce Crownover, the managing editor.

  “Sara, Libby was supposed to take Professor Cadence’s information,” Crownover said, “but she’s out. Can you do it?”

  “Sure.”

  She offered to take his coat but Alex declined. The lenses in his sunglasses were becoming lighter. She hoped they’d clear enough eventually to allow her a good look at the eyes Libby had made off limits.

  He removed his overcoat but kept it, folding it over his arm. She motioned him into a side chair by her desk.

  Sara hung her coat on the rack on the other side of the newsroom, jamming her gloves and cap in the pockets, then darted to the break room for two normal size cups of coffee.

  “All right, let me see the press release.” She took it and settled into her desk chair, swiveled to face him, opened a notebook, and grabbed a ballpoint.

  Cadence stood and moved his chair from the side of the desk to spot it squarely front of her so that they were face to face, their knees almost touching. Again Sara found their proximity disconcerting as his lenses continued to clear. His dark eyes looked even more familiar as they became more visible.

  He handed her the sheet of paper. “Public relations did it from my resume. There’s a mug shot, too, of course, which is preferable to the picture on my driver’s license, but not nearly as fetching as ones my mother has lining a hallway back home.”

  Was he flirting with her? Sara smiled politely without looking up, trying to concentrate on the release. She needed to keep this interview strictly business, in spite of the feeling of warmth that seemed to be intensifying. Was he feeling it too?

  “This work history has a thirty-month glitch,” she said. “I guess you need to update your resume. Where were you employed immediately before coming here, Mr. Cadence?”

  He raised his chin and the polite smile faded. “Research. Working on my dissertation.”

  “Oh? You already have your master’s then?”

  “As a matter of fact, I just finished a tome for my Ph.D.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She peered at him. “What’s the title?” She lowered her eyes quickly, focusing on her hieroglyphic-mix shorthand.

  “The Psychological Effects of Deprivation on a Professional Soldier.”

  “And you’ve finished it?”

  “Yes. I took my orals the week after Thanksgiving.”

  “And?” Again she lifted her gaze to his.

  His mouth bowed. “I think Doctor Cadence sounds a bit pompous, don’t you?”

  Sara laughed lightly. “Congratulations. But doesn’t a doctorate make you over-qualified for our little two-year community college?”

  “Maybe, but the school here’s got a solid reputation. Time here will look good on my resume when I’m ready to move.”

  “But why Booker?”

  “Because it’s important to me--for personal reasons--to be in Overt right now.” He gave her a significant look, as if she should know what he was talking about.

  Studying his face, his eyes, his demeanor, Sara felt repeated twinges. Something about Alex Cadence was eerily familiar.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head but continued frowning. “Have we met before? Something about you seems awfully familiar.”

  “Maybe it’s my voice. People think I sound like Clint Black or one of those other country and western singers.”

  Sara’s mouth puckered into a rosebud. Alex laughed at the change in her expression, ducking his head and again covering his mouth with a gloved hand.

  He certainly seemed self-conscious about his mouth or his teeth or something. Funny, Libby hadn’t mentioned any defects.

  “No,” she said, “that’s not it. I’m usually pretty good at accents. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m Oklahoma born and bred. How about you?” As he asked, he shifted to the front edge of his chair, so close to her that their knees bumped.

  She could feel him peering into her face, saw the movement as he rocked forward and put his elbows on his knees before he began removing his gloves, slowly, deliberately.

  Feeling his breath, she glanced up. His face was so close that she inched back, stiffening. Why did he seem so familiar? Despite his denial, he seemed to feel it too.

  “What exactly do you mean by ‘Deprivation’?” she asked.

  He smiled into her face, allowing her first glimpse of his perfect teeth. No reason to be self-conscious about those.

  Her heart leaped into her throat.


  She’d seen those teeth, close up, before.

  She knew this guy.

  Her mouth tasted tinny and her breathing quickened as his voice droned. “Adjusting to major changes in lifestyle. Doing without everyday comforts. Scratching a living from the land to survive.”

  Sara struggled to maintain her professional demeanor, to fend off the barrage of breathless memories as she stared at his eyes--twin wells of darkness.

  She glanced down and did a double take when she saw his hands, free of the gloves--big hands, but the hair on them was dark, no longer sun-bleached, as she remembered.

  Rattled, she frowned, at first scarcely noticing as his hands carefully, almost weightlessly settled on her knees.

  He was speaking in low, hypnotic tones, droning on about trapping small animals, killing, and cleaning, and cooking them. His voice resonated, soothing her as she watched his fingers walk down the outsides of her knees and slither beneath to the sensitive, sensuous undersides.

  Tears stung and she swiped the back of her hand over her eyes trying to clear them. In spite of her blurred vision, things were suddenly coming clear as a random thought wobbled through her mind: Bo knows all the right buttons.

  Her own words sauntered dreamily around in her brain while a little, mindless whine escaped from between her own tightly clenched lips.

  Stanton Rezabec, bellowing like an injured bull, stormed into the work area he and Sara shared.

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sara frowned at Rezabec, but didn’t move, not wanting to interrupt the professor’s rhythmic words. Cadence straightened in his chair, removing his hands from her knees. He flashed Rezabec a polite dismissive smile, turned his attention back to Sara, and removed his glasses.

  Gazing into his eyes, Sara inhaled abruptly, unable to force her attention back to the blustering Rezabec.

  Apparently annoyed at Sara’s cool reception, Stanton slapped his notebook on his desk and stalked out of the cubicle, his tread audible as he tromped to the break room.

  “Dr. Cadence,” Sara asked in a hollow voice, “do you have a middle initial?”