The Trouble with Magic (Loveswept) (9 page)

“Almost?”

“Career wise, I mean. I still wanted a husband and children, but as it turned out, it was just as well I didn’t have them.”

“What happened?”

She laughed. “I got a big head. I thought I was smart. I believed in myself and I trusted someone.” He attempted to turn his head to look at her but couldn’t quite make it. “Lie still. It’ll be easier to tell you, if I don’t have to look at you.”

“Okay.”

“The first few years were great. I was part of a team working on a new, safer anticoagulant. For thromboplastic disease mostly, like for coronary patients, stroke patients, diabetics—it can be used for a variety of clotting disorders—a great drug, and in pharmaceutical circles it caused quite a stir, let me tell you.” He made a noise, and she continued. “We were semicelebrities, and I was gobbling it up like a pig. I got another job offer from a company in New York, a bigger company with bigger projects and bigger pay. I gobbled that up too.”

She took a deep breath and forged on.

“At first they had me doing odds and ends. Isolating and growing viruses; for a while I had a whole lab full of controls—animals that were control studies in lab experiments. All I did was feed them and clean their cages, basic stuff a lab attendant could do. It was completely beneath me,” she said, being facetious now but able to recall how indignant she’d been at the time. “One great day, though, I was called upstairs to the director’s office. He introduced me to Dr. Maxwell Goldtharpe. He is a brilliant scientist. He’s been nominated for the Nobel Prize twice. Someday he’ll win it, too, wait and see. But anyway, they had enticed him away from another company as well, and he wanted me to work with him. It was a great honor, and I was thrilled. But accepting the position was a big mistake.”

“How so?”

“Max and I fell in love—well, more accurately, I guess I fell in love with Max. I respected him, admired him, thought he was a savior to mankind. And he trusted me. I got my own lab and my own project—a bacterial enzyme that we hoped would either poison or retard the growth of cancer cells.”

“Must be nice, working to cure the world’s ills.”

“It’s more like looking for cures and getting disappointed a lot when you don’t find them.”

“So, your big project was a dud.”

“My project was a great success, except that the chemical formula used to grow and sustain the bacteria that produced the enzyme was stolen from another company.”

“Max’s old company?”

“It was addressed to me, and I signed for it when it arrived by special courier. The sender was conveniently unnamed, except for the name of the company. It was kept in the vault, and I was the only one to check it in and out, because I was the only one working on the project. It was kept under wraps because Max was afraid that any publicity would make it a target for theft.”

“But then it got out,” he suggested.

“At a Christmas party Max had been invited to by some of his old friends at the other company. He took me, and we got separated for a while. The long and the short of it is that I got stuck with a drooling drunk who started telling me about how close he and his pals were to making a breakthrough on a chemically mutated bacterial enzyme to combat cancer cells.”

“Sit up a second,” Payton said. She did, and before she realized what he was doing, he’d rolled onto his back. She moved to get off him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrists, pulling them down to his chest. “Pecs, too, please,” he said, acting as if a woman sitting on his pelvis was a common occurrence.

Maybe it was, she thought, disturbed. Maybe he had more women than he knew what to do with already. Mr. DeLuca hadn’t said much about it, other than that Payton’s social activities indicated that he was heterosexual and there didn’t appear to be a special relationship with any one woman. What if he loved many women and couldn’t settle for one? What were his other women like? Beautiful? Charming? Not like her?

“So the other guy’s project sounded familiar, right?”

“Like ten-months-of-my-life familiar,” she said, kneading the muscles in his neck, chest, and upper arms. “So then, I confronted Max with what I’d heard. Another big mistake.”

“Why?” he asked, watching her intently. He was neither condemning nor sympathetic, merely interested, and that made it easier to tell him.

“Max told me it was garbage. That my project must have been leaked somehow, and the man at the party was trying to get information from me or he was working on something similar by coincidence.”

“And you believed him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course, I did. I had no reason not to until the police showed up to arrest me.” A sad smile came to her lips. “It was decided that I had an accomplice inside Cole Pharmaceutical, who stole the formula and bacteria for me. Max’s memory became amazingly selective. He could remember that I was very secretive about my project and would tell him only the bare essentials. He couldn’t remember assigning me the project or any of the hundreds of conversations we had about it, only that I’d begged him to trust me with an idea I had and, of course, he being the brilliant scientist and me being very promising, he’d been willing to give me a chance to work on my own. And who do you think the jury believed?”

“The brilliant scientist, Max.”

“I was convicted of industrial espionage and grand theft, and sentenced to three years in prison.”

“Three years?” He frowned. “You weren’t in that long.”

“Eighteen months with good behavior and eighteen months probation,” she said, engrossed in massaging the muscles of his left arm. “I see a probation officer every other week now, though how they expect me to go back to my wicked ways when I can’t get past the reception desk of a generic drug manufacturer, I have no idea.”

He laughed, and she glared at him.

“My career is ruined and you’re amused?”

“Not at all,” he said, looking remarkably diverted. “It’s just that you don’t seem as mad about it as, say, I would be. I’d be on a blood hunt.”

She nodded, flinging her braid back with a toss of her head, switching to his right arm. “I was bitter. Through the trial and during the first twelve months in prison. I wanted blood. I used to lie awake at night, dreaming of ways to expose Max and destroy his life.” She sat back thoughtfully, resting her hands on her thighs. “Toward the end, though, I just wanted to get out and get my life back. I was tired of defending myself, of blaming myself, of hating Max and the rest of the world as well. All I wanted was my life.”

“But you lost that when they convicted you.”

She looked surprised. “No, I didn’t. I lost my career. Something that interested me, excited me; something I enjoyed doing, but it was never my whole life. And I still have the interest and enjoyment of what attracted me to biochemistry in the first place, in teaching.”

“Then, by life you mean marriage and kids.”

“I mean loving, living, learning, listening, looking, laughing.” She chuckled. “All them great
L
words.”

“And what was it that attracted you to biochemistry in the first place?” he asked, his hands coming to rest naturally on her forearms.

She shrugged, feeling a belated awkwardness in her position. “Biology was my first love. I’m fascinated by the way everything from one-cell organisms to man and the universe are all intricately related and interdependent. It’s all held together chemically and it only takes one wrong chemical to destroy it.”

“And do you like teaching it as well as researching it?” he asked, his voice gentle and caring, his hands slipping down to cover hers.

“I didn’t think I would, but I do. It’s a very small, undistinguished college, but I like lighting fires under my students, sparking their interest, fanning their enthusiasm and imagination.”

“There’s no fame or glory in it,” he pointed out.

“I had more than my share during the trial.” She watched his fingers entwine with hers. Understanding. Reassuring. Sensuous. “I don’t need or want it in my life anymore.”

He lifted their hands from her thighs and made a slow examination of the shape and size of her fingers, her nails, the way they curled around his.

“What is it you do want and need in your life, Harri?” he asked almost absently, a faraway expression softening the hard contours of his face. His gaze locked with hers.

Should she be honest or philosophical, she mused, watching him watch her.

“Someone to love,” she said simply.

A wry smile twisted his perfect mouth. “And your island.”

He brushed the soft skin between her thumb and index finger, dispatching a thousand prickling thrills up her arm.

“That too,” she said, feeling winded, spellbound by the sensations he was creating. “But not as much.”

Her eyes widened with fanciful prospects when he slowly licked his bottom lip and even more slowly pulled it through his even white teeth. Without warning, he extended his arms to their full length, taking her hands with him, crushing her chest to his chest, bringing her face to within inches of his.

“What will it feel like, Harri? How will we know when it’s happening?” he asked, as breathless as she.

“What?” Her voice was a panting whisper; her heart an erratic pounding in her ears; her belly and below spiraling with excitement and expectation.

“The magic,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. “How will we know when it’s taking effect? You’ve been in love. What will it feel like?”

His eyes asked the same questions, profound in their need to know.

“I don’t know,” she said, mesmerized.

A simultaneous tug on both her arms brought her lips to his. He took her lower lip between his teeth as he had his own moments earlier. He sipped and nibbled. He flicked his tongue against her upper lip, brushed his lips across hers lightly. Openmouthed, she grazed her lips across his in the same manner. His moan of pleasure filled her empty mouth before he covered it with his.

Instinctively, the hollow void inside her sought fulfillment. Her tongue met his on equal terms, with equal need and equal promise.

His hands released hers to wander untamed over her body, to squeeze her tightly to him. She clenched fists full of dark hair, pulling him closer, sinking deeper and deeper into the kiss until he rolled her beneath him, parting her legs with his, using his knee to apply pressure to the sharpest point of her aching desire.

Hot and panting, she felt him setting stray wisps of curling hair away from her face with a tender touch. Her eyes opened to a picture of wonderment in mossy green. In his eyes she could see the amazement, the passion, and the longing that were clouding her own mind.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she said with a gasp, wishing she had one good reason not to.

“Too late. We’re doing it,” he said, his breathing rapid, his body strained with wanting as he attempted to kiss her again.

“No. This isn’t right.”

“Feels right to me.”

“It’s not. We hardly know each other.”

“We know we want each other.”

“That’s not enough,” she said, palms on his chest, pushing him away. “Mr. Dunsmore. Please.”

“What?” he said, promptly pulling away as if she’d slapped him. “Mr. Dunsmore?” For a moment he looked at her as if he’d been deceived, then he rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed. “Why is it so damned difficult for you to say my name?” he asked. He turned to look at her. “Pay-ton. Say it.”

“Payton.”

“Good. Don’t called me Mr. Dunsmore anymore,” he said.

“All right,” she said, casting him a wary eye from the other side of the bed.

“Thank you for your help,” he said, dismissing her, unable to look at her, barely able to tolerate her presence. “I can manage from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“What?” he snapped, daring her to be foolish enough to repeat the question. She circled the bed.

“Well, I ... I’m concerned about you. I want to help.”

“Then go away,” he said, turning away from her.

“You should eat something.”

“You should leave me be. Now.”

What was she doing to him? he pondered in the silence that followed her departure from the room. Teasing and happy one minute, testy and foul-tempered the next—with no good explanation for either disposition. One instant he wanted to taste her from head to toe like a Popsicle, and the next, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. There were times when he actually liked the woman, but at the moment he didn’t trust her any farther than he could throw her with both his arms broken—and
that
made him angry because he
wanted
to trust her, get close to her, know her.

Somewhere deep within him something resented her patience and kindness, hated her uncomplaining willingness to care for him, cringed at her gentle touch.

He’d meant what he said, he didn’t want her addressing him formally anymore—though why he gave a damn what she called him was totally beyond him.

His burst of temper, her passiveness, the unexpected storm of confusion and turmoil inside him, the soft scent of lilac, and an unfamiliar sensation of frustration grated his nerves raw.

He punched the pillow next to his face and squelched an urge to scream. What was happening? He didn’t know the name of the game he was playing, but he knew he didn’t like it. He always played for high stakes, but he sensed that they were dangerously too high this time. He never played games unless he was sure to win. He felt lost.

A chuckle gathered at the back of his throat, and a smile twisted his lips despite his furrowed brow. Dammit. Teasing and heckling Harriet Wheaton was more soul-tickling fun than anything he’d done in years. Lord! She was gullible and sweet and gentle and giving and caring and nice to look at and heaven to smell, and her kisses were like sweet, warm wine and ...

“Payton?” came a soft, tentative whisper.

“Hmm?” He was glad she’d come back. Elated.

“I’m leaving a little bell here beside the bed,” she said timidly. “In case you need anything. And some fruit, in case you get hungry.”

Aw, hell. The apprehension in her voice was like a kick in his gut. He wanted to leap up, take her into his arms, kiss her, and beg for her forgiveness. He cursed his rude tongue, and then wondered if he was losing his mind.