A Find Through Time

by Marianne Petit

  “It’s an ego thing. He just likes seeing his name in the paper.” Roy’s mouth crimped.

  “Don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Like seeing your name in the paper.”

  For a moment, he regarded her quizzically. “That’s part of the job. Comes with the territory. Anyway, we were talking about you.”

  “Changing the subject, are you?” Her brows rose. “How does it feel to have someone interrogate you?”

  Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Point taken.”

  “Great. So stop following me around.”

  “I will if you’re up front with me. Tell me what I want to know. Spend time with me out in the open.”

  God. She’d love to get her hands on his face. She blushed. To sculpt, she reassured herself. “I can’t. After the last fiasco I could lose my job if anyone from the university staff sees us talking.” She glanced away.

  “Oh, that ridiculous line again. That's water under the bridge. Old news. What are you working on this time?” He examined her face, waited for an explanation. His eyes were so chocolaty brown-and she loved chocolate.

  Her stance straightened defensively. “Yeah, well, maybe it got you front page news, but the university was left with egg on its face and a year without funding for future projects. It was hell. Do you know what it's like to have everything you do approved and scrutinized? It's like living under a microscope.”

  Roy shrugged. “Lighten up. It wasn't your fault. How were you supposed to know the information you gave me was falsified? Damn. I've never met anyone so uptight about their job. Come on, relax a little. I didn't mean to get you so riled up.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  His warm palm sent a wave of tingling electricity through her. No. Don’t get involved. You’ll only get hurt again. Gabrielle stepped back, fighting the strong magnetic pull drawing her to him.

  “You think I get to choose my own stories?” Roy stepped closer. The earthy scent of musk cologne wafted across her face.

  “Hell, you gotta be on top for that.”

  On top? Gabrielle’s heart pounded and she prayed her face wouldn’t give away her erotic thoughts.

  With a deliberately casual movement, he leaned in. His face only inches from hers, Gabrielle’s breath caught. She stared at his perfectly formed lips.

  “Besides, it wasn't like I wasn't offered that story. You guys offered it to me. Remember?” His breath blew warm against her cheeks. “I print what I see.” He held his fingers up. “I quote, ‘sixteenth dynasty statue found. One of a kind. Said to belong to Egyptian king.’ End of quote.”

  Those eyes. She could get lost in their dark depths. Her palms clammy, her breathing labored, she took an unsteady whiff of air.

  “You had no way of knowing it was all a hoax planted by some overly desperate guy looking to keep his department open,” he said, his voice, seductively soft. His closeness made her head spin.

  He was right, of course. Still, reporters were banned from all future projects until the staff was certain their finds were legit.

  His breath mingled with hers and her pulse raced.

  And, like him or not, she sure as hell wasn't going to jeopardize her job talking to him.

  “Look.” She took a step back. “I don't have time to stand here and argue with you about past mistakes. I have to get back to work.” She started to turn.

  He grabbed her wrist.

  The muscles in his arm corded. His stance grew taut. Again her stomach quaked. His touch seemed oddly familiar, somehow comforting. It felt stronger than merely just two people who had met before and were somewhat attracted to each other. No, this underlying force of attraction seemed deeper, like she had known him well-loved him before.

  She blinked, baffled. This was utterly insane. She twisted her hand from his grip.

  “I’ve got to go.” She spun on her heel in dazed exasperation and headed back to the tent.

  “I know my stuff. There's a story here, all right.” He skirted around her. “And by the way, I do know what it's like.” He stepped in front of her blocking her way.

  His gaze traveled seductively over her face and searched her eyes.

  “Not too proud, are you?” she asked.

  “Just honest.” Again he stepped closer. Their eyes locked. An invisible force of electricity seemed to spark between them, drawing them closer and closer. Yearning radiated off his face like heat from a roaring fire. He was going to kiss her. The thought sent her heart into a panic. She blinked, then abruptly stepped aside.

  Both gazes froze on one another. She had the feeling Roy was as stunned by the deep attraction surging between them as she was.

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

  He cleared his throat. “Now about that-”

  “Please, don't ask,” she silenced him before he had a chance to finish his sentence. “I can't tell you anything.”

  Grinning, he held out his hand. “At least keep the flowers.”

  Damn. He had such straight white teeth. She hesitated. God, they’re only flowers, not a proposal. She took his peace offering, “Thanks.” Then backed away. “What's with the earring? Going for a new look?”

  “Now, don't you go and start too.” He rolled his gaze to the sky and shook his head. “I'm still smarting from the jokes my coworkers ground into my hide.” He brought his hand to his ear, fingering the dangling turquoise and silver feather.

  “I don't have the foggiest notion why I did it.” His brow crunched and his eyes held a look of puzzlement. “I was passing this store, went inside, and before I knew it I was letting some woman puncture my ear. I bought this too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a beaded neck band. “Not exactly me, is it?”

  “Well, do you have a dog? You could use it as a collar.”

  The huskiness of his laugh lingered in the air between them. “What are you, some kind of heyoka?” he asked.

  “A what?”

  A disturbed expression crept across his face as he stared at her in silence. “Clown. It's the Sioux word for clown

  “Only…” He shook his head. “I don't know how I knew that.”

  ****

  Roy stared at Gabrielle, studying her face for a reaction. She reminded him of the Ivory Soap commercials, the ones where the women always had that clean, fresh outdoorsy-looking aura. Even in those baggy shorts and T-shirt she couldn't hide that shapely figure, nor that drop-dead pair of legs. “I must have picked the word up somewhere. I probably read the translation from an article.” Boy, he was way overdue for a physical.

  Gabrielle shrugged. “I guess.”

  There was something in those baby blues of hers. Something he had never seen before. An intense lure, an abysmal connection that hit him squarely in the gut.”

  Look. I’ve got to get back to work.” She turned.

  “No. Wait.” God, her eyes were so clear he could swear he was looking into glass. A few strands of ebony hair fell to her cheek. She brushed the locks away, leaving a smudge of dirt on her face. What he wouldn't give to be able to wet his finger and wipe that mark away.

  He cleared his throat, brought his mind back to the conversation. “Let me take you dancing sometimes.”

  He'd trade a dozen of those phony plastic women he had met at his father's club, for just one of her.

  Her gaze darted. A familiar emptiness, nibbled at his soul. She wasn't going to say yes. “Or, how about a cup of coffee?” It seemed his playboy, reputation preceded him. Past mistakes weren’t easily erased.

  “A quick cup, nothing more.”

  “I'm sorry,” she said softly.

  Rejection punched his chest like a solid fist, mid-center. Hell, last thing he needed in his life was a complication. He straightened his shoulders. And she was an emotional minefield.

  “I’m in the middle of a project. I can’t leave.”

  “Thought you’d say that, so I took the liberty....”

  Before she had a chance to argu
e he grabbed her hand.

  “What?”

  “Just come with me for a second.”

  “Roy, I-”

  “Don’t make me haul you over my shoulder,” he teased.

  Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Just walk over there.” He pointed to a tent a few yards from the one she’d been working in. “I’d like to show you something.”

  She slipped her hand from his, hesitated, then moved in the indicated direction. Her steps slow, she seemed to ponder her decision.

  Roy quickly stepped beside her and reached the tent before she did. He opened the flap, gestured her in and followed behind.

  A soft gasp escaped her. “What in the world?” She stared at the set table and chairs in the middle of the tent. “China? Silver? I… I don’t know what to say.” Intense astonishment lit her luminous eyes. “I… How did you-”

  “I bribed the guard at the gate and swore I was on an unofficial call. In fact, I had to give him my camera, which, I might add, is like giving up my right arm; so… what’ll you say?”

  She bit her lip, debating. “You swear on your precious camera, no shop talk?”

  “Cross my heart. No questions.”

  “Well.” An uncertainty crept into her expression. She glanced to the table, then back at him. “You went through so much trouble… but only for a few minutes. I can’t-”

  “I know, be seen with me. I understand.”

  They walked over. He pulled out her chair and she sat.

  He settled into the opposite seat. “So. Tell me about yourself.”

  “What? You don’t know everything?” She smiled.

  “Not the important things.” Roy picked up the coffee pot and poured. She teased him. That was a good sign. “Sugar?”

  “Just milk. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Her spoon clinked the inside of her cup as she stirred.

  Roy took a sip of coffee. He studied her face over the rim of his cup. No makeup, not a stitch. A natural beauty. This was the first time he’d ever been with a woman who hadn’t plastered herself with makeup. He liked it. Liked it a lot.

  “Well mister reporter man, what do you want to know? Time’s ticking.” She tapped her watch. Though her tone was light, he sensed her unease.

  Damn. She was beautiful. A hot wave of desire swept across his body. “Your family. What are they like?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about them.” A shadow of annoyance puckered her lips. She picked up her cup, her gaze fixed on the coffee inside.

  “I can understand that.” Seems they shared the same feelings. Last thing he’d want to do was spill his guts over a cup of coffee.

  She glanced up. A flicker of relief crossed her face.

  “Traveling. You’ve done a lot of traveling with your job.”

  Her cup hit the saucer with a clink. “You promised no-”

  “I was just going to ask what your favorite place was.”

  “Oh.”

  Was that a blush beneath that dark tan?

  “Strawberry?” He held out the plate.

  She took a berry...

  “Egypt. India. Africa. It’s too hard to choose I guess.”

  ...took an erotic bite.

  “Your childhood must have been amazing.” He placed the plate to the table.

  Her lids dropped, as did her facial expression.

  “What, did I say something wrong?”

  Their gaze met and he swore he saw a sadness cloud those lovely blues.

  “The same as any other girl.” She shrugged. “My life.” She fidgeted in her seat.

  “No way. Camping out under the stars, campfires, living in the open. A- kid’s dream.”

  “Maybe some. Not mine,” she said in a voice that seemed to come from a long way off.

  “What was it like?”

  “Lonely.”

  He placed his hand on her’s. His heart hammered foolishly. A surge of blood shot to his groin.

  Her breath quickened. She slipped her fingers away. “You must have had a great childhood, private jet, yacht, all those big fancy parties and galas one reads about in the gossip column. Like I said, I just read that your father donated a large sum of money to a relief fund for some flood victims. Paper portrayed him as quite a hero.”

  The speed of her voice-the nervous flutter of her hand-he was getting to her. “One shouldn’t believe what one reads in the paper,” he said, keeping his tone light, though the very mention of his father was pushing the pleasure of this moment away.

  She grinned. “And this from a reporter?”

  Her smile more intoxicating than a bottle of Dom Perignon, he felt a tug, a tightening sensation of arousal. He shifted his weight, making himself more comfortable.

  “I would have given anything to live in a big fancy house...”

  Staring at her luscious lips, it was getting difficult to concentrate on her words.

  “... live under any roof for a long period.” She took a sip of coffee.

  “And I would have given anything to get out from under it.” The words slipped from his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

  An awkward silence hung between them.

  “Boring. My childhood was boring.” Damn. Had he just said that? His mouth, felt dry, like old brittle paper. He reached for his cup and took a drink.

  “Oh.”

  Again the silence.

  She glanced away, then back at him. “Make believe.”

  Said so softly, her words were barely audible. “What?”

  “After my parents would dig up some ancient relic, I used to fantasize about living in that time period. I’d image whose hands crafted the vase or statue, imagine what it would be like to travel back in time. Silly, huh?”

  “No.” Even her blush was an erotic turn on. “We all have our own way of escaping. Seems we have more in common than you thought. What are you working on now?”

  She frowned. “You promised.”

  “For fun. What kind of piece are you sculpting-working on in your leisure.”

  “How did you know I-”

  He grinned. “I haven’t been peeping through your window, if that’s what you’re thinking. I happened to be doing some research in the library last week and overheard you talking with the librarian.”

  “A little boy. I’m working on a little boy and his dog.”

  Lightly he touched her fingers. “Maybe sometime you could show me.”

  The air grew thicker with palpable tension.

  “Maybe.” She pushed back her chair. “Look this has been nice, but I’ve got to get-”

  “Back. I know.” He stood and they walked in silence toward the opening.

  “You’re not hiding the Abominable Snowman or some frozen caveman back in your tent are you?” Hell, he had to say something to lighten the mood.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Bingo! Her eyes darted from his for just a second. Maybe he’d hit on something.

  “This was lovely.”

  Yes, you are. He took her hand. Squeezed her fingers lightly. “Promise me I wouldn’t have to wait another six months to get a little of your time. OK?”

  “Thanks for the coffee… the talk. I’ve really-”

  “Go.” He let go of her hand and flipped up the tent flap. “I gotta get my camera anyway. I’m starting to feel a little lost without it.”

  Gabrielle stepped outside. She turned back, glanced at him and the sunlight hit her face, reminding him of the dream he’d had last night. Indians. He'd dreamt of Indians. Long hair flowing past their shoulders, chests and faces painted in blacks and grays, they were engaged in some kind of battle. And there, standing in the middle of all the commotion, stood Gabrielle. Dressed in a white beaded leather dress and moccasins, she looked angelic, a contrast to the devastation and ugliness around her. Then it was snowing; yet he got the feeling that it was summer.<
br />
  ****

  Gabrielle whipped open the tent flap and came within inches of whipping George in the face. Obviously, he had been spying on her. Again she realized how much she hated having no privacy.

  “I see you dumped the newspaper man.”

  “I didn't dump him,” she said sharply. She chewed the inside of her lip. Sitting there sipping coffee, eating strawberries, feeling the intense attraction pulling at her, she had to restrain herself from bolting from the table. Why did he have to be so nice? Irritable, restless, she turned away not waiting for a response.

  George followed behind her as she stepped around her workbench, dropped the flowers to the table, then plopped into the chair, facing him.

  Men were emotional disasters. No matter how cute. A gamut of perplexing emotions pummeling her mind, she stared absent-mindedly at the tent’s opening. Why in the world did I agree to have coffee with him? She rubbed her forehead. Tension throbbed beneath her fingertips. It had always been a professional relationship between them uncluttered with emotional garbage. Clean. Cut. She kept her distance. He did his job. So, why now? Why was her heart acting so foolishly? She didn’t have the time-or the need-or the want, for that matter, for this foolishness.

  She breathed in sharply. Now he wants more- more than I can give. Her chest felt as though it would burst and the need to run.- to get away from her mother, Roy, her own remembered past, seemed to be stretching her nerves to a frazzled, thinning cord.

  “Hey,” George pointed at something behind her. “Why'd ya make that face to look like you?”

  “What?” Gabrielle spun around and stared at the skull. He had to be imagining things. Or was he? She took a closer look. The blood drained from her face. My God, it did resemble her!

  A claustrophobic panic rioted within her. She dug her fingers in the table’s edge, blinked, and stared harder. Except for the nose, which was straight and fuller than her own, the damn thing looked too much like her. Why hadn't she seen that before?

  The first thing that flashed through her head was a picture of her boss pacing. She could hear it now. He'd be rambling nonstop. “How could you have done such a stupid thing? Your own image? What am I supposed to think?” In fact, he'd be yelling, “What is the board going to think? How is this going to look for the university?”