Nerds Are From Mars

by Vicki Thompson

  He paced in front of the fireplace. “It makes sense.”

  “Is Jan attractive?”

  “She’s not ugly, but there’s nothing remarkable about her. She’s stocky and kind of plain.”

  “Well, there you go. I can’t prove anything, so I realize this may not be the kind of evidence that would hold up in a court of law, but I’ve studied her chart. She has an addictive personality, so –”

  “Drugs? That would explain a lot. She had a terrible time giving up smoking, so maybe she turned to something worse. Maybe Blackstone supplied her with drugs.”

  “I think it’s much simpler than that. I think she fixated on Blackstone. He convinced her she was a goddess and had hot sex with her to the point she became addicted to that and to him.”

  Nolan stopped pacing to gaze at her. “Unfortunately, I can see that happening.”

  “Men like Blackstone can have tremendous power over a woman like Jan. He might have promised her things – marriage, undying love, who knows? She became his slave who would do anything for him, including setting up an explosion that would take out the lab and you, thus guaranteeing Sterling’s team would win the race to Mars.”

  “But we’re still totally without evidence.”

  “That’s right, unless she breaks down and confesses when they locate her.”

  Nolan thought about the Jan he’d known while they’d worked together. “If you’re right, and you may well be, she’s not going to crack under pressure. She has a stubborn streak.”

  “I know. I saw that in the chart, too. If she doesn’t confess, it’ll be tough to implicate Blackstone.”

  Maybe Nolan was too stressed to think clearly, but the more he considered Darcie’s evaluation, the more plausible it became. He stopped pacing and looked at her. “Then we’ll have to figure out a way to nail him ourselves.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Although Darcie believed every word she’d said to Nolan, the responsibility that came with those words nagged at her. She’d accused a distinguished scientist of plotting to murder a colleague. Did she have enough knowledge, or even the right, to do such a thing? What if she was wrong?

  She gazed up at Nolan. “I’m basing this on my reading of Jan’s chart, which I’ll stand by, but I’m also basing it on intuition. Now that I’ve said it out loud, I realize that if we act on my intuition and I’m wrong, we could be in deep shit. Blackstone could sue the pants off both of us. Talk about risking our professional reputations. We’d be ruined.”

  Shoving his hands in the pockets of his gray sweat pants, he studied her for several long seconds. “Earlier today, your intuition saved us from being fried to a crisp. Am I right?”

  “Yes, but –”

  “I admit I was a tough sell at first, but that little incident at the lab this afternoon made a believer out of me. I trust your intuition. I’d be a fool not to. If your intuition tells you that Jan worked with Blackstone and Blackstone is out to get me, I’ll go with it.”

  His faith in her was both humbling and scary. It was slightly possible that he believed in her more than she believed in herself. “Then where should we go from here?”

  “We’ll hope that Fagan’s team catches up with Jan very soon and that she sings like a canary. Then Fagan will nab Blackstone, and we can return to our regularly scheduled program.”

  “What if she doesn’t talk? If I’m right, she’ll cling to her fantasy about Blackstone because it’s all she has to justify what she’s done. Should you tell Fagan what you know about Blackstone’s connection to her?”

  He turned and stared into the fire for several long minutes. Finally he faced her again. “I’d rather not. If Fagan goes straight to Blackstone, or even Sterling, then Blackstone could deny ever knowing Jan, but he’d be alerted to the danger and would have time to cover his tracks.”

  She nodded. “He might be able to.”

  “On the other hand, if Fagan sends his team to find evidence of that connection without alerting Sterling or Blackstone, that will take time. In the interim, Jan might find a way to warn him and he’d do whatever he had to in order to shift the blame. I don’t want to give him any room to maneuver. I want him to think he got away with it so he won’t take any defensive action. Then we nail him.”

  Darcie shivered at the thought of confronting Blackstone if he was, in fact, capable of plotting a murder. She believed he was. But that meant that as long as he remained free, Nolan’s life was in danger. “I’m with you on that.”

  “Then we’ll wait to see what happens when they catch Jan. But if she doesn’t confess, then I plan to ask Fagan to let us act on the information you’ve gained from the chart. He might want to keep us here, but we can’t operate from Harcourt Castle. We have to convince him to let us do our thing.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So does that cover everything? Can we move on?”

  She smiled. “To what?”

  “Your spinach soufflé, for one thing.” He gestured toward the dish she’d set on the end table beside her. “Still want it?”

  “Yes.” She discovered that she was starving. “Please.”

  “It’s cold. I’m sure we could find a minion to warm it for you.”

  “No minions. I’m happy to eat it cold. This is quite a setup, but I couldn’t live like this with people running in and out of your private space all the time. Did you lock the door?” She’d been so absorbed in her theories that she hadn’t noticed.

  “I did. I even found an elegant Do Not Disturb sign for the door, but I didn’t hang it out there because we want them to contact us if Fagan’s team finds Jan.”

  “Should we clarify that before we settle in for the night?”

  “Yeah.” But he didn’t walk over to the intercom. Instead he continued to stand there watching her with a tender warmth in his eyes.

  “What?”

  He took a long, slow, breath. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  “After what we’ve been through, you can tell me anything.”

  “Let me think about it.” Breaking eye contact, he walked over to the intercom by the door and pushed the button. “Captain Kirk to Mr. Spock. Come in, Spock.”

  Darcie almost choked on her mouthful of soufflé.

  “Pardon me?” The Page sounded startled. “Is that you, Dr. Bradbury?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, if you hear from Fagan or any member of his security team that they’ve located Jan Upton, would you let us know immediately? We don’t care what time it is.”

  “I’d be happy to, Dr. Bradbury. Would you rather we signaled you through the intercom or knocked on your door?”

  “The intercom’s fine. But however you do it, make sure it’s loud. I’m a sound sleeper.”

  “We use harpsichord music, sir.”

  “Then crank it up.”

  “I’ll do that, Dr. Bradbury. Have a good night.”

  “I plan to.” He ended the connection and walked over to the fireplace with the bottle of wine from the dungeon and their two goblets. “Now where were we?”

  She finished eating the last bite of the soufflé, which was excellent, even cold. “You were going to tell me what you were thinking about while you were staring at me, Captain Kirk.”

  His dimples flashed. “I thought you weren’t into Star Trek.”

  “I’m not.” She put her dish on the end table. “But everyone knows who James T. Kirk is, even the uninitiated like me. So what were you thinking a moment ago?”

  “Maybe it’s better left for another time. Want some wine?”

  “Sure, but Nolan, there is no better time. We’re in waiting mode until something happens with Fagan’s team. We’re in a lull before the storm. Besides, if you don’t tell me, I’ll be wondering about it all night.” She gave him a sly smile. “It could completely distract me from . . . other things.”

  He poured them each a glass of wine and set the bottle on the mantle. “Can’t have that. Is there room for me on that tiny couch?”<
br />
  “Of course.” She moved into the corner and took the wine he handed her.

  He sat down, and when he turned to face her, their knees touched. “Cozy.”

  She watched him over the rim of her wine glass. “Perfect for an intimate conversation.”

  “Yeah.” His gaze held hers. “It was when you said before we settle in for the night. It sounded so, I don’t know, domestic.”

  Her heart beat faster, both with anticipation and a touch of fear. The fear prompted her to make a joke. “Wanna play house?”

  “Yes.”

  She gulped.

  “And that expression on your face is exactly why I’d decided not to say what I was thinking. It’s too soon. And you look terrified.”

  “Because I am.” She took a quick drink of her wine.

  “Me, too,” he said softly. “Me, too, Darcie. I want to be with you, and part of it’s sex, but part of it’s . . . something else.”

  Her heart was really racing, now, enough to make her tremble.

  “Let me take that before you spill it.” He reached for her glass.

  She let him have it, because she was in danger of dripping wine all over this borrowed sweat suit. The velour might be red, but that wouldn’t hide the stain if she spilled wine on it.

  He turned and put both their glasses on his end table. Then he looked at her and cleared his throat. “People throw words around, sometimes long before they should be said, and I . . . don’t want to do that.”

  She shook her head. “Me, either.”

  “And we’ve been together in a luxury hotel and now in a goddamned castle. That’s not real life.”

  Her vocal cords weren’t working really well, but she managed a brief nope.

  “We don’t know yet how we’d be in a normal situation, without things blowing up and people trying to kill me.”

  She relaxed a little. Yes, she thought they might be star-crossed lovers, but she’d figured they’d ease into it over the course of weeks and months. That way they could work out their issues related to needing their individual space. Space. Ha. She hadn’t put that together before, but he was all about space. And so was she, in both contexts.

  He sighed. “That said, whenever I look at you, I . . . I see . . .” He paused and shook his head. “I’m going to stop before I freak us both out. But now you know why I was standing there watching you with a goofy expression on my face a while ago.”

  Her throat felt tight. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Don’t be scared, Darcie. I won’t embarrass you by saying or doing something stupid.”

  Now that he’d backed away from what she’d thought he might be on the verge of saying, she felt oddly deflated. If he’d taken the plunge, it would have been scary as hell, but it would have been exhilarating, too, sort of like the ride in his Firebird.

  He was right to be cautious when it came to their emotional involvement, though. That was the sensible course of action, a Virgo move if she’d ever seen one. They had been thrown together under unusual circumstances, and when that situation ended, they could try a more normal approach to a relationship – like dating, for instance.

  “Want your wine back?”

  She sensed an alternative in that question. “Or what?”

  “Or, as long as we’re still living this fantasy, would you like to make use of that enormous bed?”

  Adrenaline of a different kind surged through her. Emotional closeness might scare the stuffing out of her, but physical closeness with this man was nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure. She stood and held out her hand. “The wine’s not going anywhere. Let’s go work up a thirst.”

  “Good choice.” His grip was firm. He took off his glasses and set them on the end table. When his gaze met hers, they burned with an intensity that held no caution whatsoever. He might not be a daredevil when it came to his heart, but he was a daredevil in this.

  Once again he swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bed where he tossed her on the mattress with such force that she bounced. Laughing, she kicked off her shoes, but she had no idea where they landed.

  Not bothering with the zipper, he’d pulled his jacket over his head and pitched it to the floor. Then he crawled onto the mattress. “I’ll have my way with thee, wench,” he growled as he peppered her face with kisses. “Dost thou yield?”

  “Oh, definitely.” Still laughing, she thrust both hands inside the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and his briefs and grasped his thick penis. “Dost thou yield, sir?”

  He paused in his frenzied kissing routine and groaned. “Thou dost toy with my member.”

  “Uh-huh.” She continued to fondle him as his breathing grew labored.

  “Halt.” Sitting back on his knees, he grasped her wrists. “Halt or I shall cometh.”

  She smiled and maintained her grip. “Make me.”

  “Dost thou challenge me?”

  “Aye.” She drank in the sight of her nerd in full passion mode, his broad chest heaving and his hair tousled.

  His gaze sparkled with laughter and lust as the pressure on her wrists tightened. “Release me, wench, or suffer the consequences.”

  “Do thy worst.”

  He reacted with such speed that it left her gasping. In two seconds he’d pinned her hands above her head and wedged her legs tight between his knees. She couldn’t move. Fire licked through her veins.

  His eyes glittered with triumph as he surveyed her. “Now I shall show thee what happens to defiant wenches.”

  “Oh, please, do.” His devilish expression ramped up her anticipation, making her tremble.

  His eyebrows lifted. “Dost thou understand I shall torture thee?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Thou art a bold lass.” He shifted his grasp and captured both her wrists in one hand. “I shall enjoy making thee beg for mercy.” Holding her gaze, he unzipped her jacket and flipped open the front catch of her bra. Then he began to touch her.

  Because of his masterful game, she’d expected his caress to be demanding. She wasn’t prepared for the whisper of his fingertips against her skin. Lightly he stroked her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, her belly, all the while watching her eyes.

  She shivered. The heat in his eyes paired with the controlled restraint of his touch was more erotic than if he’d ravished her. He used the back of his knuckles to brush her nipples ever so gently. He trailed one finger between her breasts and dipped it ever so briefly into her navel.

  With every languid stroke of his fingertips, she burned hotter. Moisture gathered between her thighs. She longed to open them and welcome him there, but he kept her motionless, quivering, aching . . .

  “What say you, wench?” His roughened voice betrayed his own arousal as he continued to feather his fingertips over the swell of her breast, the tight bud of her nipples, the hollow of her throat.

  She swallowed. “Please.”

  “This?” He pinched her nipple.

  She cried out with pleasure. “Yes!”

  “Not yet. Soon.” His knees relaxed, allowing her legs movement. “Lift thy hips.”

  With a soft moan, she did as he asked, and he wrenched both her sweatpants and panties down past her knees. That one swift movement made her hope a firm touch would follow, preferably right where she throbbed almost beyond endurance. Instead he continued as before, his fingers playing over her skin, sometimes stroking, sometimes tapping, but never staying long, never applying the pressure she desperately craved.

  “So ready,” he murmured as he brushed a fingertip up her slick thigh toward the source of that moisture.

  She held her breath as he ventured closer, closer, and then stopped. “Please.”

  His chuckle was dark with excitement. “Ah, now she begs.” He lightly caressed her other thigh. “What dost thou need, lass?”

  “You know very well.”

  “Perhaps.” He traced her mouth with his damp fingers.

  She tried to bite those teasing fingertip
s, but he pulled them away before she could manage it.

  “Easy, lass.” He returned to caress her thighs once again, always stopping short of the one touch she craved.

  Her body clenched and she began to pant and twist beneath him. “Nolan, I want . . .”

  “This?” And he pressed his thumb right there.

  The shock of it hurled her over the precipice and she cried out in surprise and relief. As he released his grip on her wrists, she clutched his shoulders and bowed upward in surrender. He thrust his fingers deep and stroked her as she came in a glorious rush.

  His mouth captured her cries as he kissed her, his tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers. At last the tremors ceased, and he lifted his head to gaze down at her with a smile. “Torture’s over.”

  She gulped for air. “Never fear. I’ll get you back. I’m not stronger than you, but I’ll figure out a way to torture you exactly like that.”

  “Anytime. I won’t even struggle.”

  “I’ve never . . . that was incredible. And you pinned me so fast, too! Where did that come from?”

  “Took some self defense classes a couple of years ago. Turns out I have fast reflexes, probably from playing computer games all my life.”

  “You were fast all right. But then, when you had me at your mercy, how did you know to . . . wait, forget that question. I don’t want to hear how you learned that.”

  “I’ve never tried it before.” He grinned. “It was a scientific experiment. Slightly unorthodox, but . . . thanks for being my lab partner.”

  “So we were having fun with science?”

  “In a way.”

  “Cool.” She cupped his face in both hands. “Want me to experiment on you, next?”

  “You know . . . I could go for some of that old-fashioned missionary stuff. If you wouldn’t be too bored.”

  She smiled up at him. “Hasn’t happened yet, Dr. Bradbury.” She had a feeling it never would. He made her laugh. He made her think. And quite often he made her cry out in orgasmic delight. Boredom with this man didn’t seem likely.