“We had hot sex,” he finished for her.
“And then made love,” she said at the same time.
He gave his head an emphatic shake. “No, just sex.” Their eyes met and locked. “It’s always just sex.”
She nodded, her gaze flickering away. “Okay, good. That’s the kind of specifics you need to look at when diagramming. Now, you’ll need to rework that summation in your own words, and then flag each of the different elements.” She brought her gaze back to his and frowned. “What now?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? Wasn’t that clear?”
He straightened, unaware he’d been staring. She was an odd one. Not like most women he knew. She wasn’t totally immune to him, he knew that, or at least not to the sensuality of his dreams. Nor was she the bookworm type he’d first thought. Even as embarrassment pinkened her cheeks, she remained cool and professional.
A woman of mystery, after all—definitely a new experience for him, and not one that was particularly appealing. He liked classifications. It made life simpler. And that thought probably surprised him most of all.
“Nick, are you listening?”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
“Well, then a response would be appropriate.”
Shit! Maybe he hadn’t heard her. “I’m thinking, okay?”
She gave him one of her tolerant smiles again, though this one tighter, verging on disapproval. “A simple yes or no answer would do.”
“Fine. I admit it. I wasn’t listening. I was wondering what you’d look like without those glasses and your hair down.”
She stared blankly at him, not giving a single thought away. Finally, after several long seconds, she put down her pencil and clasped her hands together. “I’d hoped you’d take this seriously.”
Looking down her nose at him, censure and disappointment puckering her brows, she looked like Mrs. Cheese, his high-school principal. He’d had enough head-butting with her over his afternoon absenteeism. His excuse that he was bored witless hadn’t endeared him to her. No matter that he’d never slipped from the honor roll.
“Tell me,” he said with a deliberately studious frown, “as a psychologist, how would you interpret that tactic you took?”
That earned him a startled look. She tilted her head to the side, frowning back. “What tactic?”
“Avoidance of your own sexuality.”
She blinked, a surprised laugh tumbling from her lips…lips that were proving an increasing distraction. “I’d love to hear how you came up with that one, but we still have a lot of work to do.”
“Right.” He gave her a patronizing smile.
She glared for a moment, but didn’t go for the bait. “Are you ready to resume, or—” she paused, a touch of uncertainty in her eyes. “Have you grown tired of this, too?”
At first he didn’t get it. Yeah, he bored easily, but why would… “Brenda.”
Doc’s gaze flickered away.
“I thought you said you hadn’t discussed me with my sister,” he said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“We didn’t discuss you. Like I already told you, when she called to tell me you’d do the study, I was concerned you wouldn’t be able to commit to the entire two weeks.”
“Gee, I’m glad she had enough confidence in me to think my attention span could last that long.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
This was stupid. He didn’t know why it suddenly bothered him that everyone thought he was a slack-off. No, that wasn’t accurate. He’d accomplished too much, made enough money to embody the American symbol of success. But he liked his life uncomplicated. He liked sticking to what he knew instead of risking failure. So what? He didn’t have a wife and kids. His financial responsibilities were met promptly.
Doc cleared her throat, and he snapped out of his preoccupation. “Look,” he said, “I don’t care what my sister told you. I’m here, doing your study. That’s all that should matter.”
“But she didn’t say anything, really. She merely mentioned something about you getting past your latest hobby of playing with old cars.”
He grunted with disgust. “A ’55 Chevy is hardly an old car. It’s a classic, dammit.”
“No way.” Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“A ’55 Chevy? Standard? Classic body?”
Stunned, he nodded. “Peach-and-gray two-tone Belair.”
Color brightened her cheeks and her eyes danced with excitement. “A convertible?”
“Yep.” Pride warmed him. They were talking about his baby. “White canvas Carson top, best custom top they ever made.”
“You got that right.” She shook her head. “This is unbelievable.”
“How do you know all this?”
“A friend of mine had one.”
“Here?”
“No, back in Utah. Mr. Salisbury was an elderly neighbor.” Her expression turned slightly guarded. “We’d better get back to work.”
“Did he have tuck-and-roll upholstery?” He really wanted to ask more about her life in Utah, but a personal question obviously wouldn’t be welcome.
She nodded, grudgingly, but some of the interest was back in her face.
“Custom chrome wheels and Hurst linkage?” he asked, and was fascinated with the way her eyes glowed. Shit! As if this was foreplay. “I have the exact same one.”
She tilted her head. “Are you putting me on?”
“Hell, no. I restored that baby myself.” He shrugged, trying to tamp down the pride pumping through his veins. He’d almost walked away from the project, frustrated because for the first time in his life, solutions weren’t handed to him on a silver platter. But he’d stuck it out and worked long and hard to achieve perfection. It ended up being one of his most gratifying accomplishments. “Maybe you could come by my place and see it sometime.”
The guarded expression was back, pinching her features. “Maybe.”
She might as well have said no. He knew damn well she had no intention of making an appearance at his house. So what was up with that? Did she think he had an ulterior motive?
Okay, maybe he did, but he really was proud of the Chevy.
“We still have a lot of work to do.”
He blinked, and met her gaze. She wore that schoolmarm expression again, as if he were a wayward child whose attention had wandered, but she gave him a faint smile.
He ignored it. She didn’t want to associate with him? Fine. Plenty of women did. Like Tiffany.
Too bad she didn’t understand the beauty of a ’55 Chevy.
8
THROUGH THE HAZE of gray smoke Emma spotted Brenda standing at the door of Darby’s Bar and Grill. Emma did a double take and nearly dropped the tray of drinks she carried for the three rowdy truckers at table four.
What the hell was Brenda doing here? No one knew where Emma worked, except Brenda, of course, but she wouldn’t…
What the hell was she doing here?
Emma craned her neck to see past her friend. She had to be alone. Brenda knew better than to bring anyone here, but still…
“Hey, darlin’, you gonna wait until we’ve died of thirst before you bring that cute little fanny over here?” The guy with the long black beard and gleaming gold tooth winked at her, setting her teeth on edge.
He and his two friends looked out of place, surrounded by yuppie types in Brooks Brothers suits. The usual lunch crowd was made up of young lawyers and paralegals, businessmen from the high-rise down the street and a few doctors who worked at the emergency-care clinic on the corner.
She balanced the tray of drinks in one hand, and started passing out the bottles of beer and shots of tequila with the other. “You guys want menus?”
“I do,” the one with long, straight blond hair that hung in his eyes said, and Emma peered closer at his youthful face, wondering if she should card him.
“Hey, Lyle, I think she’s sweet on you.” The other
two chuckled like twelve-year-olds when the blond kid blushed.
Emma glanced toward the doorway, but Brenda had already taken a seat at the end of the bar. Of all the rotten days for Brenda to visit. Usually the place was nice and quiet, catering mostly to regulars, who tipped generously.
“What’ll it be, guys?” She switched the tray to her other hand. She ached from the tips of her fingers all the way down to her toes. “I don’t have all day.”
“Why? You getting off work soon?” Gold tooth grinned mischievously at her.
She sighed with relief. That one look spoke volumes. These guys were harmless. After waitressing for four years, she knew the type. Annoying, but not a threat.
She gave them her best no-nonsense look. “One last chance—you want menus?”
“That depends.” Gold tooth picked up his shot glass and downed it. “You on it?”
“That’s an old, tired line. You should be ashamed of yourself for even using it.” She turned to Lyle. “The fish-and-chips and Reuben are both really good, but I’ll get you a menu.”
“Bring me one, too,” the third guy said.
She gave gold tooth a brief, expectant glance.
He squinted at her. “Haven’t we met before?”
She tossed back her hair and smiled sweetly. “Probably. I’m the part-time receptionist at the VD clinic.”
Lyle nearly spit out his beer.
The third guy howled with laughter. “That was pretty good, Norm. You gotta give her credit for that one.” He dragged the back of his hand across the dampness in his eyes. “Sweetheart, bring me another beer with that menu.”
Norm didn’t look as though he wanted to give her anything but a hard time.
Emma spun away, anxious to fill their orders and have them get on their way. She quickly got menus and beer, at the same time waving acknowledgment at Brenda.
Most of the lunch crowd had already left and she had only a half an hour left in her shift. She checked on her last two tables and was glad when they asked for their checks.
After settling up with them and taking the truckers’ orders, she slid onto a bar stool next to Brenda. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve never in your life been this far south of Raleigh.” One of the reasons Emma took the job—she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew.
Brenda stared at Emma’s chest. “I had no idea you had that much cleavage.”
“I don’t. It’s one of those booster things.”
“How did you get it on under that skimpy…whatever?”
“I didn’t. It’s built in.” Emma made a face at the red satin, teddylike outfit. “Did you come all the way over here to tell me how tacky I look?”
Brenda snorted. “Tacky? You look incredible. You don’t even look like you.”
“Thanks.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
Emma tossed back her hair. It was terribly inconvenient to leave it down, but tips did pay her tuition. “The minute I can say adios to this job won’t be a second too soon.”
Brenda glanced at the trio of truckers. “You must get a lot of hassle.”
“Not really. Most of the customers are regulars.” She stared at Brenda. Something was wrong. She seemed nervous, unusually fidgety. “You haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I’ve tried calling you several times during the past few days, but you haven’t been home, and your answering machine isn’t picking up.”
Emma sighed. “It’s broken.” Yet another thing she couldn’t afford to fix or replace. “I still can’t believe you came all this way.”
“I was worried that you went back to Utah.”
That startled Emma. True, her mother did have a habit of calling Emma for every little thing, but she’d only gone back twice since she’d met Brenda. “Nick could have told you I was still here.”
“He’s not exactly speaking to me.”
She laughed. “You’re kidding?”
Brenda shook her head, her brows drawn together in a troubled frown. “He thinks—” She stopped short and bit her lip. “Never mind. Anyway, what I wanted to ask you—”
“Em, your order’s up,” Manny hollered from the kitchen.
She slid off the stool, muttering an oath. “I’ve asked him a dozen times not to yell like that. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as her feet hit the floor her arches started to ache. Two double shifts in a row on high heels were killing her. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was get into a hot bath, and then put her feet up for the rest of the evening.
She delivered two cheeseburgers, a Reuben and three orders each of coleslaw and onion rings to the truckers’ table, and then got them another round of drinks. They were obviously hungry because they started digging in instead of giving her any more lip.
While taking their empty glasses to the bar, she gave Brenda a sideways glance. Her friend’s gaze roamed every nook and cranny of the room. Emma couldn’t imagine what she thought of the place, or of Emma’s uniform, for that matter.
She still didn’t know what was so darn important that Brenda would come all this way. Unless it had something to do with Nick. Was he backing out of the study? Had he sent Brenda to do his dirty work?
Her pulse skidded and her throat got tight. If that was the case, Emma was royally screwed. No way could she find someone else and then start over.
And Nick. There’d be no reason to see him again.
Two of the dirty glasses slid off her tray and hit the tile floor, shattering, and startling everyone into silence. Quickly she stooped to pick up the pieces of glass. When Brenda started to get up to help, Emma waved her to sit back down.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She deserved to have to clean up by herself. Nick was a test subject, period. She had no business having the remotest interest in him. Sure, he was good-looking, witty, smart. That was part of his charm. That was why women were attracted to him. Good reasons Emma couldn’t afford to be.
They had zero in common, not that she was even in his league. He wasn’t even a willing subject. Brenda had somehow bribed him. And at times, he was only marginally cooperative. But, dammit, he’d gotten to her from the beginning…when he’d called her Doc.
She recalled that first day with perfect clarity. How he’d encouraged her to act and think in terms of her vision. Silly for her to take his general philosophy so personally, she knew, especially since he hadn’t even known her, but she’d gotten so little positive feedback in her life that she’d soaked up his encouragement like a thirsty sponge.
She glanced up and saw Brenda staring at her with an anxious expression, probably wondering if Emma had decided to camp out on the floor. Straightening slowly, she felt every muscle and tendon from the arches of her feet to her thighs tighten and scream. What she wouldn’t give to have her hands around the neck of the idiot who invented high heels.
After disposing of the broken glass, she grabbed the broom. A quick sweep would do it, and then she could go find out what was bothering Brenda.
STILL BLOWN AWAY by her friend’s stunningly sexy look, Brenda watched Emma clean up. Spiked black heels, black hose, the tight red satin camisole…and holy smokes, she had no idea Em had legs. Not like those. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her in anything but pants, and once she’d seen Emma’s hair in a ponytail, but never down.
The pub was a surprise, too. It was nicely decorated and upscale, the booths a rich burgundy leather and the brass along the bar gleaming with care. Clearly the place catered to a well-heeled crowd…and the odd rowdy, Brenda thought as she eyed the three guys scarfing down their food. But Em always referred to it as “the restaurant.” It was undoubtedly a bar. Of course the reason for her vagueness was obvious. This was so not Emma.
Except that she was one of the most determined women Brenda had ever met, and if this was the best way to pay her tuition, then it really was no surprise.<
br />
They’d been friends for two years, but they were both busy with school and most of their contact was either on campus or over lunch. She wished they could spend more time together. Tonight would be fun, even though it was about getting Em and Nick together in a social setting. By now sparks should be flying between the two of them.
The mess cleared, Emma reclaimed her seat. “Sorry about that.” She shook her head, sighing. “It’s been one of those days.” Her brows drew together in a worried frown. “Are you here because of Nick?”
“Nick? What do you mean?”
“If you are, I’d rather you just spit it out and get it over with.”
“Spit what out?”
Emma blinked. “Okay, maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Like I said, it’s been that kind of day.”
Perfect opening. “Sounds like you need a distraction.”
“What I need is a hot bath, two aspirin and lots of peace and quiet so I can finish grading papers.”
“Boring.”
Emma snorted. “This coming from you?”
“Hey, I have a life.”
They both laughed.
Brenda blinked. “I need a favor.”
“Sure.” Em seemed surprised. “Anything. I owe you for delivering Nick.”
“I want you to go to a party with me tonight.”
“A party?” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Oh, God, please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“I hate parties.”
“So do I. That’s why I’m making you go with me.”
“Bren,” Em drawled out her name. “You’re not really…”
“Yep. You need to get out.”
“Is that what this is about? Then you came a long way across town for nothing.”
“First, I really was in the neighborhood. I’m on the board of the annual Renaissance festival, and we meet about a mile from here. Second, I really, really don’t want to go to this party alone.”
Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams Page 28
