Santa Reads Romance
Page 9
Tyber narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied the woman in front of him. She had the look of his cat. Yes, when the cat was about to do something very cunning.
Tyber smiled to himself. He always loved a mystery.
He knew exactly what to do next.
The first step was to test the water. As she was taking her seat, he decided to shake her up a bit. Just to get it rolling.
“I'm going to follow up on that idea of yours.”
She looked up at him in horror. Had he seen through her already? “What idea?” Her voice wavered.
“Vibration.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Energy.” His warm breath tickled the side of her neck. “Resonance …”
She swallowed nervously, refusing to look at him. It was uncomfortably obvious to Zanita that for whatever reason, the man had taken up the challenge.
It was also obvious that he intended to enjoy it.
She sighed as her earlier conversation with Mills passed through her mind. Here was the perfect justification for her convictions. Damn, but he had a mischievous look on his handsome face.
Nothing was ever simple when a man was involved.
Boil them in oil.
Chapter Two
“That is why, in later years, Newton was responsible for send-ing several men to their death on the gallows. We physicists don't get mad; we get even.”
The class laughed appreciatively at what Zanita suspected was in-house humor.
“Those of you who know me,” Tyber went on, “know that I'm not much for a structured academic environment. What say we meet tomorrow night at Mickey D's on Route Nine?”
“The playground?” someone yelled out from the back of the room, making everyone laugh.
Tyber grinned. “Not a bad idea, but I'd hate to have to defend my place in line at the slide— some of those kids are meaner than I am. I think inside should be acceptable. How many of you can make it?” Almost the whole class raised their hands. Zanita was a noticeable exception.
“That many. I don't think we should have too much of a problem, as it's after the dinner hour. Okay, so tomorrow night— same time, different location.” The class applauded the lecture as they vacated their seats.
Tyber's icy eyes lit on Zanita. “Ms. Masterson. I wonder if I might have a few words with you before you leave?”
Zanita, who had been slinging her bag over her shoulder, looked up in surprise and nodded.
Tyber, having got her consent, turned to a colleague who was asking him a question.
By the time Zanita made her way to the front, Dr. Evans was already surrounded by a group of sycophants who were panting around him like starving academic dogs— not that she wouldn't have liked to pant around him as well, but for entirely different reasons.
She waited patiently toward the back of the small crowd for the intellectual fallout to clear. After about fifteen minutes, Zanita started getting impatient, as the adoring masses did not seem to be thinning out. She was weighing the prospect of leaving against the slim chance of gaining an interview this evening when Tyber glanced her way and skillfully called a halt to the chit-chat, promising to continue the discussion tomorrow evening.
The room emptied so fast, you might have thought an air raid siren had gone off.
Of course, these guys would have gone toward ground zero, not away from it.
Zanita smiled to herself; it had certainly been an interesting evening.
Tyber folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the desk. “You didn't like the class, did you?”
Zanita was surprised. “Why do you say that?” She thought she had managed to hide her confusion very well.
“You didn't raise your hand when I asked who could make it tomorrow evening. And there was that other thing …”
“What other thing?”
“The way you kept crossing your eyes whenever I drew an illustration on the board.”
Zanita cleared her throat. “All right, I'll admit I wasn't overly enthused, but I did warn you.” She threw her arms up. “Frankly, I had no idea what you were talking about.”
“So, just because you were lost in a fog you're not coming tomorrow? Really, what kind of a reason is that? Most people go through their whole lives not understanding a damn thing. In that context, what's a few evenings spent in my lectures by comparison?”
His obtuse reasoning completely escaped her. She blinked. “What?”
“Tomorrow will be quite different— I promise. No mathematics of any kind. That's why I suggested the restaurant; not having blackboards will keep it honest.” His smile was heart-stopping.
She decided then and there that nothing would keep her from going tomorrow night— interview or not. What sane woman would forego the pleasure of discreetly ogling him? Besides, whatever made him think she wouldn't come?
“I never said I wasn't coming. You assumed that because my hand didn't go up when you expected it to. I had every intention of going; I just wasn't in the mood to admit it.”
Tyber stared at her, speechless. Again. When he did speak, his voice held a note of awe. “You are completely non-linear, Zanita.”
She waved her hand. “I have no idea what that means, but I suspect it has something to do with the mysterious face of Mars looks I get— see? Like that one you're wearing now.”
“Fascinating,” he muttered. “So, you are coming?”
“Yeah. See ya tomorrow night, Doc.” She waved goodbye as she headed quickly up the stairs, before Tyber had a chance to say another word.
It wasn't until she got to her car that she wondered why it mattered to him whether she showed up or not.
“Mills, he is to die for.”
Zanita plowed her fork into the carton of Chinese take-out she had brought over to her friend's house.
“We are talking about the physicist, aren't we?” Mills asked around an eggroll. “Somehow I can't quite picture— ”
“Trust me. To Die For. Of course I can't figure out what he's talking about half the time. I mean, you'd have to be a rocket scientist to understand— ”
“He is a rocket scientist.” Mills pointed out.
“Oh, yeah.” Zanita shrugged. “At any rate, this is the best assignment I've ever had. If he would grant me an interview, just think— ”
“He's not an assignment.”
Zanita looked at her. “Well, no, not exactly …”
“What makes you think he'll give you an interview when he's turned down everyone else? No offense, Zanita, but you're not exactly Edward R. Murrow, or even Barbara Walters, or for that matter Yolanda Neade.” Yolanda Neade was a ditsy local newscaster on a non-network-affiliated television station. Mills wasn't pulling any punches.
“This is true, but I have something they don't have.”
Mills looked at her friend askance. “What, pray tell, is that?”
Zanita batted her eyelashes. “I am non-linear.“
“Say what?”
“I have no idea, either, but Doc Evans seemed very interested in it.”
Mills snorted. “Uh-huh. As Whoopi said, 'Girl, you in danger'.”
Zanita grinned. “I wish. Believe me, the man is odd. Gorgeous, but odd. The most I can hope for is an interview with him. And I would be more than satisfied with that.”
“Satisfied is the operative word here. Maybe he's the one.”
Zanita swallowed a cashew. “The one what?”
“To befuddle you.”
“Befuddle me as in make me crazy, roll around in the hay, knock my socks off, befuddle?” Mills nodded lecherously. “Tyber? I don't think so. I mean, he does have a body that won't quit, and he is sexy beyond words, but …”
“But?”
“He's … a kook.”
Mills raised an eyebrow as if to say, When has this little aberration ever stopped a hot-blooded man?
“No. No, believe me, you have this all wrong. I'm sure he would never notice me in that way. He probably isn't interested in such base inte
ractions, being so … so intellectually lofty.”
“Right.”
“Seriously. He might see me as interesting in some bizarre way known only to him.” She thought of his expression and the tone of his voice when he had told her he was going to follow up on her idea, whatever that had been. “But only because he thinks he can teach me to understand what he's talking about.”
Mills choked on her tea. “Zanita! I have no idea what you are saying! Do you?”
“Well, no. But don't blame me— it's Tyber's doing. No one could possibly understand a thing he says.” She sighed. “This is not going to be a piece of cake.”
***
As if her words were an omen, when she walked into the fast-food restaurant, Tyber was wolfing down a piece of cake a little girl had handed him. He looked up as she approached the tables where several men from the class, including Stan, were eating hamburgers and fries.
The past twenty-four hours had, if anything, enhanced his appeal. He was just as sexy as she remembered.
There was something about the man that invited touching.
His incredible pecs couched inside the soft cotton of his casual shirt, perhaps? His strong column of toasty warm throat? The boyishly intriguing dimples in his mischievous smile? The incredible intelligence behind his eyes?
It struck her anew how very different he was— not what one would expect at all.
“Hi. Want a sip?” He held out his chocolate shake to her. She eyed the drink dubiously, remembering the pasty taste from her high school years all too well.
“No, thank you. Who's the kid?”
Tyber shrugged. “It's her birthday. She gave us all a piece of her cake. Whether we wanted it or not.” He winked at her. “Fortunately, I'm a sucker for frosting.” He licked a dollop off his finger.
It was an innocent gesture on his part, but for some reason Zanita couldn't take her eyes off that tongue slowly swirling around the edge of his long, beautifully tapered finger. The gesture so fascinated her that she stood riveted, watching him.
“I did promise you I'd be honest tonight.”
“Wh-what?” Her face rose guiltily to his.
“The lecture.” His eyes sparked expressively in his incredibly handsome face. “I think after tonight I'll have you hooked.”
“Hooked?” She knew she sounded like a parroting idiot, but she couldn't get the sight of that sensuously swirling tongue out of her mind. Why did he have to look so sinfully delicious? What would that tongue feel like swirling against— “Like peanut butter to jelly,” he affirmed.
She swallowed convulsively, dispelling the image that provoked.
Tyber scooted over in the booth, making room for her to sit down.
Stan, having devoured his mountain of ground beef and grease; noticed her as she took her seat. “So you haven't given up on us, eh, Zanita? Good for you!”
Zanita glanced sideways at Tyber, who smiled softly at her. Even seated, he seemed to tower over her. “I didn't really have a choice, Stan.”
Stan, completely misinterpreting her remark, replied, “I know what you mean. Doctor Evans is inspirational!” He grinned broadly at Tyber, who winced under the unexpurgated devotion.
Looking around the restaurant, he said, “We might as well start this.”
He levered himself up on top of the back of the seat, straddling two booths with his long, jean-clad legs, and addressed the group. “I thought tonight we'd informally discuss artificial intelligence and some related topics …”
While Tyber spoke, the ultimate artificial life form, the restaurant clown, listened in, peering over Stan's shoulder intently, his orange hair glowing under the fluorescent lighting. Several stragglers from the class wandered in. Eventually they had to move out to the playground to make room for everybody. Even the clown followed them outside, his broom dragging on the ground behind him.
There in the playground, under the stars, with a gentle breeze in the night air, Tyber spoke of the mysteries of the universe from the top of a slide. Zanita thought him the most interesting and unconventional man she had ever seen.
Frogs croaked, shooting stars fell, owls hooted, and trees rustled in the wind as he discussed, in plain terms, bringing together seemingly dichotomous subjects such as absolutism underlying relativistic principles.
What fascinated Zanita most was his way of taking several divergent topics and bringing them together into a cohesive unit, pointing out similarities in subjects not often talked about synonymously. He was brilliant.
He was a man captivated by ideas, both the sublime and the ridiculous. His genuine curiosity about every aspect of the nature of the universe was contagious. The group was entranced by his enthusiasm as he delved into explorations of both the known and the unknown.
“Facts always remain absolute,” he said. “It's everyone's point of view that is different, relativistic, although, paradoxically, everyone believes 'their' point of view is the correct or 'proper' one. As Einstein pointed out quite a while ago: 'I'm right and everything else is relative.' If one listens to two politicians in a political debate, one is observing the Theory of Relativity.” Everyone laughed.
“And on that note, I believe we'll call it a night. I thought it might be interesting if we caught the new science fiction picture playing at the cinema at the mall in Stockboro tomorrow. I hear there are some intriguing ideas at work on the nature of space travel and xenobiology. We can have an open discussion afterwards if anyone's interested.” Everyone was very much interested— including the clown, who asked if he could join in. He was assured he could.
Tyber caught up to Zanita in the parking lot as she was heading for her car.
“So— how was that? Did I keep my promise?”
Zanita smiled at him. “You did. In spite of myself, I was fascinated like everyone else.”
“Hmm... not quite what I was aiming at, but it is a start.”
She reached her car and unlocked the door. “As a friend told me recently, in certain matters I would do well to leap before I look.” Of course, Mills had been referring to a totally different subject. “You have piqued my interest, Doc. I will be there tomorrow night.”
He placed his hands against the door of her car, leaning down to speak to her through the open window. “It is you who has piqued my interest, Zanita. Did I tell you I have a cat? No? Well, I do. Good night.”
Now what did he mean by that? she wondered.
The following evening, she waited for the group in the lobby of the movie theater, trying desperately to stay awake. She had gone to visit her grandparents at their farm last evening after the class. Her grandfather had been sitting out on the front porch, idly rocking on the swing, enjoying the unusually balmy October weather. The natives called it Indian summer, and every New Englander knew to enjoy the brief respite while it lasted, for it presaged the coming winter.
As usual, it didn't take long before they were heatedly “discussing” a current topic of town politics. Zanita always liked engaging Hank in such discussions, often playing devil's advocate just to rile the old man. Hank was something when he got going on a subject he cared about; and Hank really cared about everything that went on in Stockboro, and for that matter, the world at large. In her opinion, it was one of the traits that had made him a great reporter. No story was ever just a story to him.
Unfortunately, she had succeeded only too well in riling him up, for the discussion went on well past midnight, with neither one of them aware of the time. It wasn't until her grandmother came out onto the porch dressed in her robe to shoo them inside that they came to their senses.
Due to the hour, Zanita elected to spend the night in her old bedroom. When she made her decision, she hadn't counted on The Hogs hitting town.
It was around two in the morning when the pack squealed into the backyard, reminding her of a motorcycle gang storming into a town for the fun of causing mayhem. The “defiant ones” snorted and snuffled in glee, causing her to sit bolt upright in bed.
Her grandmother's garden was trampled in a random display of violence before the herd inexplicably moved on.
Hank was fit to be tied.
The Hogs resided with their neighbor, Joe Sprit, who lived several miles down the road. Every now and then, for reasons known only to The Hogs, they escaped their pen to take a midnight foray through the town. It had been going on for years. Zanita referred to it in her goofier moments as “The Night of The Hogs.”
Since no one was sure how to deal with the problem, they tended to live with it. Joe claimed he had reinforced the fencing several times, but somehow, when The Hogs wanted out; they got out. When a Hog had mayhem on its mind, there was little a human could do.
So now, she ruminated facetiously, she was just grist for the Hog mill. Deciding that some fresh air might revive her, she walked outside to the front of the theater. It wasn't long before she saw Tyber pulling into the lot on the back of a Harley-Davidson. Somehow she was not surprised.
He slung his helmet over the bars, spotting her at once. Smiling a greeting, he walked her way, looking altogether too sensuous and sinewy. He wore black, thigh-hugging jeans with black boots. A gray shirt and cuffs turned back on his forearms completed the dangerous look. His long hair was tied back, once again, in a ponytail. She wondered what it would look like loose about his shoulders, silently thanking him for not putting her through that torture.
“Waiting for me?” He greeted her with a grin.
Unashamedly arrogant. “Getting some air. Everyone's waiting for you inside.”
He nodded, steering her through the door. “I have a confession to make— I really wanted to see this picture, and I hate going to the movies alone.”
“So you engineered it so the whole class would accompany you? Talk about abuse of power …”
“Afraid so. I'll tell you what— to make it up to you, I'll buy your ticket. But you have to buy the popcorn.”