“Do you believe that? That you’re just an observer, I mean?”
An amused expression flashed across her face, and she shook her head slightly. Not in denial, but as if she was trying to shake a thought loose. “This is the second time I’ve had this conversation today. Are the planets aligned weird tonight or something?”
“I’m pretty sure that the universe is expanding as usual.”
“Hmm.”
“Does that mean you’re not answering my question?” he asked.
“I haven’t decided,” she said.
“To answer? Or whether or not your job has an impact on the world?”
“Both, actually.”
“What’s your mom’s take on all of this?”
“That’s the hard part,” she said after a pause. “She always said that I would change the world. And even though I don’t really care about doing a damn thing for my dad, for my mom, I’d pretty much move mountains. And now that she’s gone, I feel like I want to act on that legacy. Does that sound crazy?”
Her eyes were wide, innocent and brighter than the alcohol could account for. He realized with a start that the sheen in her gaze was tears, and he knew then that her loss was recent. An invisible band around his chest seemed to tighten, and he wanted to pull her close and comfort her. Instead, he took her hand. “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all. In fact, it seems to me that reporting the news has some impact. And even a small change can shift the course of history.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Trust me. I know.”
“Yeah?” The fire was back in her eyes, and he was glad to see the melancholy had faded. “And what do you do, Mr. Kinsey?”
“I change the world, too. I’m a scientist.” Like a neon sign being turned on, a thought suddenly buzzed in his head. “Wait a minute. Your name is Chamberlain? As in Harold Chamberlain? Allied International?”
“Guilty. So you know my dad?”
“Never met the man. His company’s got a good rep, though. Very well-respected. Very innovative.”
“That’s what you get when you’re out changing the world,” she said dryly. “Innovation.”
Well, hell. He’d managed to put his foot in it, and there was no graceful way out. “Sorry. But I stand by what I said earlier. Not everyone can be a scientist. The world can only use so many staid and boring people.”
“So are you staid and boring?” she asked, taking the opportunity to back out of the conversational minefield.
“Absolutely. Terribly dull. The convertible is just my clever disguise.”
“Really?” Her voice was pitched low, and she moved a bit closer to him, leaving her wineglass stranded on the kitchen counter. “So if you’re so boring, how come you’re here? A bit out of character, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely. Must be the alcohol.”
“Damn,” she said, her eyes glittering with mirth. “And here I thought it was my effervescent personality.”
“That too,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” She moved closer, breaking through that invisible barrier people keep around them, encroaching on his personal space. But with Marty, it wasn’t an invasion, it was a full-frontal assault. His heart picked up tempo, and he stifled the urge to pull her close, and kiss her senseless.
With massive effort, he kept his cool, his fingers finding her soft hair, then gliding down to stroke her cheek, her lips. He wanted to touch her, to pull her to him. But part of him held back. Something about Marty called to him, and the air between them seemed to crackle with electricity. He hadn’t come out tonight looking for anything real. He hadn’t wanted to find substance, hadn’t wanted to find a woman he could connect with.
And yet here she was, and he was actually afraid to kiss her. An absurd fear—he hadn’t been afraid of a woman since tenth grade—but there it was.
“Ryan?” His name slipped off her lips, soft and breathy, and the timbre of her voice shot straight through him. Blood pounded in his ears and his entire body seemed to be on fire.
Screw expectations. Screw responsibility. And screw fear.
He wanted her. He’d have her. And in the morning, they could figure out the rest of it.
“Come here,” he said. And to his absolute delight, she moved into his arms without hesitation or argument.
He pulled her closer, delighting in her little gasp of surprised pleasure. He’d barely touched her since the dance floor, and the brush of his fingers against her now sent jolts of pleasure through his body. He had been working too hard. He deserved this. Deserved her.
Her mouth was hot against his, and the temperature between them was rising, creating a fever that seemed to burn all other thoughts from his mind. Her hands stroked his back, each movement inching his shirt up until he gasped in pleasure at the delicious sensation of her palm against his bare skin.
His hands had found their own paradise, and while he held her close with one hand firm on her hip, the other had found her sweet breast. The shirt she wore was thin, the bra flimsy, and he slid his palm over the hard pebble of her nipple, his own body getting harder when she broke their kiss to toss her head back and moan.
It was a sound that cut right through him, fueling the hot mass of need that he had become. He slid his hand down, lower and lower, until he cupped her crotch. She whimpered slightly, and he whispered just one word: “Now.”
She nodded, her eyes closed, lips parted, and he brushed a quick kiss over those waiting lips. She led him to the bedroom, pausing in front of a plain oak dresser.
He glanced down, realizing that it wasn’t the dresser she was concerned with but a glossy box about the size of a loaf of bread. It had a curved lid inlaid with the image of a woman and, though he didn’t know much about antiques, he thought it must be incredibly old.
“I’m playing a hunch here,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “But you’re a scientist, and I think you might think this is cool.”
“A jewelry box?”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Sort of. My mom called it my hope chest.”
“I thought a hope chest was a big hulking cedar thing.”
Her delighted smile pleased him a lot more than it should. “Well, see? I can even teach something to a scientist.”
He let his gaze drift to the bed. “Oh, I bet you can teach me a lot of things….”
“You’re bad.”
He kept the teasing tone in his voice. “No way. I promise I’m very, very good.”
“I bet you are.” She smiled, then, and took his hand. Slowly, she traced his finger down the image of the woman, then paused and applied a bit more pressure. The box felt warm and smooth under his finger, but otherwise, nothing happened.
“Is my scientific curiosity supposed to be piqued yet? Or did you just think I’d rather fondle a woman’s engraving than the real woman standing in front of me.”
“Behave,” she said. “Or I won’t show you.”
He had absolutely no idea what he was waiting for, but there was such a sense of wonder in her voice that he canned the sarcasm and simply nodded. “Show me.”
With much bravado, she removed his hand from the chest, then held up her own finger. “Watch.” She mimicked his movements exactly, but this time, the result was different. This time, the lid popped open about an inch. She turned back to him, her face lit up and her entire body quivering with the delight of someone who knows she’s just one-upped the world.
He didn’t bother to temper his fascination. He hadn’t seen a mechanism, and certainly his touch hadn’t opened the box. Was there an indention that made the box pop? “Spring latch?”
“Not exactly.” She stepped back and he took that as an invitation to examine the box more closely. He opened the lid, revealing packets of letters, tied with string, the top one addressed “to my darling daughter.” Souvenirs of her mother, undoubtedly.
He ran his finger along the edge of the box, then inside as well, but she was right. No spring latch. Noth
ing, in fact, that appeared like any sort of a mechanism that would open. How fascinating. How odd. How very—
“The lock only works for my family,” she said, stepping in closer behind him.
Her breath tickled the back of his neck, and he wanted to pull her close and run his hands over her. At the same time, though, this box was absolutely fascinating…. “What do you mean, only your family?”
“Just what I said. It opens for me, my mom, my grandmother, my great-grandmother. You get the drift. I think it’s tuned to our DNA, but I’ve never entirely figured it out.”
“What does your dad say?”
Her laugh held a hint of bitterness. “He was fascinated, of course. But he wanted to take the box apart, figure it out. My mom put her foot down. She wouldn’t even let him look at it in any detail. She was afraid he’d break his promise and start disassembling the thing.” She cocked her head. “What do you think? DNA? Magic? Tiny little elves who live inside the chest?”
“I’m going with the elf theory.” He spoke the words lightly, but there was nothing indifferent about his fascination, and his gaze stayed fixed on the box. Completely and utterly fascinating….
He shook his head in pure, scientific wonderment. The inside was covered with an intricate design, and as she moved back in front of him, some of the markings caught his attention. Something familiar. Mathematical formulas?
He squinted, trying to see the faded markings more clearly. What on earth would equations be doing on the inside of a hope chest?
He started to reach for it, wanting just a bit of a closer look, but her hand closed over his.
“Sorry,” he said, feeling sheepish. “You were right to think I’d be intrigued.” He stepped back, contemplating the chest from a distance. “So it’s been passed down in your family,” he said. “Do you know who built it? Is there a maker’s mark?”
“Nothing. I’m pretty sure my mom told me that it was found one day in a little shop and my great-great-great-et cetera grandmother bought it. But why the lock would work just for her—just for our family—is a total mystery.”
“So you don’t know any of the chest’s history.”
“Well, I don’t know much. The truth is, I think I might know a little bit more than anyone else.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I found a journal in it a few months ago, after my mom died. A slim little book that was hidden up here. See?” She pointed to the inside of the lid which was made of the same enamel-like material and covered with a celestial pattern.
“So what did the journal say?”
She frowned. “Unfortunately, the journal was something of a mess. I think it got damaged when my grandmother’s house flooded. She managed to dry the box and its contents out, but since she didn’t realize there was a hidden compartment, the journal got water damaged. Pages mildewed and ink ran and faded. But I could read enough of it.”
“What did it say?” Ryan asked. He leaned forward, completely fascinated, not so much with the idea of finding a hidden journal, but with the way her face had lit up. With a start, he realized that she could be telling him any story, and he’d want to hear it. Almost as much as he wanted to take her in his arms and lose himself in her.
She brushed the question away with a wave of her hand. “Nothing much.”
“Oh, come on. Now that you’ve got me interested, you have to follow through.”
She licked her lips, and the heat that flooded her eyes was unmistakable. “Oh, really. Is that the way it works?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his gaze never wavering.
Color flooded her cheeks, and she looked away, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Well, if those are the rules, I certainly won’t break them. The journal was all about colonization. I couldn’t read enough to get the details, but it talked about how hard they were working and how difficult the conditions were and how their efforts were going to pay off soon. I assume she was talking about their having come to America. It’s amazing, really. Holding that bit of history in my hand.” She shrugged, the gesture almost apologetic. “Anyway, it did make me start thinking again about what my mom said—that I’d make an impact. Because my ancestor certainly did. She may have written about it in her journal, but she was also out there doing it. I want to as well.” She pressed her lips together and looked away, fighting an expression of amusement. “Plus, I want to show up my dad.”
He laughed. “Another sentiment I wholly identify with. Don’t worry. You will.”
She moved closer, head tilted back to look up at him. “Yeah? How would you know? Writing features isn’t exactly a springboard to the Nobel Prize. Besides, you hardly know me.”
“Maybe I see a lot.” He pressed the tip of his finger to her lips, then trailed it down to the neckline of her blouse.
“Really?” The tease in her voice completely turned him on, erasing any remaining hesitations and taking his mind entirely off their conversation and her enigmatic hope chest.
“Oh yes,” he said. “And right now, I’d like to see a lot more.”
She slid into his arms and brushed his lips with a kiss, then stepped back, her hands lifting toward the buttons of her blouse. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I think that can be arranged.”
CHAPTER THREE
MARTY WOKE UP limp, her body completely sated and her stamina pushed to the brink. He’d been amazing. No, beyond amazing. Something she didn’t even have a word for, and so she did the only thing she could do—she snuggled against him, delighted when he shifted in sleep to close his arm around her.
She sighed, happy to know his subconscious was as attracted to her as his conscious mind was. And she assumed that his conscious mind was very attracted. He’d done some amazing things with the heated Kama Sutra massage oil. And when he’d found the whipped cream at the back of her refrigerator…well, that had taken her all the way to heaven and beyond.
She wanted to go back to sleep, to lose herself in his embrace once again. But it was already past eight o’clock. And even though they’d only drifted off a little after three, Marty was certain she’d never felt so refreshed. Who needs sleep when you’ve had great sex?
Trouble was, now she was awake alone when she wanted to be awake and with him.
She was contemplating the problem—specifically, wondering if she was gutsy enough to wake him up by sliding down the bed and urging him awake with a few selectively placed, highly erotic kisses—when his soft voice tickled her ear.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning yourself,” she said, smiling. “I was just trying to decide how best to wake you up.”
“Were you?” His eyes were still heavy and dreamy, but the quirk of his mouth suggested that he had already picked up on the subtle hint in her voice. That pleased her more than it should, and she told herself that she didn’t have to be planning on a long-term relationship with the guy simply to be glad that they communicated so well. Good communication was just as important with a no-strings-attached, picked-up-at-a-bar lover.
A tiny part of her mind chimed in that this man could be so much more than that, but she firmly quashed the errant thought. She’d made a promise to herself not to do anything rash in her life financially, romantically, or any other-ly. So she was not going to get her hopes up about the possibilities of a future with a man she’d known for less than a day. If things grew and developed between them over time, then great. In nine months maybe they could start something. But she wasn’t leaping to conclusions—or relationships.
He shifted up onto one elbow, the sheet falling away to reveal even more of his tanned and taut chest. “So, now I’m curious. How were you going to wake me? Cold bucket of water?”
“I thought I might be a tad more subtle. And hopefully more enjoyable.”
“Is that right? Maybe I should go back to sleep. This doesn’t sound like the kind of thing I want to miss out on.”
“Oh, it’s not,” she said. “Definitely
not.”
“Mmm.” He closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow, flat on his back with his fingers twined behind his head. “Enlighten me.”
She wasn’t usually this bold with a man in bed, but something about Ryan erased her inhibitions. She moved over him, her knees on either side of his waist, then bent forward until her lips brushed his chest. He shivered slightly under her touch, and her mouth curved into a self-satisfied smile. I am woman. Oh, yes. This man made her feel all woman.
Slowly, she trailed her lips down his chest, then followed the thin line of hair that marked the path to his belly button. He tasted delicious, all warm and male, a hint of salt lingering on his skin from the sweat they’d worked up the night before.
Beneath her hands and mouth, she could feel his body harden. Lava flowed through her veins, a raw, heated desire fueled by the power of being female. Of turning this man on.
With her hands, she stroked his flat stomach, tracing her fingertip around his navel. He reached down, burying his fingers in her short hair, and easing her up toward him. She relaxed, pressing her body against his, almost melting from the heat generated between them as she slid up his body to close her mouth over his.
Heaven.
Dear Lord, he tasted so good. Her lips parted, and his tongue found hers. Searching and tasting and generally driving her wild.
She moaned, just a little, as his hands slid down, stroking her back and bottom, then cupping her waist as he flipped her under him, then straddled her. His thighs pressed against her hips, and there was absolutely no mistaking how incredibly turned on he was.
He leaned forward, and the sensation of his mouth closing over her breast sent shockwaves of pleasure rushing though her body. She felt warm and weightless, and her pulse pounded through her, all the pressure culminating at the apex of her thighs. She was hot and wet and she wanted him. Heaven help her, she wanted him now.
She arched her back, silently urging him to give her more. And, just in case he missed it, she whispered the word, too. A soft, sensuous demand: “More.”
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