The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  He laughed. “Pretty much. The problem is, I’m missing a piece. In the lab, on the computer, there’s just something I can’t get, and without that piece, we’re not going to get the contract.”

  She’d never understand quite what he was doing, but she reached out and took his hand. “You’ll get it. You’re brilliant. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “Thanks for the confidence. I appreciate that.” His smile was quick and bright. “And the truth is, in a way you probably saved me. Antimatter is my project. So if I’m with you, I can’t answer any questions the NASA guys might have. Edward can just tell them that all is on track, and everyone will be happy.”

  “And that will work?”

  “For a few more days it will. If I don’t have the answer by the proposal deadline, there will be no hiding the truth. And no way we’ll get the contract.”

  “Oh.” She wished she could help. Ryan’s goal was exactly the kind of thing that her mom had dreamed for her and that her dad was sure she’d never accomplish. A chance to make a mark on humanity. Her brain didn’t work like that, though, and all she could do was kiss his cheek and let him know she believed in him.

  They stood there for a while, locked in a silent embrace. He stroked her arm with his forefingers, and her already heated blood started to boil. Her nipples tightened into hard nubs, and she pressed her legs together tight, both fighting and enhancing a growing pressure at the apex of her thighs.

  She ought to tell him to go back to work, to solve his problem and come back when it was done. She should tell him she believed in him and then tell him to go.

  But the words wouldn’t come. She wanted this man. Had been craving him for days, actually. And now he was here. Warm and willing and oh, so tempting.

  It would be absurd to push him away. Absurd. Ridiculous. Utterly foolish.

  Marty might be a lot of things, but she certainly wasn’t a fool. And as she lifted her head to meet his lips, her mind cleared of all but one thought: if this was a mistake, being wrong had never felt so good.

  Her fingernails dug into his shirt as he pulled her closer, his mouth taking hers passionately, almost violently. God, how she wanted this release.

  He was right here, touching her in all the right places. His hands stroking her. His lips crushing against her. His body pressed tight against hers.

  “Marty,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Dear God, Marty, I’ve missed you.”

  Her heart fluttered with the words and she snuggled closer. “I’m glad you came.” It was an understatement, but she hoped he understood how much she meant the words.

  “I’m glad I came, too.”

  “Yeah?” She realized she was grinning and felt utterly goofy, but she couldn’t help it. He’d come back and she was happy, and that’s just the way it was.

  She took his hand and gave a little tug. “Come on. There’s no sense standing in the hallway. Do you want something to eat? Some wine? A beer?”

  “All I want right now is you.”

  “Oh.” A quick trill of delight shot up her spine. “Well, that’s okay, too.”

  And then he was right there, his lips on hers, his hands stroking her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, lost in the pleasure of his touch. His hands slid down her body until his fingers found the hem of her T-shirt. And then his thumbs stroked her skin, his hands moving up. With his palms on her belly, his fingers teased the soft flesh of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and when his thumb stroked her nipple, she cried out with a pleasure that was dangerously close to pain.

  “Ryan…”

  “Hush.” One hand was no longer in her shirt—she was having a hard time keeping track of his touches—and suddenly she felt the pressure between her legs, his hand stroking her through the thick material of her jeans. Oh, dear Lord, she was going to lose it right there.

  She lifted her hips, the motion automatic as her body responded not to her thoughts but to his touch. She wriggled a little, wanted to feel the pressure of the denim seam right there. She wanted to close her hand over his, to show him exactly where to press, exactly where to stroke, but at the same time she wanted to draw the moment out. Wanted to lose herself in the slow build of excitement as he teased and tormented her.

  And then his hand was gone and she gasped, a soft sound of frustration stifled only by his lips pressing against hers. He laid her back on the couch, and she realized that his hand hadn’t traveled far. Now it was on the button of her jeans. Now it was on her zipper. And now—oh, sweet heaven—his fingers were sliding under the band of her skimpy satin panties.

  He stroked her, his fingers gliding over her already damp curls and finding her spot, that spot. He stroked and caressed her at the same time his lips danced over the soft skin at her throat. She heard a tiny mewling noise and realized it came from her.

  She was close, so close, and she didn’t want his touches to stop. She wanted more. Wanted everything. Wanted to explode right there in his arms.

  Almost desperately, she shifted her legs, opening them wider even as she lifted her hips. He groaned, then. A low growling noise that seemed to come from deep in his throat and that turned her on almost as much as his touch.

  He continued to stroke her and she writhed against him. She was on the brink, and she closed her eyes, letting her mind and body float away, his touch the only thing real in the world. His touch. His hands.

  Her Ryan.

  And then he touched her just so, and suddenly she wasn’t thinking anymore. Not in words, not in images, not in anything. Instead she was simply exploding, her entire body undone by the pleasure of his touch.

  As wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure pummeled her body, he held her close, whispering softly in her ear, urging her to lose herself to his touch.

  She didn’t need the encouragement, and when the last tremors finally settled, she exhaled, long and loud, and laid back on the couch, boneless and sated.

  “Did you like that?” His grin was playful.

  She shrugged, her own grin matching his. “Not sure. I really can’t remember it. Maybe we ought to try it again and find out.”

  He trailed a finger down between her breasts. “I think that could be arranged….”

  But she caught his finger as it grazed her belly button. “No, no, no,” she said. “As much as I’d like that, I think it’s your turn.”

  He raised his eyebrows, looking at her in mock seriousness. “Oh really?”

  She sat up, shifting herself on the couch until she was straddling him, her knees on the cushion on either side of him. “As a matter of fact, yes.” She pressed a finger to her cheek and cocked her head, hoping she looked suitably minxish. “What to do…what to do?”

  His eyes danced with amusement, and she poked him lightly in the chest.

  “You have a suggestion? After all, I aim to please.”

  “I seem to recall a certain treasure trove,” he said, his eyes darting toward the bedroom where she kept a shoebox filled with decadent and sensual things like the Kama Sutra oil they so often indulged in.

  “Oh really?” She pitched her voice high, unable to disguise the hint of laughter. “Well, we’ll just have to see what delights are in store for you, won’t we?”

  She made a production of sliding off his lap, her whole body overflowing with the delight of playing with him. She felt such an easiness with this man. None of the shyness she’d often felt with other lovers. Even Eli. She’d never quite been herself with him, a perverse shyness always washing over her in bed despite dating him for so long.

  She led Ryan into the bedroom and then nodded toward the bed. “You. Up there. I’ll see what delights I can pull from my treasure chest of fun.” She started to head toward her dresser and the shoebox that still sat next to her hope chest, but Ryan shook his head.

  “Oh no. I get to help pick it out.”

  She laughed. “Just a bit of a control freak?”

  “Guilty.” He stood next to her,
and as she opened the shoe box, she realized that he was no longer watching her. She turned, and saw that he was staring at the hope chest.

  “Ryan?”

  He blinked.

  “Ryan,” she repeated. “You still with me?”

  “Sorry. There’s just something…” He ran his hand over the chest’s curved top. “I don’t know. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something important.”

  “Your meeting?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his face clearing. “Something about your hope chest. Maybe something I read or something I saw…”

  She perked up, instantly interested. “Did you research it for me? The mechanism, I mean.”

  “No, not yet.” He moved his finger as if to open the box. Nothing happened, of course. “One day I will, though. It’s just too damn fascinating.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. And the mystery of what made the latch work was certainly ripe territory for a scientist.

  Knowing Ryan would get a scientific thrill, she pushed his hand aside, then opened the box herself with one fluid motion. He just shook his head, totally bewildered.

  “I just don’t get it. I mean, this thing is an antique. The science behind this thing must be amazing. You’re sure I can’t—”

  “Enough with the chest, already,” she said with a laugh. “No taking it apart and analyzing it. No dissecting it. You can try to figure it out in theory if you want to, but not right now.” She gave him a playful smack, and he backed away from the hope chest, his hands up in a show of surrender.

  “That’s better,” she said. She crooked a finger. “Now come here. I have other plans for you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE’D KNOWN he wanted her, but it wasn’t until she was in his arms that he realized how much he’d missed her touch. How much he craved the feel of her skin next to his. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t even want to analyze it. He was a scientist, after all, but this wasn’t the time to think about chemicals and pheromones and animalistic mating rituals.

  He didn’t want to think about anything but Marty, in his arms, naked.

  She stroked a finger down his chest, lower and lower until it was all he could do not to grab her, throw her back on the mattress and lose himself in her right then.

  “Uh-uh,” she said, apparently reading his mind. “I get to have my fun first.” She eased him down so that he was lying on the bed. She straddled him, then reached over to pull a silk scarf off her bedside table.

  She teased him with it, trailing it along his neck, over his shoulders. He closed his eyes, the soft, cool material refreshing against the heat of his body. He smiled to himself, wondering what other treasures they might explore from her secret stash. He pictured the shoe box filled with tiny bottles of massage oil right next to the hope—

  The chest!

  The realization ripped him from his languid reverie, and he sat up. He must have been a sight, his body tight and hard, desperate for Marty, and his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Ryan?” Alarm colored her features. “Ryan, are you okay?”

  “Your chest.” He searched her face as if it held the answers he was searching for. “I need to see the inside of your hope chest.”

  Confusion flitted across her features. “What? Why?”

  “Please,” he said, taking her hand. “Please just let me see it.”

  MARTY’S CHEST tightened with an unexplainable fear as she stood in front of the box, her finger pressed against it. It opened, and she stepped back, letting Ryan have access.

  A soft curse escaped his lips. “Dear God,” he said, “this is it. This is really it.”

  She shook her head, baffled. “What? What is it?”

  “I thought there was something familiar the first time I saw it, but I didn’t get a close look, and later I didn’t make the connection. I can’t believe I didn’t see…” He was talking to himself, and she moved in front of him, determined to grab his attention.

  “Ryan! What?”

  “These markings,” he said. “The pattern in the inlay. It’s an odd script, so I couldn’t read it that clearly, just enough to know it was a mathematical formula. And this,” he pointed to another area, “is a chemical equation. And damned if they both don’t impact my research.”

  That made no sense whatsoever. “You’ve got to be kidding. This thing was made hundreds of years ago. How could there possibly be stuff in here that has to do with antimatter?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s here.” A quick frown. “Not all of it, though.” He reached out. “Maybe there’s more under the inlay, where you found the journal.”

  Without thinking, she smacked his hand away. A wave of anger and hurt had flared up, firing her blood and making her practically quiver with pent-up emotion. “This is why you came back. Dammit, I should have known! You ignore me and ignore me and ignore me, and then suddenly you realize the error of your ways? I don’t think so!”

  He flinched. “Marty, no! You came over, I realized I’d been an ass, and I—”

  “Don’t even,” she said. Tears filled her eyes, and she mentally kicked herself for being so stupid. “Maybe seeing me reminded you. Kickstarted something in your brain, but dammit, Ryan, I was the last thing on your priority list and then suddenly I’m the first. And then you realize that, oh gee, maybe I have the answer to your prayers. I may not be as smart as you and my father, but I’m not stupid.”

  He stared at her, something dark and disturbing in his eyes. “You may not be stupid,” he finally said, “but right now you’re not being very smart either.”

  She clenched her fists, determined not to cry, then pointed toward the door. “Go.”

  “Marty, goddamn it. Didn’t you tell me you wanted to make a difference? Wanted to prove your mom right and show your father that you can? This will make a difference. Space travel. Space exploration. I swear to you the answer is somewhere in those equations, in those symbols. You couldn’t ask for a bigger contribution to history or mankind.”

  It was her turn to flinch against his words, and she shook her head slowly. “That’s not me doing anything except handing over a box.”

  “But if you don’t hand it over—”

  “Then you or someone else will still figure it out. You told me yourself how close you are. How close the other labs are.” She clenched her fists, steeling herself in anger. “But don’t worry. I won’t show my dad either.”

  He just shook his head, and she could almost see the frustration coloring his complexion. “Marty. Damn it, I love you!”

  She let the words flow over her, wishing with every ounce of her being that he’d said them before he’d lunged for her hope chest. Because now was too late. Now, she just couldn’t believe. Now, he was just saying it to get what he wanted. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, just go.”

  This time, he went.

  And as the front door closed behind him, Marty fell onto the bed, buried her face in her pillow, and wept.

  SHE DIDN’T TRUST HIM. That one fact kept spinning through Ryan’s mind as he sat in his office staring at his notes.

  He’d tried to write down everything he remembered from the inscription inside the box, and the equations had sparked a plethora of additional thoughts and theories. But no answer. No matter how many different angles he tried, he still couldn’t quite figure out how to approach the problem, much less how to solve it.

  And it wasn’t just the problem of how to solve the antimatter propulsion problem. Ryan was also struggling with the problem of Marty.

  He’d told her he loved her, and she’d thrown his words back in his face. And the hard, sad truth? He really couldn’t blame her. He’d never said the words before. Not until she’d kept the box from him. Then suddenly the words had flown off his tongue.

  What an asshole he’d been. And he had no idea how to make it better. He did love her, but he’d blown it.

  Now he didn’t have Marty, he didn’t have the hope chest and he didn’t
have the answer. Any hope he’d had of winning the contract was spiraling down the drain and even though he was going to work his tail off until the proposal was due, Ryan already knew he wouldn’t find the answer. The equations from the box were complex, pulling in formulas and theories that Ryan had never seen before, had never even contemplated. Extensions of his own theoretical calculations, but so much more sophisticated. If he had time…

  But he didn’t.

  He couldn’t give up, though. If there was even the slightest chance, he had to take it. And so he was going to buckle down and attack the formula.

  And only when he’d solved the mystery or time had run out, he’d turn to the mystery of Marty. Somehow he’d get her back. Because Ryan may not know the key to the antimatter problem, but he did know that he didn’t want to live without Marty in his life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARTY SIMPLY COULDN’T shake her funk. No matter what she did, her thoughts kept coming back to Ryan.

  He’d used her. Tried to play off her need to hear those three little words. And that was what really made her stomach hurt.

  She knew it was ridiculous to be so completely flummoxed by a relationship, but she was. She should never have gone home with him from the club that day. And she certainly should never have let him into her life. She should have stuck like glue to her widow’s year.

  Instead, she’d opened her heart. And Ryan had walked all over it.

  For the past two days, she’d called in sick at work. It was near the truth; she was definitely heartsick. And she’d spent her time away from the office doing such highly productive things as vegging on the couch, watching really bad television and eating chips, ice cream and frozen cookie dough. She’d probably gained five pounds, and she now knew more about the folks on General Hospital than she really wanted to know.

  The trouble was, she didn’t feel any better. Ryan still filled her head, and now the anger had dissipated, replaced by both a sadness and a longing so fierce it was almost physically painful.

  He’d hurt her, yes. But still she wanted to see him again. Wanted it so badly should could almost taste it. Wanted it so badly, she was almost—almost—willing to take him the box.