by Neesa Hart
He gave her students a reassuring look, and dismissed them with a slight nod of his head. They hurried off, their giggling and chatter fading as they disappeared around the corner.
When Liza faced him again, they were alone. He had nothing to say, so he simply stared at her. She stared back. Several moments passed before she made the first move. With a muffled exclamation, she walked straight into his arms.
Relief exploded inside him. Somehow, he hadn’t managed to screw this up completely. Even years later, the fights with Mara, her charges of his insensitivity and selfishness still rang in his ears. He’d survived his failed marriage, but not without his share of scars. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have done that last night.”
Liza shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is.” He took long seconds to absorb the feel of her pressed against him. “I acted like a jerk.”
“Sort of,” she concurred.
“Only sort of?”
“I knew you had to leave,” she explained. “I shouldn’t have held that against you.”
“I didn’t have to leave without making you understand what that meant to me. It was selfish.”
He heard her chuckle, and the rest of his anxiety washed away. “Well,” she said, tipping her head back to meet his gaze, “now that you mention it—”
He shook his head. “Are you going to torture me about this for the rest of the day?”
“Will it do me any good.”
“Probably.”
“Really?”
“And you don’t have to look so damned amused.”
“I can’t help it. It’s vaguely satisfying.”
Eli’s eyes sparkled. “Well, if you’re going to torture me, can we at least go somewhere less public?”
“Depends,” she told him. “What are your intentions?”
He blinked. “Are you kidding?”
Liza laughed. “Besides that, I mean.”
“Oh. We need to have the conversation we should have had last night.”
“Would that be the conversation we should have had before or after you carried me past the transcendental plane of existential bliss?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “The what?”
“I learned that in Mrs. Petrie’s English class.”
“Doesn’t Grace have her for creative writing?” he asked.
Liza nodded “She’s been teaching here a very long time.”
“Should I be checking my daughter’s homework for creative euphemisms for, er, existential bliss?”
“Oh, definitely. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is one of Mrs. Petrie’s favorite books.”
“Great. My daughter’s reading smutty Persian poetry.”
“Don’t worry. I think Mrs. Petrie sticks to animal stories for the younger grades. It’s the high schoolers you have to keep an eye on.”
“I’ll remember that.” He kissed her softly. “Are you done for the day? Anna said you probably would be.”
“I am. Are you?”
“Yes. I have labs only every other day—so I’ve got some time. Your office?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. How about your apartment?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Honor demands that I point out to you that there’s a bed at my apartment—and that my concentration might be somewhat fractured, given the obvious conclusions I’m bound to draw from this proposal.”
Liza laughed, and it warmed him. “Well, I certainly hope so.”
He kissed her, hard and long and hungrily until he felt sure she understood all the things he’d left unsaid the night before. “Do you want me to drive?” he asked.
“I’ll have to meet you there.” He adored the husky note in her voice. “I have to stop by the office first.”
“Twenty minutes,” he told her. “I’ll be waiting.
8
“Eli—” she gasped forty-five minutes later. “This is too much—” her voice threaded, as he bit gently on her earlobe.
He raised his head to give her a wicked grin. She’d knocked on his door twenty minutes ago, and they hadn’t even made it to the bedroom. He had her ready for him in seconds as the passion between them flared to new heights. “I know,” he assured her.
He took a second to prepare himself, then put himself right where he wanted to be. The feeling was every bit as mind-stealing as it had been the night before. Liza clutched at him, and he traveled with her all the way to the stars.
Moments later, they lay, replete and exhausted, reaching for breath and for sanity. He kissed her gently on the lips. “Thanks for coming,” he told her.
She giggled. “My pleasure.”
In his nerve-numb state, it took him several seconds to catch the pun. When he did, he laughed. “And thanks for giving me a second chance.”
She stretched, a lazy dancer’s stretch that gave him an oh-so-tempting view of her many assets. “It was my fault, too. I’m sorry I let you leave like that. I was feeling a little shattered, and it was strange having you walk out on me.”
“We’ll work harder at that next time.”
Her gaze strayed to the clock. “How much time do we have?”
“Grace should be home in an hour.”
Liza nodded and reached for her shirt. “And I’ve got to be at a meeting by six. Want some coffee before I go?”
He sighed. “I guess. I hate this.”
She pulled on her shirt, then her jeans. “It’s the best we’ve got, Doc. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.” He dressed, too, so he could trail after her to the kitchen.
She pulled open a cabinet. “Where’s your coffee stuff?”
“Bottom left. I’ll do it.” He brushed past her.
“Fill the pot, I’ll make the coffee. I don’t trust anyone to make coffee for me.”
He poured the water into the coffee maker, then stepped back to let her finish the job. He braced one hip against the counter and studied her as she moved comfortably around his kitchen. It felt uncommonly good to have her there—better, probably, than it should to have her doing something as simple for him as making a pot of coffee.
Shaking off the odd feeling, he grabbed two mugs from the rack and set them on the counter.
Liza gave him a thankful smile. “It’ll be several minutes until this is done. While we wait, you can tell me what that visit from your in-laws really meant last night.” She paused. “Or would you rather not?”
His euphoria evaporated. He pushed away from the counter in sudden agitation. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve been wrestling with this almost every day since Mara died. I didn’t have much peace from it until Grace and I got down here.”
“They’re really determined, Eli. I think you should give some serious thought to what you’re going to do if they make a legal move for custody.”
“What I want to do is to strangle the Paschells and get them out of my life.”
“I know the feeling. They’re pretty rotten.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her gaze suddenly, “for the things they insinuated about you and the program here.”
“You mean the ‘dancers have questionable morals’ comment?”
He winced. “Did she say that?”
“Yes. You were outside slamming your head against the brick wall.”
“How’d you know?”
“You had lumps on your forehead when you returned to the table.”
He managed a slight laugh. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Anyway, you didn’t have to take that.”
Liza shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m way past the stage in my life where everyone’s opinion counts.” The coffee pot had started to gurgle. “I think it was hard on Grace, though.”
“I’m sure it was. She looked miserable.”
“Do you think they’re like that when she’s alone with them, or was that just a show to impress us?”
“I d
on’t know, but I’m going to ask her. I’m not sending her over there anymore if she hates it.”
“It would be hard,” she said carefully, “to take her out of their lives completely.”
“Not if we didn’t live in New York,” he said.
Liza’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that a possibility?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” He finally stopped pacing and dropped into a chair. “I’m not sure of anything anymore, except that I’m not going to let Mara’s parents destroy what I have with Grace.”
Liza waited for the coffee pot to finish, then poured two cups. “Cream and sugar?” she asked him.
“Black.”
She set the two cups on the table and took the seat across from him. “Did Mara name you as Grace’s guardian in her will?”
“That’s part of the problem.” He picked up his mug. “Mara didn’t have a will, but according to the divorce settlement, we had joint custody. When she died, I became Grace’s sole guardian.”
“Sounds airtight.”
“It is—mostly. But if the Paschells can persuade the court that the conditions which existed at the time of my divorce no longer stand, then they might have a case. When Mara and I split, I rarely traveled. Now that I’m on the road so much, Grace’s grandparents could argue that it’s bad for Grace.” He took a tentative sip of his coffee, winced as it slid down his throat.
Liza toyed with her mug. “So you think they might try to convince a judge that your commitment to your work at the lab would prevent you from properly caring for Grace?”
“That—or that I’m reckless with my research and my career is about to go down the tubes.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” she scoffed.
“Some judges are—easily influenced.”
“And the Paschells are in a position to exert significant pressure.”
“Yes.”
“But so are you,” she argued.
“Yes. And I won’t hesitate to do it if I have to. I was trying to spare Grace, and me, the messy reality of a publicity deluge. It’s hard to make people understand how common this really is. All the pharmaceutical firms are looking for the same types of drugs—everything from weight-loss aids to cures for cancer.
“I know of five other scientists who are working on some of the same research we are right now. Generally, it’s a civil business. We’re in this together—fighting diseases that are common enemies. I wouldn’t hesitate to share some research with one of my colleagues if it meant we could get to an answer more quickly. Every mystery we solve unlocks the door to thousands of other secrets.”
“But it’s not always like that?” she prompted.
“There’s a lot of money involved. Greed is part of it. Sometimes, one guy gets to the answer quicker—usually because he’s lucky—and when that happens, his sponsors make money. Lots of money.” Eli shrugged. “Generally, the rest of us recognize that whatever strides were made benefit all of us in some way. But the field has its share of bastards.”
“Like Jonathan Dally?”
“He’s their king,” he said with a slight smile. “And he’s been bitter about me since we first worked together ten years ago. I got a grant he wanted, and that grant led to some groundbreaking strides in virus control. He never got over that.”
“And now he’s making you pay for it,” she guessed.
“That’s the way he sees it. He’s getting some attention, anyway. If it hadn’t been for the Nobel nomination, no one would have cared. He maybe would have gotten some coverage in some medical journals, but that’s about it. Now, I’m stuck. If I make a public statement about Dally’s accusations, the interview demands will start pouring in. First, it’ll be print media. Before long, the morning shows will call. Everyone’s going to want a piece of me, and I only have so many pieces to go around. Grace is always going to get the first piece.”
Liza gave him an encouraging smile. “That’s one of the things I like best about you.”
“It took me a while,” he admitted, “but I’m perfectly capable of learning from my mistakes. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”
“Last night,” she confessed, “I wasn’t so sure. But you’re winning me over.”
“It’s my irresistible charm.”
Her laugh poured over his nerves with the electrifying effect of fine champagne—chasing away any lingering shadows. “I’ve always been quite impressed by the size of your ego.”
“Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about,” he told her.
“Your ego?”
He gave her a dry look. “My mistakes. After last night—” He hesitated. “Are we all right?”
“You have to ask me that while I’m nursing the rug burns on my behind from this afternoon?”
He grinned at her. “I don’t want to screw up again.”
“I’ll warn you first.”
“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, I haven’t had a chance to really ask you how you think Grace is doing. She’s very fond of you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“When I first met with Anna, she seemed quite certain that you and Grace would be a good match.” He studied the dark liquid in his mug. The sunlight streaming through his window had turned her hair to a glistening gold. If he kept looking at her, he’d want her again. “I think she’s right.”
“Grace is very talented.”
He nodded. “She is. I’ve known that for quite a while.” And Mara had known it too—she hadn’t liked it, but she’d known. He, fool that he’d been, had let Mara’s insecurities stand in the way of Grace’s blossoming self-confidence. “Mara wasn’t in favor of her lessons,” he finally said.
“I gathered that from Doris’s comments. Do you know why?”
“Frankly, I think Mara didn’t like the idea of anyone, not even her own child, being more talented than she was.” He shook his head. “Grace needed the assurance it would have given her to explore that talent. I didn’t fight for it. I should have.” He scowled. “Mara should have.”
“Just because a person gives birth doesn’t mean they’re automatically suited to motherhood,” Liza said. “It sounds like Mara had a lot of—issues.”
“You could say that. Mara and I didn’t agree on a lot of things. I think I failed Grace by not fighting harder about some of them.”
Liza reached across the table to touch his hand. “Don’t do that to yourself. You can only go forward, Eli. Concentrate on that.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “Still, she’s not herself. She was never like this before. She’s so excruciatingly polite. God, every time she calls me ‘Father’ in that stilted voice, I think I’m going to break something.”
“She’s afraid. Of a lot of things. You’re working hard to allay those fears, and I know it’s hard, but that’s all you can do right now.”
The words caused a cauldron of frustration to begin bubbling inside him. “I know it, but damned if I like it. She still barely talks to me. I paid every doctor in New York to do something, anything, for her, and she just looks at me with that vacant expression.”
The shaft of sunlight spilled across their joined hands, heating his flesh. He studied the picture for long seconds, searching for a way to make her understand. “And the worst of it is,” he finally said, “I have no idea how to help her. She seems terrified of me, too.”
“No,” Liza insisted. “I’ve seen the way Grace interacts with you. She is not afraid of you. Once Grace understands that you wouldn’t willingly leave her alone, she’ll begin to adjust. Children grieve too, Eli. They just do it differently than we do. She gave you a big part of the puzzle when she told you she didn’t want to leave here. I think she meant she didn’t want to leave you.”
His thumb stroked a lazy rhythm on the back of her hand. “I hope so.” With a low groan, his eyes drifted shut. “If I’d worked harder . . . But I had such trouble dealing with Mara.”
“You couldn’t have known what would
happen.”
But he should have, he thought cynically. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know Mara for who she was. “Mara and I had been divorced for five years, but we’d been estranged since the beginning.”
“You started having regrets the morning after you said, ‘I do,’ “ she guessed.
“How did you know?”
“Been there.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You were married?”
“Sort of.”
“How can a person be sort of married?”
Lord, why in the world had she brought this up? She never brought this up. He had a way of doing that to her. One piercing look from those amber eyes and she was spilling her guts. Liza reached for her nerve. “Legally, we were completely married. Emotionally—well, who knows what the hell we were doing.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Eighteen,” Eli mused. “You were young.” His tone was thoughtful. “Had you known him long?”
“A week and a half.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Is this an inquisition?”
He blinked, then gave her a slow smile. “Sorry. Scientist’s innate curiosity. It’s a reflex to probe.”
“I’ll consider myself forewarned. You were telling me about Mara.”
“And you’re changing the subject.”
“You finish yours first.”
“Hmm.” He spread both his hands on his muscled thighs and leaned close. “Okay—Mara was a, ‘hey, baby, what’s your sign’ type.”
“Lovely image. I thought you said you were a brain man.”
“I never claimed to have understood the woman.”
“You understood her well enough to marry her.”
“She married me, actually.”
Liza’s eyebrows rose. “There’s a difference?”
“Like being sort of married,” he acknowledged. “Mara pursued, and I chose not to run.”
