by Lori Wilde
With this project, he promised himself, and with the sweet and lovely Drucilla.
RATHER THAN THE BOARDROOM they’d shocked each other in the day before, this morning they’d met in the director’s office. It was clear that Trifecta put their funds into the lab, not, Alex noted as he shifted again in the uncomfortable chair, into furnishings and frills.
Gone was his fairy princess. Seated on the matching plastic chair, Drucilla resembled so many of the scientists he’d worked with over the years. Her hair, so glorious when draped over his hard, nude body, was pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. Rather than the vivid colors she’d worn in Mexico, she was dressed in head-to-toe tan. Like toast without butter.
His gaze wandered, from her cool, barely made-up eyes to her flat-heeled, boring shoes. What in the hell was she playing at?
“Is this your attempt to keep me at arm’s length?” he leaned over to whisper when Glenn got up to refill his coffee. “Hiding behind a stereotype isn’t going to make me forget how you sound when you come.”
Well, that took care of the paleness in her cheeks, he noted with a satisfied grin. Instead of cool distance, now her indigo eyes shot sparks of fury.
Before she could let loose the angry response he could see right there on the tip of her tongue, Glenn returned to his seat. He set his cup precisely in its previous spot on his desk, folded his hands together and looked at the two of them with a benevolent smile.
“Well, we’ve made a good start. I know Dru can handle the paperwork, A.A. Would you care to tour the labs this morning while she focuses on that? We can gather after lunch to discuss which grants we’ll accept.”
“Why don’t we take this discussion a little further first,” Alex said with a smile. “I propose we consider alternate sources of funding.”
“Why? We already know where we’ll get our funding.” Drucilla’s look made it clear she was wondering if he’d faked all his awards and accolades. Alex was tempted to remind her that he’d never had to fake anything. And with him, neither had she.
“We have a foundation,” he said diplomatically. “It’s a solid start, and I’m not saying we ditch it. But I think we could bring in secondary funding, use some other resources.”
“We don’t need more funding,” she said through a smile so tight it had to have hurt her molars.
“We need an infrared supertelescope to prove your theory, don’t we?”
Her eyes lit up the same way they had when he’d suggested taking her beyond the break zone to surf the real waves. Challenge, excitement, passion.
God, he loved that look.
Then she hid it behind that freaking wall of ice again. Alex had to clench his fist on his knee to keep from pounding the chair in frustration.
“Trifecta doesn’t have access to that type of telescope,” she dismissed. “And even the most generous government grant wouldn’t provide enough funds to purchase one.”
“Right. Like I said, we get alternate funding.”
“We don’t have the time or the resources to pursue the kind of money it’d take to expand the project that much,” she said tightly.
“You might not,” he acknowledged, giving Glenn a friendly smile. “But I do.”
Glenn frowned. Alex realized that the guy might be even more conservative than he’d originally thought. Which meant he wouldn’t get the director’s help in double-teaming Drucilla.
“We’ll be fine with the original scope of this project.” Glenn’s comment cemented Alex’s observation. “A mathematical model could offer great success in proving the hypothesis.”
“You’d do better, and prove more, with the telescope,” he told the director before turning his attention back to Drucilla. “With that kind of funding, you could keep the project going for at least a year instead of your proposed three months, too.”
For one sweet second her eyes glowed again. It was clear how much the idea appealed to her. Alex smiled, knowing that with her on his side now, any objections Glenn offered would be easily toppled.
Then she shook her head. His jaw almost dropped.
“Three months is enough time to run the calculations, and we can make a solid argument without a telescope,” she said.
“For actual, measurable proof to substantiate the theory and prove your hypothesis, you need a bare minimum of twelve months. And you need that telescope,” he snapped.
“We could offer a solid argument through the mathematical model. That would give us a foundation for future projects, as funding was available,” she sputtered. “The cost of expanding this to include a telescope is prohibitive, and escalating the experimentation to that level could take years.”
“My momma always said nothing worth doing is worth rushing.”
“Did your mother also mention the folly of risking that bird in the hand?”
“My mom and I rarely discussed what bushes I put my hands into,” Alex deadpanned. It went right over Glenn’s head, he noted. But Drucilla, bless her, turned pink all the way to the little string tied in a bow at her throat.
“I’d think one of your major goals for this project would be success,” he pointed out, offering his most charming smile. From the look on her face, it made her want to hit him. “You don’t get success playing it safe, Drucilla. You succeed by taking chances.”
Her gorgeous eyes glared blue flames at him. He was using her own confession to argue against her. And from what he could see, he was winning. It helped that he considered himself an expert on her needs and how to fill them. After all, he’d spent a week getting to know exactly how to read her and how to exploit her needs, in the process making her come over and over and over.
Just the memory of her body, those long pale limbs silky smooth beneath his hands, sent a shaft of desire between his legs, nudging his dick into happy interest.
Bad timing, all around. He had battles to win right now. If he wanted to succeed, both in his funding pitch and later with Drucilla, he’d have to keep that image out of his brain.
“Maybe you see success as taking risks,” she replied, twisting his words just a little. “But I can’t believe that short-term accolades are worth more than long-term credibility. If we take on additional funding, we have to offer additional promises. Very public, accountable promises of proving a hypothesis that, to date, has been improvable.”
She waited a beat—just long enough for Glenn to let that sink in—then she shook her head. “Why would we risk our reputation when we’re already guaranteed the funding to explore this project the way we originally intended?”
Yep, he’d better pull the blood out of his lap. His brain was going to need every drop of it if he was going to win this debate. Besides, he was starting to think he was going to have to accept that this Drucilla, all uptight and bland, was the real woman. The sexy, exciting woman on the beach? Maybe she’d been a product of his lusty imagination.
It was like losing her all over again. Alex shoved the sentiment aside and focused on the one thing he could always count on. His career. He couldn’t let her timidity screw it up.
“Because I have connections that could fund the project. People who’d be willing to step in with bigger money. They’d require only the same guarantee required for the government grant.”
He could see excitement lurking, right there behind the angry protest in her eyes.
“They’re ready to meet with us this week, by the way,” he added, laying his trump card on the table with a slow, satisfied smile.
Ten minutes later, he stood to shake Glenn’s hand. Drucilla, he noted, kept hers firmly clenched in her lap. He could feel the distance between them widen, and with it, any chance he’d had to convince her that the two of them should pick up where they’d left off. Evidently, Drucilla at work didn’t like being cornered as much as Drucilla on the beach.
“I’ll need you to attend the meetings as well,” he told her, referring to the pitch meetings he’d agreed to set up with some of his wealthier contacts wh
o’d already expressed interest in backing the project.
“Just call my office when they arrive and I’ll join you,” she agreed.
She obviously intended to make that distance between them even wider. Since he wasn’t sure he wanted to close it anymore, he just leaned back in his chair and gave her a smug look.
“Did I say meetings? I should have been more specific. Dinner engagements, probably formal, at restaurants. Like, oh you know, dates,” he told her, wondering if the fact that her glare was turning him on made him a deviant of some kind.
“How soon can you set this in motion?” Glenn asked as Alex rose to refill his own coffee cup.
“We can probably have the first one tonight, tomorrow at the latest.”
Drucilla stood, her mouth opened and her lower lip trembling. Then she sucked in a deep breath that didn’t even ruffle the bow at her throat. “Fine. Just let me know the plans.”
With that and a quick nod to the director, she stormed out of the room.
Alex shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and leaned his hip on the edge of the desk, watching her stride away.
Alex was a man well used to arguing, negotiating and cajoling to reach the outcome he wanted, but he realized that while he may have just won on the surface, he’d actually lost.
Drucilla might respect A. A. Maddow’s accomplishments and résumé, but she wasn’t impressed with them. His brains, his ambition, his focus were all in her way.
So really, he was just a body to her. A sexual toy she’d happily played with during recess for pleasure and entertainment. But now that school was back in session? She wanted nothing to do with him. Serious girls didn’t play with toys.
A child prodigy, he’d spent most of his life seeking normalcy. The beach and his friends in Los Cabos had always been his buffer against the demands of his profession, his grandfather’s expectations and what he accepted as his obligation to society.
Even so, he’d always been defined by his intelligence. A walking, talking brain.
But Drucilla? A fellow scientist who knew perfectly well the depth and breadth of what that intelligence meant in their field. A woman who, simply by having her name on the same project as him, stood to gain a great deal.
Did she care about him? Obviously not.
She only wanted him for his body.
DRU DIDN’T KNOW what was worse. That Alex had conned her into thinking he was some kind of philosophical, kick-back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Or that he’d railroaded control of her project away from her.
That kick-back guy was still invading her dreams and making her want what she couldn’t have. And the railroading scientist? He was using her career aspirations to put that very career at risk.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d shanghaied the project yesterday morning. Not because she’d managed to avoid him, but quite the opposite—now that she had plenty to say to the renowned A. A. Maddow, he was the one avoiding her.
Drucilla stepped into the posh hotel restaurant and greeted the maître d’ with a smile that she hoped didn’t look as shaky as she felt. This was insane. Instead of being happily ensconced in her lab or her office, she was here playing beggar in Alex’s patron hunt. And not any normal patron hunt, either. She wasn’t using her brain, the lab’s nice sterile equipment or even pretty color-coded flowcharts for this hunt.
Nope, she was stuck with nothing but her charm.
Shyness shuddered through her like a chill. But she forced herself to stay instead of turning and running.
Normally, she’d have been happy enough to dress up and go out. But not like this. Hell, she didn’t even know what this was. It was an in-between event where one of her standard beige faculty-event dresses was too lackluster, but one of her colorful vacation dresses would be inappropriate.
So she’d been stuck relying on datewear.
The ubiquitous little black dress.
Her most conservative, the crepe de chine fabric molded comfortably to her slight curves. It was sleeveless and cut in a tantalizing vee at the neck, so she’d paired it with a metallic brocade jacket. The boxy cut took the edge off the neckline and, she hoped, made it modest enough for a business dinner.
She couldn’t do anything about the hemline, though. And stubborn pride had made her wear stiletto pumps, even though she knew she’d probably tower over most of her dinner companions.
“Right this way, Ms. Robichoux.”
She followed the maître d’ through the gentle sounds of upscale dining. Crystal gleamed, carefully arranged greenery provided a semblance of privacy and the even the occasional laugh was muted and refined.
A good place to troll for money, she had to admit.
And there he was, the troll himself, she thought with a little smile as she saw Alex rise from a corner table. She told herself it was hunger that made her stomach tumble to her toes and not the sight of him in his dark suit.
Her step hitched when she realized he was alone at the table. The clients hadn’t arrived yet? As much as she didn’t want to play tonight’s game, she wanted alone time with Alex even less.
But maybe it wasn’t a bad thing?
Maybe there was still time to convince him not to risk their scientific reputations on a flight for the stars and, instead, settle for some solid down-to-earth kudos.
Then she reached the table and noted the bucket of champagne chilling, the caviar already waiting.
How was she supposed to explain to this gorgeous rock star that success, to her, meant a steady job, a regular paycheck and a solid shot at advancing in her career? Not glitter and accolades.
She couldn’t, of course. Not without appearing even stupider than she already did.
“Drucilla, you look lovely,” he said. His gaze swept over her, taking in the loose bun, more a collection of curls than a controlled style. He studied the conservative jacket and raised a brow as if to ask if she wanted to remove it so he could feast his eyes on whatever was beneath. She thanked the maître d’ before slipping into the chair he held out.
Setting her tiny evening bag on the table, she glanced up to catch Alex admiring her legs. A quick surge of feminine pride tingled through her.
Unable to resist stoking the embers a little, she slowly, seductively, tilted one leg to the side to maximize the view. Then she trailed her fingers from the curve of her knee to the hem of her dress where it had risen temptingly high on her thigh.
His eyes went black. She reveled in the dual sense of power and desire settling low in her belly. She let the maître d’ help push her chair in, so her legs and the view they provided were hidden beneath the white linen tablecloth.
By the time Alex managed to pull his eyes back to her face, she’d plastered on an unassuming expression.
“Problem?” she asked.
He gave her a long look, a tiny frown of confusion creasing his brow. Then, with a nod of thanks to the maître d’, he slid into his own seat next to her.
“You look lovely,” he repeated suspiciously. “Why?”
Dru pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, instead raising both brows as if she was shocked.
“Why do I look lovely? What kind of question is that?”
“The kind I feel compelled to ask given that you’ve gone out of your way to blend in with the wallpaper for the last few days.”
Her amusement dissipated in a flash. Wallpaper? Sure, she’d taken a little extra care to distance herself from her colorful beachy persona, the one he’d screwed six ways from Sunday, but that didn’t mean she was trying to blend in with the wallpaper.
“Maybe I wanted to impress your potential backers,” she suggested tightly.
“No, you didn’t,” he rejected. He stared through narrowed eyes, then shook his head. “You don’t want this deal to go through, so the only impression you’d be trying to make is a bad one.”
Dru was actually offended at that. “You think I’d go out of my way to make a bad impression?”
He
had the grace to look contrite. “I’m sorry. I was just shocked to see you again.”
“You just saw me yesterday,” she dismissed, still irked.
“No, I saw Toasted Science Girl yesterday. Tonight I’m seeing you.” He stopped abruptly and clamped his lips shut. If he’d been a girl, she figured he’d have slapped his hand over his mouth.
Well, that sure burst the little bubble of anger she’d been nursing so diligently.
Trying to keep a straight face, she had to swallow twice before she could ask, “Toasted?”
“Your beige outfits remind me of unbuttered toast.”
The laugh escaped before she could stop it.
His answering smile had just a hint of gratitude in it. As if he’d expected her to jab him in the hand with her fork and wouldn’t have even blamed her for doing it.
He reached over and took her hand. Before she could reset her defenses or even start her mental lecture on the million reasons he was off-limits, he gave it a quick, friendly squeeze and released her.
“I’m sorry I put you in this position. I realize this is probably more than you can handle—”
“More than I can handle?” she interrupted, a little confused. Did that have something to do with being beige?
“I checked you out before I agreed to take this project.” At her shocked look, he nodded. “I might not have put sexy beach babe Drucilla together with D. M. Robichoux, noted up-and-coming astrophysicist, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’ve done. Actually, to tell you the truth, I thought you were a guy. All the people I talked to referred to you as Drew.”
Dru stared, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure what to think about that confession. She supposed it was easy enough to see how he’d make the mistake. What she didn’t see, though, was how it applied to his thinking this evening might be more than she could handle.
She was pretty sure she’d already proved to him just how well she handled everything he had.
Although that probably wasn’t what he’d meant.
“That’s your excuse for not realizing who I was when we met in Mexico,” she said slowly, trying to establish the point.
