Enemy of Mine (34 page)
He scooted a little closer then. “Minerva, your dissertation is perfect, as is.”
Erva held her hands over her heart.
Dean Whittaker looked down then. “Of course, everyone could stand to have a few more rounds of edits, but your research is sound and clear and abundant. I’ve already made plans to usurp Dr. Peabody’s role and have called upon other professors to hear your Defense. As I was setting this up, that red-headed temp secretary, showed me an article by Dr. Peabody in a Military Journal. As soon as I read it, I knew it was your work, not hers. Then I realized how greatly Dr. Peabody was abusing her position as your supervisor. Or I thought I did, until I caught you teaching her classes.”
He was quiet for a long time, his face growing sterner and sterner with every ticking second. Finally, he turned to her, fierce anger in his eyes. “Do I have this correct, Minerva? That you not only are teaching all of Dr. Peabody’s classes, but she had purposefully tried to keep you from defending your dissertation, as well as she’s plagiarized your work?”
Erva looked down at her hands, folded uncomfortably on her lap. “I didn’t know about the plagiarism until just a couple days ago. And I thought—I hoped she was trying to help me write the best dissertation I could. But...” she couldn’t finish. It would be too humiliating.
“But?”
She looked up at her dean and realized he was here to fire her. By putting up with Dr. Peabody’s shit for so long, she looked like an idiot. A pushover idiot, someone who would let another person cheat from her work. A patsy of the worst kind. So why not tell him the humiliating truth? She didn’t have anything to lose any more.
As her heart crushed into itself and ground into tiny little fragments the size of sand, she said, “I
felt
she wasn’t doing me any favors, wasn’t really helping me.”
“Then why on earth did you put up with it?” He huffed.
She could tell him about her mother, how living with a woman who threatened her love daily had messed her up. But who was she kidding? She was an adult. Maybe she should have figured out all this emotional garbage a long time ago, but she hadn’t and as a consequence it would suck away her chance at teaching at Harvard. Although she’d realized with Will she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a professor, still, it was always nice to have more doors open than shut.
Erva shrugged. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You tell me, missy, that’s what you do,” he yelled. “That’s my job. I’m there to protect you.”
Erva caved in, her body curving in on itself. The tears flowed immediately.
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, Minerva. I shouldn’t have called you missy. I—I have a daughter your age, and I know that drives her nuts. I—”
But Erva’s laugh interrupted what he was going to say. She wiped at her forever tears. “I don’t mind the missy part. Made me think of my dad.” She sniffed. “I—I forgot that I could ask for help. But also, aren’t I supposed to stand up for myself? Do it all on my own?”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I have that same problem, think the same thing.” He scooted a tad closer and patted her twice on her good shoulder. “You know, there’s an odd problem in our society where we are told we aren’t actually successful unless we go the path alone. But that’s not at all the truth. When we send our soldiers out to war, we don’t ask only one. We ask battalions of men, maybe a platoon, or a small brick to fight. But we never send them in alone. We know the power in numbers, and it’s odd that our society, hell, Hollywood glorifies the lone soldier. We know that the man who fights alone is usually a psychopath or suicidal. We are stronger when we are together. And I firmly stand with you, Minerva. Not just because I want another military historian to work with, and, Lord, I do, but I believe in you.
“I’m not saying it won’t be tough on you, because soon you’ll be called to testify against Dr. Peabody in an academic hearing, but I’ll try to help every step of the way. I’m here to help. Further, it’s when we learn to ask for help, when we learn how to trust others that we become successful. Well, at least at being humans.”
She smiled. “That’s very wise.”
He grinned back at her. “And so much easier said than done.”
She nodded.
He patted her again. “I fired Dr. Peabody. I’ve also let that Military Journal know who the real author of that article was. And you will be defending your dissertation on Monday.”
Her mouth hung ajar.
“I know that’s not much time, but I have a feeling you’ve been presenting your dissertation for years.”
“I—oh,” was all she could manage.
He grinned again. “No pressure, but I do need you to make a good presentation, because you’ll be filling Dr. Peabody’s shoes from now on. Only, I need you to get yourself a TA. Maybe two, because they will be filling your shoes, and,” his smile waned into something serious yet filled with pride, “those are mighty big shoes they’re filling.”
“Really?”
He nodded with a smile. “But the only way I’m going to allow you to work for me is if you come to me from now on. If you need help, I want you to come to me. Oh, and that juvenile man who
accidentally
threw his water on you is suspended for a week. I couldn’t get him into much more trouble than that, I’m sorry to say. But if he does anything else, you will come to me, right?”
The waterworks flew out of her eyes after that. Again. She lurched forward and gave Dr. Whittaker a bear hug. “Thank you.”
He pulled away, looking rather shocked. “Of course. I, er, I should leave.”
He unfolded himself from the couch, as Erva noted not to make her dean uncomfortable with future displays of affection. While he walked toward the door, he stopped at her computer and pointed at it. “Working on anything?”
She quietly laughed, while wiping at her eyes again. “Yeah, just started.”
He turned back to her, his gray brows lifting. “Mind if I ask what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s kind of an
Eat, Pray, Love
meets history.”
It was his turn to have his jaw swing wide.
“Sounds...too touchy-feely?”
He shook his head. “I love it! God, Harvard Press has been reeling in the past years from the recent publishing crisis and wanted to start a new line...This is perfect for...I’m getting ahead of myself. I know I wouldn’t be a good enough advisor for a project like this, but let’s talk to Dr. Meriwether. She might make an excellent editor for you, help you flesh out this idea of yours. I can always try to help with the history, but, Minerva, you’ve got this.”
She couldn’t help but smile through her tears once more. “Thank you.” She wanted to tell him how grateful she was to have someone she could rely on, to turn to if things got bad. But she wasn’t sure she could convey how appreciative she was. Besides, she wasn’t too sure if he’d listen, since a hug made him want to leave. But she knew soon she would probably give him another giant hug and maybe a card to tell him how much it meant to have someone who would protect her when she needed it the most. Then again, she might dedicate the book to him. To him and Will.
Now
she
was getting ahead of herself.
She let Dean Whittaker out, after he said something about liking her hair and had asked if she truly had been at the hospital. When showing him her stitches, he seemed impressed and even happier to leave. As soon as he was gone, she rushed back to her computer, hopeful to remember Will again. But instead of writing something professional about him, her hands insisted on writing about his wide shoulders, the way his chest felt under her hands, his heart beating against her palm. She knew she couldn’t keep any of that in the book, but she couldn’t help but write it. Then she wrote how much she missed him. That thanks to him she knew she had the strength to go on, but her heart never would.
She fell asleep on her couch, beside her laptop, staring at what she’d written, and knowing how much she had fallen in love and how bittersweet that was.
W
ill woke with a start, sitting up in a bed with black satin sheets. He hadn’t screamed or even gasped. Nay, he hadn’t the air for either activity. Instead, he stared at the black wooden bureau across from the bed with a flat screen telly on it. Somehow he remembered everything the muse sisters had taught him, including the invention of the television. But, Lord, it was such a blur.
His chest felt unusually cool. Glancing down, he realized he was naked.
“Shite, they didn’t.” He checked under the soft sheets, noticing he hadn’t a stitch of clothing on. The muses had taken his uniform. “No, no, no,” he growled, wondering what to do, where he was.
The bed he sat upon was stark white, the opposite of the bedding and bureau and a gothic chandelier that hung not too far off. But he caught sight of a matching white fluffy area rug that looked as inviting as the indulgent bed. An odd scent permeated the room. Was that paint? The walls were a soft cream, relaxing the black and white, romanticizing it. Sunshine poured through wide-open windows, but the air was cool, like autumn had already taken a crisp bite out of the season. Gripping the sheets to his crotch, he lifted to his knees and peered outside a window. He was in a very tall building. Taller than anything he’d ever been in. Looking down, he agreed with himself that it was indeed fall, and a beautiful one with deciduous trees blooming golden orange and vibrant reds. He scooted closer to the window when he knocked something over.
All his earthly possessions sprawled from a wooden box with an intricate, ancient Greek design around it. He growled again, but this time at the mess he’d made on the wooden floor. Still holding the sheet close, he scooped over to retrieve his diploma from Oxford and another from Cambridge. That was when he heard a squeak in the direction of the chamber’s door.
Glancing up, he froze. A butcher knife clattered to the floor. She’d been holding it, but then let it drop, gripping her fingers over her lips as she kept blinking. That was his girl, his Minerva.
He straightened and smiled. “Going to kill me?”
She squeaked again.
God, she was beautiful, but completely changed. She wore dark blue jeans, a ripped apart t-shirt, and her tresses! “Your hair’s blue, darling.”
Her hands instantly fluttered to her glorious locks, similar to Princess Elizabeth lilac in color. “And purple.” Her voice shook. “Your hair.”
He felt with one hand through his newly shorn mop. “The muses thought I’d fit in better with it short. Do you like it?”
At that she broke down. A lone tear strayed from her wide eyes. “It’s you.”
He found his own throat had tightened, but said, “That’s first thing you said to me when we met. Remember?”
Before he knew what she was doing, she tackled him to the bed, kissing his cheek and forehead. “Why don’t you look as surprised to see me as I am of you?”
She kept kissing him as he answered. “Well, I knew I was coming to see you. But honestly this time traveling does whittle your wits, doesn’t it? What day is this, darling?”
“Saturday. It’s been a depressing two days without you.”
He gave her a sympathetic frown. “I was stuck with the muses for what felt like an eternity. Lord, I don’t how I know what I know. Ach, listen to my asinine discourse now. What did they do to me?”
“I love it.”
“You’d love an idiotic, mumbling man?”
She laughed and shook her head. “You’re the furthest thing from that.”
He swallowed, feeling her compliment pour through him like sunshine. “And what’s the date?”
She told him.
He smiled. “Lord, I wasn’t too sure where I was when I woke. Why weren’t you in bed with me?”
“I slept on the couch.” She stopped kissing and stared into his eyes, already straddling him, which got him a bit more excited than he probably should have been. “It’s really you.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, the muses needed to give me some time to learn just a tad about your time and to tutor me.”
“Tutor you?”
He gripped her hips, settling her lower against his growing groin. “I’m a psychiatrist, can you believe that? My specialty is schizophrenia.”
She blinked rapidly. “That’s...congratulations! That’s so wonderful. It’s exactly what you wanted.”
He sat up a little with the use of his elbows behind him, which rubbed Erva right over his erection. Smiling even more at that, he said, “Well, not exactly, darling. You see, I’m here at Harvard to study neurology, since I’d like to understand both the mind and the brain. That’s how we met, by the by, was here, where I just happen to be studying. I was lost on campus, but you helped me find my way. At least, that’s what the muses suggested we tell people about how we met. They won’t believe me if I tell them I’m more than two hundred sixty years old. Go figure.”
She chuckled loudly. “You just said go figure.”
“I’ve tried to learn many idioms, but Urania, my tutor, was a little worried they might be dated. As well as the music I tried to learn. I couldn’t keep up with the constant changes.”
“Where did you leave off?”
“In 1913, there was a Jazz musician I really liked.”
She giggled again. “You only have a little over a century of music to learn.”
“Is that all?” He loved the way she teased him, and rolled her over on the bed, pinning her under him.
She let out a soft breath, her lids fell half-mast.
“Did you miss me?”
Her amber eyes widened and moisture pooled instantly. “I thought you were dea—” She never finished the word.
“Oh, darling.” He held her tightly, feeling her arms wrap around his neck and grip him as if she’d never let him go. “The muses never said anything to you?”
She shook her head.
Lifting himself enough to peer down at her, he then wiped her tears. “I suppose they were with me the whole time. But I thought they would have asked one of their other sisters to tell you I was fine.”
“But I saw you—”
“They somehow put a Kevlar vest under my uniform. I was shot and fell unconscious from the impact. In fact, I think I still have a bruise.”
She swallowed. Her brown eyes softened, turning into pure honey. “So that means...you’re mine? You live with me in my time?”
He smiled widely. “Erva, darling, I will always be yours. No matter what time we’re in. And about my sister and Paul—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I just got a box from your former estate. I have letters from your sister and several of Paul’s journals. They’re all about you, how much they missed you and thought of you throughout the years. I’m—I’m not sure if that helps with your...grief at losing them—”
“That’s the thing though, darling. Actually, although I was slated to die, the muses thought it was horrible for me to give up my sister and Paul to live here. It was a bit too bittersweet for, especially Erato, to take. So whenever I want,
we
want, we can go visit them. They also said something about assisting with other glimpses, but I didn’t understand their meaning.”
Erva huffed, then smiled widely, tears filling her eyes. “We can go back in time?”
“Aye...yes, darling.” He suddenly inhaled, remembering. “I have something for you. I have a ring.” He was about to get up to find it, when she pulled him back down on her little taut body. He moaned. He’d somehow forgotten how good it felt to lie on her, to feel her so close.
“Don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave ever again. I can’t believe how wonderful...I know I have you with me now, but I don’t want you to move, er, I have to hold you. Is that all right?”
That he understood all too well and nodded. He wasn’t sure how long he could be separated from her either. But he had to do the honorable thing. “Does that mean if I asked you to marry me, you’d say yes? Because, quite honestly, it killed me a little when you didn’t respond instantly the last time I asked. I mean, Erato did tell me how modern people date for many years, and she said something about cohabitating for a while before we decided to marry. But, and I may be a man of my time, terribly backwards and simplistic about matters of love, but I know my heart, darling. It only beats for you. And I hope you’ll be mine in this time too?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.” Tears sprang from her eyes again, and he tried to catch each one. “Yes,” she said again. “I love you so much. Yes.”
They kissed. He didn’t know who started it, since it felt so natural to do, as if they had done it while they’d spoken. But when she slipped her tongue through his lips, he thought little else but of her body under his. As much as he liked her in a corset, the bra and t-shirt were amazing, especially when she lay down as she was and let the cotton fabric mold around her perfect globes. He’d given her enough room to breath, but when he released the kiss to nibble down her neck his eyes caught sight of her nipples turning to hard little peeks through her shirt. Yes, he’d grow accustomed to this century in no time, especially as her t-shirt let him gauge her slender waist and the flare of both her breasts.
“Darling, what cure are you advertising?” He lightly traced the text on her t-shirt.
She moaned. “
The Cure
is a band, a musical band.” Then she sucked in a breath. “Oh no. I forgot how revealing this shirt is. I only wear it in my apartment, but my dean came by...God, he saw me in this.”
He took a measured breath himself. “Did he stare at you? Will I have to ask him to a duel?”
She giggled. “No, he didn’t stare, and you can’t ask people to duel.”
“I was joshing, you know.”
She kept laughing, then held his face between her hands. “You’re really here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, darling,” he said as one of his hands found its way under her shirt then slid up until he found the soft roundness he sought.
Erva’s lids fluttered closed. She wore black mascara, and it made her long lashes that much more noticeable. He kissed each of her lids as he caressed her breast, finding her nipple and rolling it between his thumb and finger. Moaning, she arched her back into his touch. Her response made internal fireworks burst through his solar plexus and down to his toes. He moved back to her mouth and kissed her ravenously.
“God, I missed you.” He noticed his voice sounded lower than usual and hungry.
“I missed you.” When she said that with her own voice sounding so breathy and impatient, all ideas of taking his time, trying to find the romantic words to say, flew out of his mind.
He gripped her t-shirt and had it over her head in a second. But then he stared at her chest, blinking at the space between her breasts.
She delicately touched herself around her heart.
“That’s my name.”
She nodded. “It’s my first colored tattoo.”
He looked up into her intense eyes. “You have my signature tattooed over your heart.” It wasn’t very big, but large enough that he saw it was a perfect duplication of his own mark. “Colored tattoo? This is just black.” He softly traced the lines.
She swallowed. “When I thought...I didn’t know you were...even though I knew there wouldn’t be a day I wouldn’t think of you, I still wanted something close, something that would remind me of falling in love with you and of giving you my heart.”
He kissed her again, melting her lips with his. But he had to remove himself from her kiss once more to stare at his name. And he’d thought his heart couldn’t feel more expansive and free, but looking at how he was right over her heart, his throat tightened. Still, he wanted her bra gone, but had no idea how to undo it. Remembering something about women’s underwear from the future flashed through his mind, but he stared at the contraption for a moment too long.
She brushed her hands along her breasts to the center of her brazier. “It’s a front clasp. See?” She moved the little piece of plastic then her bountiful breasts sprang free.
He beamed and held both her mounds in his hands. “If I weren’t so desperate for you, I’d ask you to do that again. That was spectacular.”
“Mmm...” She might have meant to say more, but he found one of her nipples in his mouth before he could think of what he was doing.
She struggled out of her bra. As he suckled her breast, one of his hands slipped down her flat belly to her jeans and was rather relieved it didn’t take long for him to unbutton the top. But then he stopped and stared down at her.
“This is a zipper. Fascinating invention.” He smiled as he found unzipping her even easier than the button.
“This is wholly unfair,” she said. “Here I’m wearing, well, clothes, and you arrived nude, very easy access.” Then she wrapped one of her hands around his cock, making him close his eyes with the pleasure of the touch.
“I—I think the muses like having people arrive naked to their new time.”
“I would have to agree.” She stroked him down and up, paying attention to the head of his throbbing erection. “I can have Ben and Bill come over with some clothes.”
He stopped her hand. “Ben and Bill?”
She smiled. “Ben has been my best friend since high school and Bill is his partner, um, lover, I guess you would say.”
He loosened his grip around her hand, and immediately she embraced down his shaft, then caressed his scrotum.