Santa Reads Romance (13 page)

Before she could summon up a suitable retort, he grinned wickedly at her. “You talk in your sleep.”

Zanita flushed, opened her mouth like a fish, then closed it. What had she said? Oh, God. Would he even tell her? Those damn Hogs!

She wisely stayed silent until the end of the picture, sitting ramrod straight in her chair, trying desperately not to look embarrassed.

When the movie ended Tyber took her hand as if he had every right to, leading her out to the mall court.

“Relax, Curls, you didn't say anything too revealing.” He scratched his chin in thought. “Except for the part about the sexual aids hidden in a shoebox under your bed.”

She stopped and stared at him, horrified.

He laughed out loud. “It was just a lucky guess, really.”

She tried to tug her hand away from him; he held firm.

“I have no such thing! You're terrible— ”

“That's not what you said in your sleep,” he teased.

She blushed crimson. Considering her shameless thoughts about him, she might have said anything. Anything at all. She ran her fingers through her hair in a nervous gesture. Forget the interview; this was too embarrassing to be endured. What must the man think of her?

“L-Look,Tyber, I really have to get going; it's late.”

“Oh, no you don't.” He laced his fingers through hers. “You're not running away. You tried that once before with me, and it didn't work.”

“Please, Doctor Evans … this is so embarrassing.”

“You do seem to have a penchant for getting yourself into situations.” He smiled remorselessly at her while maintaining his firm hold on her hand.

“I do not!” His disbelieving look compelled a modicum of honesty. “Okay; so sometimes I get myself into sticky— what did I say to you?” she demanded.

“You didn't say all that much in your sleep, Zanita.” He thought it tactful to leave out her comment about how good he smelled. “Although I have to ask myself
why
you're so nervous about what you
think
you might have said.”

“You rat!” She blurted out before thinking. “You let me think I— “ She stopped abruptly, realizing what she had almost revealed.

“You were about to say?” He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

That you're gorgeous beyond words and I was wondering if you were as sexy in bed as you look.
“You let me think that I might have revealed confidences entrusted to me by my friends,” she prevaricated.

“Your nose is growing. However, I apologize if I've embarrassed you in any way.” His voice was overly sincere. “Let me buy you an ice cream cone so we can be friends again.”

“You may buy me an ice cream cone, but we are not exactly friends.”

“Nonsense; you've slept in my arms, Curls. What flavor would you like?”

“Monkey crunch and stop calling me by that ridiculous name.”

His gaze traveled assessingly over her short black hair. “Oh, I don't know— it seems to fit.” He ordered their cones, his eyes twinkling at her as if he were just waiting for her to snap back at him.

Was he purposely irritating her just to irritate her?

She was about to let him have it with both barrels when the rest of the group caught up with him. “Saved by the cavalry.” Her tongue swirled around the ice cream as if to punctuate her statement.

“Lucky me,” he murmured. “Can I taste?” He didn't wait for her answer, leaning down to take a lick of her ice cream.

While his attention was focused on the cone in her hand, his head was on a level with hers. He slowly raised his eyelashes, meeting her eyes. Their lips were only a few inches apart.

He stared intently at her for several heart-stopping moments.

Zanita felt as if her stomach had fallen to the floor only to bounce back into her ribcage.

“Mmm— just what I like: not too sweet, varied texture, unusual flavor, with a creamy consistency.” He licked the cone one more time, his eyes never leaving hers. “Want to try mine?”

He was shameless.

An unconventional, incredibly alluring, no-holds-barred kook!

Zanita
really
liked him.

He held his cone out to her. She tentatively licked his Coconut Brazilian Mud Rainbow Brownie Jubilee.

“Well?” He prompted her.

“It— it's
different.
“

“Different good or different yuck?” He raised his brows in inquiry as if they were really talking about ice cream.

Zanita smiled secretively, not about to admit to anything. “I'm not sure yet.”

Tonight, the last of the lecture series, he spoke about magnetic sails powering spaceships, hydrogen mining around Jupiter, and cryogenics. All the while licking an ice cream cone.

The clown, who turned out to be an undergrad philosophy student, surprised everyone by intelligently adding his twist to the topic. Soon everyone was debating ethics instead of theory.

Zanita dived into the discussion with both feet, loving nothing better than a rousing debate. She was not at all intimidated by the totally male group. Hank had raised her to voice her opinions, and voice them she did. Several times, as she touted her viewpoint, she noticed Tyber watching her intently, often unconsciously shaking his head in agreement with her comments.

The discussion was so lively, the group failed to notice that all the stores had closed and the lights were shutting off. Mall security ended up throwing them out.

Tyber thanked them all for coming to the class. Several of the members, including Stan, wondered if they might meet on a regular basis to continue the off-beat discussions. It was not what they had originally expected, but everyone had enjoyed it immensely.

Tyber, not without some amusement, said he would consider it. In truth, he had thrown away his original notes for the last two classes in the hope of keeping one small, violet-eyed woman interested in coming to hear him.

But then, he knew, better than most, that some of the best discoveries in science and life were accidental in nature.

Stan pulled out a pad of paper, handing it around for everyone's name and phone number, which he then dutifully handed to Tyber, leaving the decision in his court, since he was the motivating factor. Zanita bet it did not escape any of the men here that being in a regular discussion group with Tyberius Augustus Evans would grant them a certain professional elitism.

Tyber folded the paper, placing it in his shirt pocket, again thanking everyone for coming. Zanita wondered if he would actually pursue the group. From what she knew of him, she tended to doubt it; he was a maverick and a loner by nature.

The crowd wandered off, leaving the two of them conspicuously standing there.

“Zanita, would you— ”

“Tyber, can I— ”

They spoke at the same time.

They both laughed. Tyber gestured. “You go first.”

“Tyber, I was wondering if … well, I know you don't usually do this, I mean as far as I know, you've never done it, and I know you haven't known me long, but still, perhaps …”

He grinned at her. “Zanita, what are you talking about? It can't possibly be what it sounds like.”

She swallowed, gathering her courage, knowing this was probably the only opportunity she'd have. “Would you give me an interview?”

He looked at her stunned.
“What?”

“I'm a reporter for— ”

His expression changed instantly. Gone was the smiling, approachable man. “I see. I should have known.” He seemed terribly disappointed for some reason. “Was it all an act? Blundering into class and— ”

“No! I had no idea who you were; I mean, not right away. I meant to take a psychic healing class for a story I hope to do and— ”

“I see. Opportunity knocked.” The sarcasm in his voice was evident. “No wonder you reminded me of my cat.”

Her shoulders slumped. This wasn't going at all well. And what was that crack about his cat?

“What paper?” he demanded in disgust.
“The Globe?”

“No.”

“Time?”

“No.”

“People?”

“No.”

He looked at her inquiringly.

“The
Patriot Sun.
“

He seemed surprised at first; then he visibly relaxed, breaking into a huge grin. “The Stockboro daily gazette?”

“You don't have to say it like that!”

“Like what?” He suddenly reached out, curling an arm around her neck to draw her close.

“Like you're— what are you doing?”

“Doing?” Despite his innocent gaze, he had a definite look of mischief about him. “Why, I'm answering your question. I'm relieved, Ms. Masterson. For a moment there, I thought you were a
real
reporter.”

Her violet eyes went glacial. “I
am
a real reporter.”

“Well, I'll try not to think of you as one.”

“Thank you very much!”

He leaned forward, surprising her by kissing the tip of her nose. “You know what I mean.” She pushed against his chest in a vain attempt to break his hold.

“No, I don't. And you are being presumptuous.”

“Yes, you do,” he countered. “And perhaps I am.”

“You— “ She wrinkled her nose, having lost the thread of the conversation.

He chuckled at her expression. “Forget it. Listen, I'm having an end-of-class, Indian summer pool party at my house on Saturday. Here's the address.” He tore off a scrap of the paper Stan had given him, scribbling quickly on it. “You're invited to come— two o'clock. But
no interview.
“ He tapped her nose to emphasize the point. “Should I expect you?”

She looked down at the scrap of paper in her hand. She had heard vague stories about his house, something about it being very weird and very private. He was giving her the opportunity to view it. Perhaps she could change his mind about the interview, and if not, she could always write about his house. And who knew who else might be there at the party suitable for an interview?

Besides, she wanted to see him again. He was too fascinating not to want to see again. Of course she would come.

“I'll be there. Thank you Tyber; I look forward to it, but I'm not promising that I won't try to change your mind.”

“Why would you want to change a perfectly good set of beliefs, Zanita?” His dry tone mocked her.

“On the interview only,” she clarified.

“Whatever you think. Goodnight, Curls; see you Saturday.”

Zanita never suspected that she had just been masterfully lured into playing the shell game.

______________

END OF EXCERPT

Gotta love a man with a little bwains and a little talent ; ) Ha! To have more fun with Tyber and the gang go here:
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