Sex Drive (24 page)

And yet…I could make my expertise count, do something constructive to help the people I’d been studying. Whatever I might think of Damien, the man had made me realize there wasn’t much point to research unless it was used to better the world.

But, even for an excellent cause, could I work with a man who was using me to build his career? A man I’d been falling for, who’d misled me into believing he might care for me, too? I pulled my hand free of his. “I have to think about it.”

His handsome face fell. “I know, you have your own work, your teaching. I guess this is the kind of book an academic like you might think of as superficial.”

Many would. Probably before I’d met him I’d have been one of them. Now, I thought it could be valuable if it was done right. Could I trust him, without my help, to do it right? “Look, I said I’ll think about it. Besides, you don’t even know your agent will go for it. Write up your proposal and if she thinks the book would sell, drop me an e-mail and I’ll consider it.”

His eyes narrowed and he clipped out a “Fine.”

If I did opt in, we could work by e-mail and hopefully I’d never have to see him. Now I knew he hadn’t meant those things he’d said about getting together in Sydney. Or, if he had, it was because he thought he could ensure my continued cooperation with great sex.

Great sex. Yes, he’d given me that. As well as a sense that he found me special, that the two of us together had a certain magic. Damn. I had to face it. This whole interlude with Damien proved what I already knew. My instincts about men were appallingly bad.

“I know you have other priorities,” he said, voice cool and distant now. “Just thought you might want your ideas to get some broader exposure. You might want to do some real good, as you said last night at dinner.”

Great, he was playing the guilt card. Maybe I should come right out and tell him I didn’t appreciate being used.

“Look,” he went on, sounding as stiff as I had, “I should tell you my other idea, in case it factors into your decision. I thought I might find some really worthwhile project that benefits Indigenous Australians, like in health, education, or mentoring, and donate my royalties to it. What do you think?”

Oh, great. A double guilt card. Reluctantly, I admitted, “I think it’s a great idea.” And generous of him. It sounded as if he really did want to do some good.

“I’m not saying you’d have to do it, too,” he added quickly. “I mean, if you did agree to work on the book with me.”

“Uh…I don’t follow. Do what, too?”

“Sorry, I mean, it could be just my royalties.”

My head was really pounding now. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t follow what he was saying. “What are you talking about?”

He took a breath. “Look, I don’t mean to offend you, Theresa, but I know the uni doesn’t pay huge salaries. What I’m saying is, just because I’d donate my royalties, it doesn’t mean you’d have to donate yours.”

“My…royalties?” Royalties went only to authors. A spark of hope made my pulse speed. I swallowed and tried to collect my thoughts—a hopeless endeavor at this point, what with my confusion and the pounding in my head. “Damien, what exactly are you proposing?”

He looked baffled, exasperated. “What I just said. That we collaborate on a pop sociology book about Indigenous Australians.”

“Collaborate?” The word could have a dozen meanings.

“You have the knowledge. I’m a good storyteller. Together, we can write a book that will really have an impact.”

Hope beat in my throat, making it hard to speak. “Do you mean, as coauthors?”

“Well, yeah, that was the idea. But you’re obviously not so keen.” His voice was empty of all his earlier enthusiasm.

“Coauthors. Damien Black and Theresa Fallon.”

“Or the other way around if you want. Though we’d have more market recognition if we put my name first.”

Recognition. The word resonated through me, carrying a glow of happiness. Damien intended to give me full recognition for my work. Oh no, he wasn’t another Jeffrey. What an idiot I’d been to let my own insecurity get in the way, and make me misjudge him so badly.

He was going on. “We make a great team. Hasn’t it been fun—and challenging—discussing the issues? Sharing ideas?”

“It has,” I said softly, feeling the tension begin to drain from my temples. “Yes, it’s been stimulating. And fun.”

He nodded, a light sparking in his eyes again. “Imagine it, Tezzie.” He took both my hands and this time I returned his warm pressure and let myself enjoy the sense of energy and sexual awareness that flowed between us. “Brainstorming together,” he went on. “Arguing over the best way to phrase things.” One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Taking sex breaks. Traveling to do research, interviewing people and recording their stories.”

As he spoke, I did let myself imagine it. All of it. Damien and me together. Working together. Swimming on Bondi Beach. Being lovers.

Wait. Lovers and business partners? The thought was amazingly appealing but also scary. “Damien, that’s…big. A book is a long-term project.” Had he thought through the implications? “What if we stop getting along?” When I broke up with Jeffrey, I’d not only left the university he worked at, I’d dropped the field of study I’d specialized in and moved away from Canada. Mixing a personal relationship with a work one could have drastic consequences.

“Does it feel to you like that’s going to happen?”

“N-no. But it’s so early.”

“I know. But we’re solid, you and me. Solid enough that, even if the, uh, you know…romantic relationship doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends. Still be able to work together.” He narrowed his eyes, studying me closely. “Don’t you think?”

“I’d hope so. But there’s no guarantee.”

“Life doesn’t come with guarantees.”

What I had now, with my teaching position and reputation in the academic community, was as close to being safe as anything could be. My career path almost
was
guaranteed.

If I opted into Damien’s project and things went well, I’d lose some academic credibility, influence thousands of lives, and have a romantic relationship with a fascinating, gorgeous, sexy man. If things went badly, I could lose everything.

“Damien, right now it seems as if we could work together.” I spoke slowly, thinking it out as I went. “I like you and care about you. I want to be with you, figuring it out as we go like we said earlier. But I’m scared. If something goes wrong for us personally, the book project could fall apart.” Softly, I added, “When I broke up with Jeffrey, I had to make a whole new start in a different country. I don’t want to do that again.”

“I’m not Jeffrey. Damn it, Theresa, when are you going to realize that?” He sounded hurt, and genuinely troubled. “Are you going to doubt everything I do, everything I say? I can’t live like that. If you don’t trust me, then we have nothing.”

Trust him. Could I?

“The only lie I’ve ever told,” he went on, “was about us being engaged. And that was stupid. I did it on the spur of the moment, to get rid of Carmen without hurting her feelings.”

“You didn’t tell me who you were,” I said slowly. Then, “But I understand why.”

“Theresa, I promise I’ll never deceive you again.” His expression was fierce, apparently sincere. “Can’t you leave Jeffrey behind, and just be with me?”

It was an excellent question. If I hadn’t had the bad experience with Jeffrey, I wouldn’t be lugging around such a huge weight of insecurity. But Jeffrey was ten years ago. I’d matured a lot since then, and especially in the short time I’d known Damien.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “I’m finished with Jeffrey. I’m a different woman now. I’m…” I smiled at him, knowing I could say the words and believe them. “I’m beautiful and sexy and fun. And smart, confident, and successful.” Attractive to men. It wouldn’t be hard to find a relationship if I wanted one. But the only man I wanted to be with was the one beside me.

“I trust you, Damien, and I trust me to have good judgment and good common sense.” No longer would I let insecurity and fear cripple my life. “Yes, let’s do the book if your agent can sell it. And let’s swim on Bondi Beach and do everything else we want to. And trust ourselves to work out any problems that come along.”

His eyes had brightened as I spoke. He squeezed my hands so hard it hurt. “God, Tezzie, I’m nuts about you.”

I gazed into his eyes and saw all those things again. Respect, passion, affection. And I knew his eyes were telling the truth.

Joy bloomed inside me and my own eyes teared up. “I’m nuts about you, too.”

Our lips met in a soft kiss, one that hinted of many, many more kisses to come.

“Watch your knees and elbows.” A female voice accompanied by a clanking sound jolted me out of my reverie.

Glancing around, I saw that not only was the plane in the air, the flight attendants were wheeling drink trolleys up the aisle. Damien unclipped his seat belt and I noticed how uncomfortable he looked, crammed into that middle seat. “Let’s change seats,” I suggested.

“What about your claustrophobia?”

“I’m not claustrophobic. I did have a tension headache, but it’s gone. It was the Jeffrey thing.”

“The…” A horrified expression crossed his face. “Oh my God, you thought I wanted to use your work without giving you credit.”

“I’m sorry. I overheard you on the phone in the airport and it sounded like…Yes, I leaped to a conclusion. The wrong one. Not because of anything you did, but because of my own insecurity. Please forgive me. Honestly, it won’t happen again.”

He was scowling. “I’d really like to punch that guy out.”

“You know,” I said slowly, realizing something, “I’m not blameless in that situation. I leaped to a conclusion then, too. And when he tried to explain, I refused to listen. Yes, I still think what he did was shabby, but maybe his intentions weren’t as bad as I thought. Or maybe they were, but the point is, I didn’t find out. I judged, and I left.”

Damien nodded. “I hear you. And?”

“And I won’t do it again.” I smiled as I thought of something. “If there’s a problem, I’ll remember what that older woman, Delia, said. Talk things out, make up, and move on.”

“Good plan.”

“You forgive me?”

He gave me a warm, easy smile, and I knew he was putting the whole thing behind us. “I will if you give me your seat, Prof.”

I unfastened my seat belt and stepped into the aisle. “It’s all yours.”

A couple of minutes later, we had resettled. With our seats reclined a little and the armrest between them pulled up, I turned toward Damien, deliberately putting my back to the bald man, who still seemed intent on his novel. Or was he pretending, out of politeness? How much of our conversation had he heard? It had to have been at least as entertaining as whatever he was reading.

Embarrassed, I said in a businesslike tone, “What’s the next step with the book, Damien?”

“We’ll come up with a proposal that’s so strong, they can’t say no.” He clasped my hand, as if touching me was the most natural thing in the world. I wasn’t even sure he was aware of doing it, which somehow made it even more special. “It would be great to work on it during this flight. Much easier doing it in person than through e-mail.”

Oh no, he had no intention of shutting me out. This was
our
project from the start.

“Sounds good.” A thought occurred to me. “I know you’re part Aboriginal, but only a quarter, and I’m a total outsider. We want to make sure we represent Indigenous Australians accurately and respectfully, not offend the very people we want to help. I think we need to involve some Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders. Maybe have an advisory board?”

“Fine idea. We could ask some community leaders.”

“Perhaps also some people who have no public profile at all. Just normal indigenous people, urban and rural.”

“I like that. It would be a good mix.”

Tentatively, I said, “Do you think any of your Aboriginal relatives would be interested?”

“Oh, man. Er, let me think.”

“You said they thought your Kalti books exploited what they’d taught you. Well, this should be a project they’d approve of.” Maybe he could rebuild his relationship with them.

“It should. My granny would like it that I was respecting them and coming to them for guidance. Yeah, that’s a cool idea.”

“What about your parents? They probably won’t like this project.” I’d got the impression he avoided his folks, which seemed sad. I hated to think our book would make things worse.

“I’m a big boy. I don’t need approval. Understanding would be good, but that’s not likely to happen.” His jaw firmed. “You know, it’s past time I had a serious talk with them.”

“Good for you.” I squeezed his hand. “I hope you can help them understand.”

“We’ll see. How about your parents? Will they think it’s a waste of your talent?”

“Uh…” I blew out a puff of air as I reflected. “They’ll worry about my professional reputation, but when I tell them our goal, how many people we hope to reach, I think they might even be impressed.”

He’d started to frown again while I spoke. “Damn, Theresa. Is this going to hurt your reputation? I don’t want that.”

“I know. And it might, but that’s my choice. My decision.” I smiled. “And it’s made.”

“If I’d realized I was asking you to—”

“Decision
made
,” I cut him off.

When a flight attendant offered drinks, Damien chose a beer and I went with white wine. We raised our glasses. “Here’s to the two of us shaking things up for the better,” he said.

I knew he was referring to the impact we hoped our book would have, but when I echoed his words, I was thinking of a broader meaning. Of the effect he’d had on me and my life. He’d shaken me out of my rut, as both a woman and a sociologist. And I’d had an impact on him, too.

“When do you head home to Sydney?” he asked.

“A few days after the wedding. So I’ll be there when you get back.”

“It’s gonna be a long month,” he said. “I’ll miss you.”

“Me too. There’s always e-mail and phone.”

His eyes gleamed and he leaned close to whisper in my ear, “We can try our talents at phone sex. That’ll make those lonely hotel rooms a lot cheerier.” He nibbled my earlobe gently.