Sex Drive (4 page)

“The peregrine falcon survey is volunteer work. I’ve been waitressing some evenings, but I’m not making a lot.”

How could she live like that, especially now she was turning thirty? Normally I wouldn’t have bailed her out, but damn it, Merilee was getting married. “When I get to Vancouver tomorrow, I’ll book a flight for you and I’ll pay.”

“Shit, Theresa, I don’t need your charity.”

Couldn’t she just say “thank you”? Annoyed, I sniped back. “Sounds to me like you do. Or, if you won’t take it from me, call Mom and Dad. I’m sure they’ll pay to fly you home.”

“Not going to happen.”

Damn her. Ninety-nine percent of the time she was easygoing, but every once in a while—at the most inconvenient moments—she got stubborn. “So, what’s your
plan?
” My guess was, she didn’t have one. “It’ll break Merilee’s heart if you’re not home for the wedding.”

“I’ll be there! Honest to God, Theresa, lay off. I’ll figure it out.”

My headache was returning. “Well, if you have any brilliant ideas about the wedding, give me a call or drop me an e-mail.”

“You’ve got the location booked, right?”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t even started the project plan. Since Merilee called, I’ve been kind of busy. Booking a flight, reorganizing my schedule, getting someone else to monitor exams, packing. I’ll find a location as soon as I get home.”

“A location? You know where it has to be, don’t you?”

I’d barely given it a moment’s thought. “Where?”

“VanDusen Gardens.”

“Why do you…Oh. Oh, yeah.” Our gran, Mom’s mother—who unfortunately now suffered from Alzheimer’s—used to take us girls on an outing every Sunday afternoon. Science World, the Aquarium, the beach at Spanish Banks, VanDusen Gardens. Merilee had always loved the rambling, naturally landscaped gardens. I did remember her saying she wanted to get married there. How could I have forgotten?

Could it have something to do with the fact that Merilee, the late addition to our three-pack of sisters, had rarely been the focus of my attention? Or Mom’s or Dad’s, or Kat’s or Jenna’s, for that matter. By the time Merilee came along, we were wrapped up in our own lives.

“It’s June,” I said. “It’ll be booked on a Saturday.”

“It’s a big place. I bet they could squeeze us in.”

To put it kindly, Jenna was an eternal optimist. To put it more accurately, she tended to ignore reality. “I’ll ask.” There might be a last-minute cancellation. Merilee would be so excited if we could hold the wedding at VanDusen. “And if not, maybe one of the other gardens Gran used to take us to.”

“Talk to Mom and Dad,” Jenna said. “They must know someone who can make it happen. Play the guilt card.”

“The guilt card. That’s a thought.” Our father, who worked at the University of British Columbia, was one of Canada’s leaders in researching genetic links to cancer, and was busy with the final draft of a report. Mom was a prominent personal injury lawyer and right now she was preparing to present an appeal in the Supreme Court of Canada next week. Neither had time to help with wedding preparations, yet I knew they wanted Merilee to have a wonderful wedding. They wouldn’t mind spending a few minutes pulling strings. Grudgingly I said, “Good idea.”

“I’m sure you’d have come up with it eventually.” There was a smirk in Jenna’s voice when she added, “Once you started typing up that
project plan
.”

Jenna wouldn’t know a plan if it bit her on the behind, but I decided to take the higher road and not comment. Instead, I mused, “What if it rains? We’d need tents or something.”

“It’ll be sunny for M&M. Just wait and see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you put in a request with the weather gods, and I’ll work out a contingency plan.”

Noises from the aisle made me turn, to see Carmen serving people a couple rows ahead of us. “Jenna, I have to go.”

“Me, too.”

“Call Kat, would you? In a couple hours, when she’s up? And e-mail us when you know your travel plans.”

There was no response. “Jenna? Oh damn, did you hang up on me?”

Day opened his eyes and grinned as I hung up the phone less than gently. “Man, am I glad I don’t have siblings. Is it always like that?”

“Usually. We love each other, but…” I shrugged. “My secretary says her sister’s her best friend. I haven’t a clue what that’s like.” Of course, I didn’t actually have a best friend. Colleagues and grad students I enjoyed talking to, but no buddies.

I’d once thought Jeffrey was my best friend. After, I’d decided I didn’t need one.

Day’s hand stroked the aching knot in my temple. “You need to learn some relaxation techniques, Theresa.”

The tension eased. “Actually, I kind of like this one. Your hands are magic.” Yes, I said the words deliberately. When he touched me, I wanted more. Wow, here I was, flirting with a man I knew next to nothing about. Maybe I was wilder than I’d ever imagined.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he murmured.

I believed him, if he was referring to his hands. They were so nonacademic. Strong, dark, masculine, yet gentle and sensitive. Hands that made a woman melt and burn under their touch. Oh yes, I was coming to believe I could be wild.

Carmen arrived, bearing nicely set trays: appetizers, cloth napkins, fresh glasses. She presented a wine bottle so we could see the Lenton Brae label, then poured for us. “Enjoy,” she said flatly.

“She hates us,” I told Day. “You realize we’re going to have marginal service for the whole trip.”

“That’s better than a boob in the face.”

“Give me a break. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”

“Okay, I’m male. What can I say?” He glanced at my chest as if he was wondering what my breast would feel like.

He made me aware of the thin V-necked sweater I wore and the flesh-colored bra designed for comfort, not display. And of the way my nipples had perked up and were doing their best to draw his attention through those two layers of fabric. I imagined his lips sucking a nipple into his mouth and a jolt of desire pulsed through me. Trying to sound composed, I said, “You sure do know how to sweet-talk a woman.”

“Yeah, I’m one classy guy.” The words were absentminded, his voice husky, his gaze still fixed on my chest.

I unfolded my napkin, picked up a fork. “You do have a certain distinctive charm. Stop staring and eat your soup.”

He chuckled. “Distinctive? You sure do know how to sweet-talk a guy, Dr. Fallon.” Obediently, he turned his attention to his tray and spooned up some soup. “Or is it Dr.? I noticed Carmen called you Ms.”

“It’s Dr. But the first time I flew as Dr. Fallon, a woman had a heart attack. They checked the passenger manifest and came to me, thinking I was a medical doctor.” I remembered my shock and panic, and gave a shiver. “There I was, all of twenty-two, and I felt so helpless—”

“Twenty-two?”

Damn, there was something about this man that had me revealing things I normally kept private. This was crazy. He was so clearly a player. Yet, in our semi-isolated pair of seats, feeling the buzz from champagne and arousal, I felt a sense of intimacy. Oh, what the heck, I was a strong-minded woman. I could choose what to share and what to hold back, and right now, what was the harm in talking?

I gave a casual shrug. “I was a Doogie Howser kid. Zipped through school. What can I say?” I forked up some salmon tartare and tasted it. It was very nice for airline food.

“Man. Did you do anything else but go to school?”

Besides supervising my sisters while my parents worked? “Not much. My Howser-esque qualities became apparent when I was a baby, so my parents put me on the fast track.” No Goldilocks for me; my “fairy tales” had been Greek mythology.

“Why?”

“Uh…What do you mean?”

“To what end? So you could have a doctorate when you were twenty-two?”

The question stopped me and I realized I didn’t know the answer. “I guess once they knew my potential, they wanted me to realize it.” It wasn’t like me to be revealing personal information to a stranger, but there was a surprising warmth in those gray eyes. A warmth that eased the ache in my temples, and made my nether regions hum with awareness.

He put down his spoon, soup bowl half empty, and cocked his head. “But why the ‘all work, no play’ thing? What’s so bad about being a kid? Playing with friends, having fun?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly, lifting my wineglass. “I envied my sisters sometimes, because they had those things. But…this is awful; I felt kind of superior, too.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I got that from the phone calls.”

I winced. “Did I sound horrible?”

“No. Just like a perfectionist who’s impatient when others don’t measure up.”

I nodded. “That’s me in a nutshell.”

“Try the wine,” he urged, making me realize I’d been hanging on to the glass but hadn’t yet taken a sip.

I obeyed, and found it matched his description. He’d summed it up as neatly as he’d just done with me. “It’s great.”

Day touched my arm, fingers drifting across my skin in a caress, then squeezing gently. “There’s a lot more in that nutshell, Theresa. Sense of humor, loyalty, a—”

“Loyalty?” I cut in.

“To your little sister. Taking on her wedding.”

My eyes widened. “That’s not loyalty, it’s just…she’s my sister. The wedding is really important to her, and I want her to have her perfect day.” After all, there had been enough times I, and the rest of the family, hadn’t been there for Merilee.

“Course you do.” He spooned up some more soup and held out his spoon. “Here.”

I leaned forward, feeling inelegant as I slurped it. “Tasty. Want to try the salmon?”

At his nod, I offered him a forkful. He steadied my hand with his, which had the opposite effect of sending quivers from my fingers up my arm.

He took his time about releasing me. “How many siblings are there? Any more phone calls you need to make?”

“No, that’s it. I’ll check in when I’m in Honolulu airport.” I sipped some more wine. “There are four of us, all sisters.” I broke off. “You can’t possibly be interested in this.”

“Hey, until dinner’s over and they turn out the lights, what else can we do but talk?”

And what would we do after? I’d intended to work—on the wedding plan, the exams. But that decision could wait. For the moment, with meal trays in front of us, what else could we do but eat, drink, and chat? It was flattering to have a man interested in something other than my latest research project. I’d never see Day after this flight, so what was the harm in opening up a little? In fact, the idea—ships that pass in the night; strangers on a plane—had a strong appeal.

“Okay, here’s the Fallon family history. When Mom and Dad got married, he was working on his doctorate—he’s a geneticist—and she was going into law school. They didn’t plan on having kids for years. She was on the pill, but it’s not 100 percent effective. She got pregnant in second-year law. Lucky for me, they decided to have the baby.”

“That was you? I’m glad about that decision.”

“Mom believed one parent should stay home with the kids for the first two or three years. Dad’s very much the absentminded professor, so he’d have been useless with a baby. They decided they’d like to have at least two kids, and Mom said, if she was going to interrupt her career path, she was only doing it once. So she whipped us out very efficiently. Me, Kat. Then, trying for a boy, Jenna. They decided the three-pack was enough. When Jenna was two, Mom went back to law school.”

Day, who’d been drinking wine as I talked, put his glass down. “Your mom sounds really organized. Guess you take after her?”

“Funny you’d say that. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, an academic. But you’re right, I’m also very organized, like Mom.” An outsider’s perspective was interesting.

“I bet when you were little they saw you as the best of both of them. They wanted you to superachieve partly for you, but partly because you were a reflection of them.”

“Maybe so,” I said slowly. It was another perception to tuck away in the back of my mind and mull over later. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Day?”

S
o she thought he was good looking. Damien grinned smugly. “Hold onto that thought, Prof. It may come in handy later.” When she found out his identity.

Theresa frowned, clearly not following his train of thought, thank God. Then she stretched and fiddled with the seat controls.

“Problem?” he asked.

“I want to adjust the back and raise the footrest.”

“Here.” He bent over and, as he found the control, his hand brushed her thigh. A firm, warm thigh under her cotton pants. “Give me your hand.”

Hesitantly, she let him take it and put it on the lever, resting his hand atop to guide it. “Like this,” he told her. “You slide it this way, and use your feet to push the footrest.”

“Thanks, I’ve got it.”

Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand and let her get settled.

“I’m not used to business class,” she said. “My budget doesn’t allow for it, but this time I got an upgrade.”

“I like it for long flights.”
His
budget, thanks to Kalti Brown, could handle the occasional expenditure like this. So far the Kalti books had earned him enough to buy a flat in Sydney and pay the mortgage on a beachfront cottage north of Cairns. He used both for writing. A change of scene often helped reinvigorate his muse.

As for this book tour, his first to North America, a New York publisher had bought U.S. rights to his books and was sponsoring the tour. They covered the basic expenses and Damien was chipping in to give himself a few extras such as flying business class.

At the moment, it was looking like one damned rewarding expenditure. “You quit in the middle of the family saga, prof.”

“You’re sure you’re interested?” She was fidgeting with her wineglass, rotating the stem back and forth.

He reached over to brush the back of her hand. “Positive.” A storyteller himself, he liked hearing other people’s tales. And Theresa was one of the most intriguing people he’d run into in a long while.

“Stop me when you get bored.” She swallowed the last of her wine. “In the family, I was Dad’s kid, the academic. Kat was Mom’s. Mom’s a lawyer—a very successful personal injury litigator—and has always focused on people rather than research. Kat’s bright, but no academic. She’s outgoing, has a ton of friends. That’s the area where she’s superior.”

“And the third? Jenna, did you say?”

“Yes. For a long time, she was the baby. She acted out a lot, but could be a real charmer. So far, she’s spent her life drifting. Never found a focus.”

“She didn’t carve out an area where she was superior?”

Theresa made a sound that was between a snort and a chuckle. “She excels at being eccentric. She’s a nonconformist, a flake. Mom says she’s a kook, like Goldie Hawn on a TV show from the late sixties, early seventies,
Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In
.”

Carmen came to take their empty appetizer dishes, replace them with their entrées, and refill their wine glasses. When she’d gone, he and Theresa both tasted the bugs, agreeing they were good but the sauce could have used more ginger.

“The wine does go well with them,” she said.

“Glad you like it. So, go on. There’s a fourth sister, the one who’s getting married?”

“Yes, Merilee. After they had the three-pack, Mom and Dad were focused on their careers. As we girls grew up, I was into school, Kat was being Ms. Sociability, and Jenna was playing at whatever took her fancy. The five of us have pretty distinct, strong personalities.”

“Yeah, I bet. If the rest are like you.”

She wrinkled her cute turned-up nose at him. “We carved out our own niches, mostly respected each other’s boundaries, got our routine down pat. Then, eight years after Jenna, Mom got pregnant again. It wasn’t planned.”

“Must have been a shock for her. For all of you.”

“To put it mildly. Now there was a three-pack plus one, and we all had to adjust. This time Mom went back to work right after a short mat leave. Jenna lost her place as the baby, which made her act out even more. I got stuck with more older-sister responsibilities. But Merilee was an easy child. Not such a strong personality as the rest of us.”

Must have been tough for the baby, following in the shoes of three strong and much older sisters. Theresa called them the three-pack plus one, not something like “the Fallon four.” “Sounds like the rest of you carved out your niches and didn’t leave anything special for Merilee.”

“Well, sort of.” Her eyes began to dance with that sunlight-on-water sparkle. “She’d disagree, though.”

“Yeah?” He put down his fork, gave her his full attention. “So, what’s your little sister superior at?”

“According to her, it’s love. She’s the one sister who has a talent for it.”

Love? “Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “I’m divorced and determined never to make the same mistake. Kat wants to marry and have kids, but she always falls for losers. And Jenna, according to Mom, is a hippie who was born in the wrong decade.”

“How so?”

“She loves guys, loves sex, believes in the whole free-love, no-commitment thing. She says fidelity’s stupid because people aren’t hard-wired to be monogamous, so she flits from guy to guy and never intends to settle down. She has a short attention span. She’s excited about whatever new idea or man comes along, but not in a deep, real way.” Theresa raised her wineglass and slanted him a teasing glance. “Sounds like your ideal woman, right, Day?”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head back and reflected. “Yeah, there’s a certain appeal to a woman like that. Fun with no strings.” He thought about the girls who’d come on to him in the last couple years. The succession of affairs. The sex, sometimes great and sometimes mediocre.

The fact was, the names and faces had grown interchangeable. And he’d started to feel scummy. Like the woman didn’t really see him, just the successful, sexy author. And he didn’t see them as individuals either, just a series of hot babes.

“But a guy grows up,” he said slowly. “Maybe he wants more. Someone he can really get to know. Bit by bit, layer by layer. Connecting, growing closer.”

He found himself thinking of his friend Bry, which was a jolt because the last thing either of them was was gay. But in a way, his train of thought made sense. “You know how it is with a good friend?”

Theresa was watching him intently, fork poised in the air as if she’d forgotten about it. “How do you mean?”

“Like, how you first meet someone through a friend or through work.” He’d met Bry, a cop, when he was researching his first Kalti Brown book. He’d needed information about the structure of the police department, how crimes were investigated, and so on. “You hit it off, go for a beer, talk about something other than work. Find common interests. Discover you think the same way about things, have the same values.”

Her eyes were narrowed in concentration. “Go on.”

“The relationship grows. Pals turn into good buds who are there for each other, no matter what.”

Now there was a sheen in her eyes. Was she thinking of a close friend? Or maybe wishing that’s how it was with her sisters?

“So,” Damien said, “what if you had that kind of thing with someone of the opposite sex? A solid friendship plus great sex. Maybe that’d be worth building on, rather than moving on to the next lover.”

“Yes, I…” She swallowed. “I think it sounds wonderful.” Her voice was choked up, like she was on the verge of tears.

Suddenly he realized that he must have made her think of her ex-husband. “Crap. Sorry, Theresa. I didn’t mean to remind you of your marriage. I’m an idiot.”

“No. But, surprisingly,” a tiny smile flashed, “you’re a bit of a romantic.” The smile disappeared. “And, while that kind of relationship does sound great, how do you know it’s real? That you can trust in it?”

“That it’ll beat the statistical odds? I dunno. Gut instinct? Leap of faith?” He wondered whether she’d fallen out of love with her husband, or vice versa.

Knowing that the enforced companionship of a long flight could breed its own kind of trust and openness, he tested the waters. “I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”

“I made a big mistake, falling for Jeffrey. I learned I couldn’t trust him.”

“Damn. He cheated on you?” The guy must’ve been a right bastard and a fool.

A corner of her mouth turned up ruefully. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Not with another woman. And in fact, he didn’t exactly cheat
on
me, he cheated me out of recognition.”

I’m intrigued.”

She made a face, picked up her wineglass, and drained it. “For this, I need more wine.”

He leaned into the aisle, caught Carmen’s eye, and held up his own empty glass. She gave him a nod, then turned toward the galley.

She returned with the wine bottle, filled their glasses, and gathered up their entrée plates and silverware. “For dessert, we have a cheese and fruit platter, lemon cheesecake with pomegranate glaze, and chocolate Cointreau mousse.”

“The mousse, please,” Theresa said.

“Cheese and fruit,” Damien said.

“I’ll be right back. Coffee, tea?”

Theresa ordered decaf coffee and Damien asked for the same. Then, when the two of them were alone again, he said, “Go on. Tell me what happened with your ex.”

She took a drink of wine, another, then put the glass down decisively. “When we met, he was a tenured sociology professor at the University of Saskatchewan. With my brand-new PhD, specializing in indigenous studies, I’d just won an appointment in their native studies program. I had an idea for a research project, and went to him to get his opinion.”

She grimaced. “He was enthusiastic. About not only the project, but me as well. We started dating and he helped me put together a grant application. We had a whirlwind courtship—in a way that would probably strike you as hopelessly dull and academic, but all the same it seemed romantic to me—and got married two months after we’d met.”

“He swept you off your feet. I wouldn’t have taken you for the type.” Damien felt a twinge of jealousy, and also annoyance at the jerk who’d hurt Theresa and made her so cynical. He wanted to touch her, offer comfort, but her arms were wrapped protectively around her body and he sensed she wouldn’t welcome it.

“I was young. Naïve. Dazzled by his interest,” she said grimly. “Stupid.”

He tried to imagine Theresa as a girl who’d had the brains and drive to get her doctorate, yet been naïve enough to be swept up in a romance with a man who’d ended up hurting her. Now she was what? Thirtyish? And still bitter about her ex, and cynical about relationships. “So, what happened next?”

“I’d almost finalized the grant application and was waiting for Jeffrey’s feedback. Then he proposed, wanted to get married right away, and everything else got shoved aside. Or so I thought. We had a civil ceremony and a brief honeymoon. When we got back to work, I pulled out the grant application and asked when he’d be able to review it. He said he’d forgotten to tell me, but he’d already revised and submitted it. We just needed to wait to hear back.”

“And?”

“When the grants were announced, my project had got funding. But Jeffrey had applied in his own name, listing me as a research assistant but not as coauthor.”

“Wanker!”

“When I asked what was going on, he said I must have misunderstood. It had always made sense for him to apply, because I was too much of an unknown to get the grant.”

“But it was your idea and you did the work,” Damien said indignantly. “You deserved the credit.”

“Wouldn’t you think? And instead, all I’d be was a researcher again, just like when I was a student at Harvard and the New School for Social Research in New York.”

“Harvard?” The woman had a habit of dropping these amazing tidbits. “You went to Harvard?”

“Yes. So did my dad. In medicine. And no,” she scowled at him, “I didn’t get in because I was a legacy, I had the marks.”

She’d lost him. “What’s a legacy?”

“At the Ivy League schools in the States, typically ten to fifteen percent of new admissions are the children of alumni.”

Did the woman memorize statistics on everything?

“Especially of distinguished alumni,” she went on. “The kind who make donations to their alma mater. The entrance qualifications for their children are often, shall we say, a trifle lighter. The kids are referred to as legacies.”

“Well, that’s crap. Whatever happened to equal opportunity?”

“Exactly. Anyhow, you wouldn’t believe the number of people—profs and students—who assumed I was a legacy.”

“Until they saw your work.” He barely knew Theresa, but was sure she’d excel on her own merits.

Her face lightened with pleased surprise. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Welcome. And like I said, your ex is a wanker. If you didn’t yet have the reputation to get a grant, couldn’t he have sponsored you? Or at least listed you as coauthor?”

“Of course. But he wanted the credit. And had no qualms about using me to get it. The whole thing—the seduction and marriage—were all about him. Him and his career.”

“Ah, come on.” Not that he wanted to excuse the bastard, but how could the guy not have been attracted to Theresa? “He probably fell for you, then got greedy when he saw the chance for career glory.”

“I doubt that very much.” She put down her now-empty glass. “Anyhow, after that betrayal, I couldn’t believe anything he said. I couldn’t work with him, got mad every time I saw him. I told him he could find another research assistant, and another wife. After I finished teaching that semester, I left Saskatchewan.”

“That’s rough.” He squeezed her hand where it rested on her tray table.

She freed her hand from under his and firmed her jaw. “I don’t need pity. I’m a loner. That’s how it’s always been, and it’s how I work best.”

“It’s not pity, for God’s sake.” Didn’t she recognize sympathy? “I know what you mean about the loner thing, though.” Damien spent days on end writing, only breaking for a run or walk. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to socialize, just that he got so absorbed in the work. If Bry didn’t drag him out for a few beers or a backyard barbie, he could go weeks without talking to a soul other than a grocery store clerk.

Theresa snorted. “You, a loner? Give me a break. You flirt with every female in sight.”