Someone Irresistible (11 page)

She smiled again. “Well, let’s see. First, after arranging necessary tools, I’m going to study the drawings we made yesterday and consider how best to copy them into small clay models.”

He relaxed beside her now, feeling the heat of her body and smelling that spicy woman scent of hers. “I see.”

“Later I’ll take the best one and make it life-size.” she continued, pulling up two small wooden chairs for both of them to sit at the table,

“though since we’re not making a whole dinosaur, this shouldn’t take too long.”

“Good,” he added, noting the contour of her ear and that she wore no jewelry. And was that a birthmark beneath the lobe? A tiny pink oblong mark the size of—

“Most sculptors use wooden spoons, knives, rolling pins, and such to work with,” she informed him easily, pushing her tools to the side of the table and sitting in her chair. “I’ll use those for the first miniature clay models, then move to larger items for the actual life-size model you’ll need for the dinner party.”

“Mmm.” He sat beside her, in his chair, folding his arms over his chest again and leaning back, observing that her lashes were quite dark compared to the color of her hair. It made the brownness of her irises stand out, which of course was why they were so noticeable even at a distance. Her eyes were the loveliest part of her face, really. Or at least the most striking.

“Now,” she continued in explanation, sitting squarely, “when we get to the life-size model, we’ll no longer use clay for construction, but what we need of bricks, iron columns and hoops, tiles and concrete. The sculpture of the finished jawbone will be quite large, naturally, which is why I have a door to the garden entrance. That’s how we’ll transport everything from the house.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured, observing her closely as she rolled up her sleeves to start. Again he was taken with the small bones of her wrists, the smoothness of her pale skin, the length of her fingers and her short, tapered nails. The fact that such smooth, delicate hands and fingers could make prized sculptures amazed him.

“Nathan?”

He blinked and glanced up. She was looking at him strangely, and then he realized she’d asked him a question. “Pardon?”

Her pink lips turned up minutely. “I asked you if you wanted to help with the initial sculpting.”

That surprised him, but what else was he to do? And it would, in fact, give him the opportunity to sit by her side and smell her all day.

He leaned forward and placed his forearms on the tabletop, never dropping his gaze from hers. Softly, he replied, “I was hoping you’d ask.”

That took her aback. Or confused her. She straightened even more,

pulling away from him a little, her forehead creasing into two tiny lines.

“Really? Well—good. Let’s get started, then, shall we?”

She turned her attention to the clay at her fingertips, dug in, and handed him a chunk of it. He had no idea what to do with it, so he followed her actions and began massaging the cool, pliable material. It was hard but moved easily enough with gentle pressure.

“So,” she said after clearing her throat, “where do you think the dinosaurs came from, Nathan?”

“Which dinosaurs?”

”
The
dinosaurs. All of them.”

“Oh.” He hesitated briefly, lifting his eyes to view her curiously, deciding to use the standard answer he’d used on various ladies of his acquaintance. “I’ve no idea, really. I spend most of my time just analyzing their structure and habits.”

Mimi, being unlike the typical ladies of his acquaintance, didn’t for a moment accept that.

“Well, naturally you don’t know, but I mean”— her forehead creased even more deeply as she considered her words—”what do you think about their appearance on this earth? Are they God’s creatures? The Devil’s, as some believe? When did they live and die? I’m sure you’re aware of what the public thinks.”

He sucked in a heavy breath as he shifted his attention once again to the clay in front of him. If she wanted greater depth in his explanation, he would supply it. She was, after all, the daughter of Sir Harold Marsh, a respected researcher in the study of Dinosauria. Certainly she’d heard more about the science of paleontology than the average lady of quality.

“The public are generally confused when it comes to science,” he started slowly, cutting his clay into two portions as he watched her do.

“They tend to be less open to new thought and scientific developments, especially those that contradict biblical accounts.”

“And you think the dinosaurs do,” she stated rather than asked.

“Of course,” he answered without pause. “Most people believe God created the world only a few thousand years ago, and yet these giant lizards are proof that he did not. But to think or announce that belief is blasphemy. This is what the public find so fascinating about it, which keeps me—or kept me—employed.”

He glanced up to find her nodding, though her concentration was clearly focused on her model. But she seemed to grasp his reasoning.

Recently, especially with the success of the Crystal Palace, it seemed as

if the entire world were in a great debate of history and its relation to the Church. This by itself kept the masses intrigued, which in turn led to funding by the elite for more research by the scientists. It was the enjoyment of it for those in upper social circles that kept those of Nathan’s class and education employed, lecturing, and creating more theories. She had to know that.

“Professor Owen doesn’t believe in the theory of transmutation, does he?”

Nathan stopped his hand movements and stared at her, amazed that she could even pronounce the word. Tiny wisps of blond hair unfurled themselves at her forehead, two strands getting very near her eyes, and he fought the urge to wipe them back for her with his clay-coated fingers.

“You’re familiar with the theory of transmutation?” he asked.

She peeked up at him, her lips cocked into a half smile. “Words like

‘transmutation’ are tossed around from time to time in my family, Nathan. You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

Feeling annoyed at that slight rebuff, he looked back at the mass of nothing he was constructing on the table. “Owen disagrees with the idea that life on earth has become progressively more complex over time, yes, which is basically the theory of transmutation. He instead subscribes to the idea that dinosaurs were more complex creatures than we give them credit for, and that they were, in their anatomy, superior to those reptiles we see today.”

“And you?” she probed casually.

He wiped his hands on a damp cloth on the tabletop and sat back, eyeing her erect, trim form carefully. “It is probably the one area of disagreement between Owen and me.”

She nodded, but didn’t look away from her creation. At least hers was beginning to look something like a sculpture. She leaned to her side and lifted a bowl of water from the floor, pushed her free hand inside, then sprinkled both of their clay with a few droplets, to keep it moist.

Features growing serious again, avoiding his gaze, she admitted,

“Carter didn’t believe it.”

He shifted his body uncomfortably in the hard, small chair, hands now folded in his lap. “Didn’t believe in the theory?”

“Yes, but for different reasons than Sir Owen, I think. That’s why he studied monkeys. He wanted to prove how different we are, not how similar. That God created man as he is, above the animal world.”

“That’s the view of most people, Mimi,” he said slowly. “There are a

good number of scientists who study their work not to discover new information, but to prove their ideas are correct.”

She glanced up to him momentarily. “And this is what you think?”

He sighed and shrugged lightly. “I’m always open to new ideas.”

She didn’t offer another comment, but went back to her project with vigor.

Topic of conversation aside, it was suddenly clear to Nathan that Mimi had difficulty talking about Carter beyond the superficial, though he couldn’t begin to guess why. She appeared troubled by her thoughts whenever his name was introduced into the discussion, and suddenly Nathan found himself impatient to know the cause of her feelings—even if it meant learning that she simply missed him terribly.

Running the fingertips of one hand along his clay mound, he broached the personal subject. “Tell me about your marriage, Mimi.”

That clearly startled her. Her head shot up and her eyes opened wide. “About my marriage?”

He smiled nonchalantly. “Were you happy?”

Her lids narrowed, holding his gaze breath for breath. Then, very gradually, she grinned, her mouth parting seductively, revealing clean white teeth, which he took note of immediately. The tip of her tongue darted out to graze her lips, to slide first across the top, then the bottom. That small, insignificant action made him go instantly hard.

Embarrassingly, irritatingly hard, and he stretched out as best he could in the tiny chair, wishing to God he’d never brought this subject up.

“I married Carter because you didn’t ask me first, Nathan,” she revealed in a deadly soft purr. With that, she turned back to her work.

Nathan gaped at her for a moment, dumbstruck. Could she possibly mean that? After seconds of consideration, he doubted it. She knew nothing about him, really. She was probably just putting him and his prying questions in place. Obviously Mimi Sinclair was used to being in charge of the conversation—and the mood.

Feeling awkward and a trifle unsettled, but refusing to let her have the final word, to get the best of him, he asked as evenly as possible,

“Did you enjoy kissing him?”

For a fraction of a second her fingers paused in their movement, but her casual smile never wavered. “I think he enjoyed kissing me,” she murmured.

Nathan grunted. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Lifting her right shoulder in shrug, she added, “What specifically do you want to know?”

She was baiting him, he knew, but there was no turning back now.

Lowering his voice to a soft whisper, he asked, “Did you enjoy kissing him more than kissing me?”

He watched her cheeks pinken a little, but it was the only visible betrayal of her thoughts. “I only kissed you once, if I recall.”

“And it was a spectacular kiss, if memory serves, so no doubt you and Carter had a very… lively relationship.”

He couldn’t believe he said that once it was out of his mouth, and neither could she apparently. A large piece of clay fell out of her fingers, and before picking it up again, she rubbed the back of her right hand along her hot cheek, leaving a grayish-red streak above the bone.

Flustered, but refusing to look in his direction, she admitted, “I imagine our marriage was typical, Nathan, and of course we were quite happy.”

“Of course,” he remarked flatly, feeling at once defeated. He rested his wrists on the edge of the table and tapped the tips of his fingers together. “What did you think of the kiss you and I shared?”

Her casual bearing changed abruptly. Her mouth hardened and she stopped her hand motions, closing her eyes briefly before opening them wide again and giving him her full attention. He waited for her response, unduly nervous and chiding himself for it.

Seconds passed before she sighed and said, “Honestly, Nathan, that was a long time ago—”

“—And you remember it as if it were yesterday, don’t you?”

She couldn’t respond to his whispered words right away, though she continued to stare into his eyes, hers dark pools of contemplation, cheeks flushing beautifully, lips moist. And then, very, very slowly, she smiled at him again, rich and lovely, as she always seemed to do when he least expected it.

“It’s none of your business,” she whispered in return, confidently.

“But if you must know, I don’t remember ever enjoying a kiss more.”

That made his insides turn to pulp. “Than mine?”

She shook her head and leaned toward him. “A gentleman has no business asking such things of a lady.”

He moved closer to her as well, only the edge of the table between them, the heat of her face touching his. “Than mine?” he whispered again huskily, succinctly.

His breath brushed her cheek and made the hair on her forehead stir. She glanced over his facial features as if contemplating the question to great lengths. Finally, she brazenly replied, “Your kiss behind the

Crystal Palace opened the world for me, Nathan. My only regret was that it didn’t last a lifetime. It was heavenly.”

That shook him deeply, unexpectedly. He didn’t, in fact, know precisely what she meant by such a statement, or even if perhaps she only teased him because he so adamantly wanted an answer. No woman had ever before complimented him on his kissing ability, either.

Quickly, he jerked his body back to an upright position, and she responded in kind by straightening and returning to her mold, which was all but completed, he supposed. Then she leaned her head back, her face to the ceiling, eyes closed, giving him a delicious view of her creamy white neck.

“It’s so warm, isn’t it?” she casually commented, shifting her head from one side to the other.

She fanned her face with her fingers, and then, to his utter shock, lowered her hand to her neck and unbuttoned the first three—no,
four
buttons on her gown.

Nathan didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound as he watched her intently, trying to reconcile his feelings of total disbelief in her brazen actions with the overwhelming desire to touch her, to place his thumb on the spot at her throat that pulsed with life, to draw it slowly down…

“Mimi—”

“You’re not doing a very good job, Nathan,” she cut in, the right side of her mouth turned up in a wry grin as she lifted her head and gazed at him through her lashes. “You’re not keeping up with me at all.”

Her words left him mystified, but he managed to murmur, “I’m not much of an artist.”

“Indeed,” she agreed in a casual sing-song tone. “Some of us are artists, some of us are scientists. It might prove more useful if you simply watched.”

Suddenly she raised her body and stood over the tabletop, angling toward him so that he could see the pressing action of her hands. With nimble fingers she leaned toward him to pat down a fraction of her clay model—and the top of her gown dropped open just enough for him to view the lacy edge of her corset.