Someone Irresistible (9 page)

Withholding even a quick glance, she said through a sigh, “Then let’s get to it, shall we?” Lifting her pencil, she began to make a rough copy of his drawing on her sketch pad, working silently for two or three minutes. After that first quick draft was complete, she tore off a brand new sheet from her pad to begin anew, this time clarifying her actions.

“What we usually do first,” she explained, “is section the paper in quarters for dimensions, like this.” She folded it, pinched the creases, then opened it fully again. “In this case, since I’m going to assume you know what you’re talking about, Nathan, I intend to draw the beast as an upright reptile, though leaning over, in the unlikely event you’re

wrong.” He half-snorted at that, and she smiled to herself. “You can please everyone this way.”

“Nobody will see these drawings but us, Mimi,” he argued.

She shrugged, brushing over that as she started the sketch. “But perhaps I’ll sculpt the neck as well, which would be…” she paused in thought, though her fingers continued to work expertly. “Like this—a straight line from the tip of the nose to the tail. Like so. This way, as you display the sculpture to scientists at your little function in December, they can each one speculate as to whether you think him an upright dinosaur leaning forward, or one that walked on four legs.”

“Clever.”

She didn’t know if he meant her, or her decision to draw the beast in such a way. She decided he meant her.

For nearly three quarters of an hour she worked diligently, using his numerous suggestions, drawing several copies of the Megalosaurus at different angles, with various body structures, though always with the same neck, head, and shape of jaw, at Nathan’s insistence. Regardless of whether other great minds believed his now infamous jawbone had actually existed, the man beside her knew what he wanted from her drawings, as well as the coming sculpture, and likewise knew exactly what fellow scientists would think as they viewed it. Her depictions were very good and intricate, and he commented more than once on his approval of her ideas.

Finally Mimi placed her sketch pad on the floor next to the settee and held out the final copy she’d drawn of the Megalosaurus for Nathan’s inspection.

“These are very good,” he interjected after a moment of analyzing her drafts.

She beamed.

“Do you think you can build this and keep it a secret while you do so?”

Her prideful smile faded. He was blatantly challenging her. He’d asked, in essence, not
Will you make my jawbone and keep it a secret
as you’ve done with all the others
?, but
Are you skilled enough to make
this jawbone and then manage to keep your mouth shut about the
details to family and friends
? And he also knew she understood his meaning perfectly well. He’d more or less insulted her, she supposed, but then he probably realized she’d never refuse a challenge like that when it came to her dinosaur sculptures.

Mimi set her jaw and narrowed her eyes in response to his arrogance but she refused to be baited, or to appear as annoyed and uncertain as

she felt. Beneath everything Nathan asked, behind every word he spoke, lay calculation, repressed bitterness, and an anger greater than her own. She had to remember that. As desirable as she found him to be as a man, as a scientist he was using her.

She smiled in feigned sweetness. “Whatever you need, Nathan, I’m sure I can humbly accomplish for you and your big, lifetime event. And I will be discreet where family questions are concerned.”

“And I suppose you’ll want me here every day until the model is complete,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Of course. I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of allowing me to slave over the work without your scholarly presence to cheer and guide me,” she replied. “How utterly boring for me, and unforgivable, should I fail at my appointed task.”

That pushed him near the brink of laughter, she could tell, as his eyes flashed with humor and he tightened his lips to keep from grinning outright.

“I imagine I’m rather boring, too, Mimi,” he ventured without inflection.

“Then you can watch me suffer as I wallow in the thick of your pompous, dull character, Professor,” she said through an enhanced sigh, stretching out a bit, one arm lengthwise on the settee’s armrest, the other propped on its back, next to his outstretched hand. “Since you know yourself so well, it should make you feel sufficiently guilty for using me for this uncertain scheme of yours.”

He knew she was teasing him and he chuckled softly at that, which in turn made her grin broadly, matching his jovial mood. Then, for the first time in her life, Mimi dared to allow herself to linger in her appraisal of a man who was not an intimate, unconcerned that he should notice. Her smile dwindled as she focused her concentration on the man who sat not a foot away, lounging, more or less, on her settee.

Her eyes grazed his face, examining every feature closely, and she found herself mesmerized once more by his dark, satiny lashes, his angled, cleanshaven jaw, the very masculine structure of his physique.

She lowered her gaze from his wide, firm shoulders to his chest, observing its slow rise and fall with every breath, its solid mass barely discernable under conservative gray linen fabric, wondering if it was covered with soft, dark hair. His thighs were thick and hard as rocks, she could tell, but lean. He had rugged arms that lengthened to large hands and long, strong fingers, tanned and callused from physical labor. She’d never before seen a man’s hands that were not soft, and fingers that were not manicured, and Nathan’s hands were coarse and

hard and thoroughly different from her own. That in itself intrigued her.

It had been a long time since she’d visualized any man’s beautiful, strong form that lay hidden beneath layers of clothing, and she yearned for just a brief touch, to feel the strength of Nathan’s build under his very appropriate shirt. She caught herself, though, before giving in to such an embarrassment, bringing her own hands together in her lap once more, and squeezing them tightly.

But her greatest mistake, she realized, was taking the time to analyze the man so openly, and then looking back into his eyes.

His face had lost all humor, and his expression waxed grave in a sure signal of… distrust? Apprehension? Maybe both. She couldn’t be sure, but he studied her own features now intently—lips, cheeks, brows.

Every line and curve of her face.

And then it hit her that he clearly understood where her inane and unwanted thoughts were leading. He witnessed an interest beyond the appropriate, maybe even sensed that it had always been there.

“Be careful, Mimi,” he murmured, his voice husky and low. “There’s work to do here.”

“Be careful?” she repeated, dazed.

He bit down hard. “Careful how you look at me.”

Stunned at that certain warning, of what it implied, she blinked quickly, and then slowly raised herself to stand back from him, perfectly still. She held her entire body rigid, hands to her sides, all the while never looking away from his dark, knowing eyes.

The room felt stuffy suddenly, crowded, thick with tension. Then Nathan gazed beyond her, toward the doorway, and instantaneously there was a tangible shift in mood. His expression turned from dark to bleak; his eyes filled with an animosity he couldn’t conceal.

Mimi turned, trepidation seeping into her skin, as she noticed the proud, stately bearing of her father looming over them, or so it seemed, from the small entrance to the house.

She blushed crimson, she knew, from being caught… what? Doing nothing. Working. Working with Nathan Price.

“Papa,” she mumbled breathlessly, running her palms down her gown at her hips. “I didn’t know you were back.” And she hoped to God he hadn’t heard Nathan’s last words.

Sir Harold inhaled deeply, which made his jowls widen and his white side whiskers flare. “How are you, my darling daughter?”

She adored hearing his gruff voice again and wanted to run to his

arms. She loved him immeasurably and hadn’t seen him in nearly three months, but Nathan’s conspicuous presence held her back. He stood beside her now, stiff as stone, large and predatory, and never had she felt more uncomfortable about a situation in her life. Her father, bless his intuitive heart, sensed her predicament and saved her humiliation.

Stepping a few paces into the studio, he pulled down on his waistcoat and acknowledged Nathan with a nod.

“Professor Price, is it? I had no idea you’d returned from the Continent.”

Mimi couldn’t decipher her father’s mood, his initial thoughts, but she imagined he was likely more concerned at finding Nathan alone with her in her workshop, than shocked at his being back in England.

Nathan however, remained resolute in his stance.

“Sir Harold,” he said formally. Then, without waiting for reply, he turned to her. “I shall be on my way, Mrs. Sinclair. Until tomorrow.”

He reached down for his drawings, and with a curt nod to both of them, left the studio.

Seconds later, her father cleared his throat. “Well.” He ran his palms down his chest. “That was certainly awkward.”

Mimi lowered her body heavily onto the settee, dismayed, confused, and a little bit saddened that he’d left so soon, so quickly. They hadn’t even eaten, and she had been hoping Nathan would want to stay for luncheon. But that was beside the point now.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Papa,” she said warily.

He grunted and strode toward her. “I told Stella I’d be staying for luncheon, but I guess Price won’t be joining us.” Shrewdly, he looked down at her upturned face. “Are you going to tell me why he was here?”

“Yes, of course.” She rubbed her brow with her fingertips, feeling terribly guilty that she wished her father had not come to visit because she’d rather, at this moment, be eating with Nathan alone. What kind of daughter did that make her?

Then she rose again, wearied, but planting a smile on her lips before she lifted them to her father’s cheek. “Shall we eat? We’ll talk then. I want to hear about your trip as well.”

But as they left the workshop together, Mimi’s main consideration wasn’t his trip or her stomach, but her breasts. Since that was what Nathan so admired about her, she’d simply have to wear something tighter in the bosom tomorrow.

« ^ »

T
he very distinguished Sir Harold Robert Marsh waited, however impatiently, for Justin Marley, in the man’s small but tidy home near Regent’s Park. His impending visit with Marley was unexpected and perhaps hasty, but it was also crucial. He paced upon new, dark gold carpeting, in a parlor decorated with excellent taste in rich colors of bronze and teal, sporting spectacular artifacts from Marley’s frequent travels to the Continent. Yet for all the room’s striking appearance and comfortable feel, Harold couldn’t bring himself to sit. He strode back and forth in front of the fireplace, ignoring the heat it offered from its shooting sparks, his head down as he rubbed his palms together in front of him.

Damn Nathan Price for coming home only to stir things up again.

Damn Carter for dying unexpectedly and leaving his daughter widowed to fall prey to a clever, wily man. And damn the scientific establishment for creating this concern in him that, in only the last three hours since his visit with Mimi, listening to all her startling revelations, had begun to grow into alarm.

Price had been wronged. Harold believed that. He had known Nathan well enough in ‘51 to accept without question that the man had indeed found an intact fossil which was consequently stolen, starting the dark, downward spiral to his ruin. Still, regardless of Price’s lowered professional status, or his sudden eagerness to regain his honor, however courageous that might be, Harold didn’t want the man in any of their lives, especially Mimi’s. She was impulsive and always had been, and her odd devotion to a disgraced scientist below her social station unsettled him. He was her father, after all, and he wanted what was best for her. That had been Carter Sinclair until the man had passed on to an early grave. Perhaps his visit to Justin now proved that he was jumping to conclusions, responding to his building distress rather than confronting it, but then this was always the reaction he had when the course of troubling events turned its attention to Mimi.

Sir Harold stopped pacing abruptly and pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, shaking his head.

Mimi. His loving daughter. Such a delightful, charming child turned woman—when she wasn’t sidestepping her place, interjecting her unasked-for opinions, and sticking her darling presence into business that did not involve her. Now it was happening again, as it always did where Nathan Price was concerned. If only he had not returned, Harold mused, but then such direction of thought was entirely moot. He would now be forced to focus on the professor’s intent.

Harold looked up and straightened to the appropriate bearing when he heard the returning footsteps of Marley’s aging, flawlessly dressed butler.

“Mr. Marley will see you now, Sir Harold,” he said languidly. “In his study. This way, if you please.”

Harold followed immediately, taking only half-notice of his surroundings. He’d been in Marley’s home once or twice before, but it had been a long time ago, right before Carter and Mimi were married, if he remembered correctly.

Near the back of the ground level, the butler ushered him inside a room of dark paneled oak walls and forest green furniture, got assurance from his employer that there would be nothing more, then made his silent departure.

Justin sat behind his large, sturdy desk, the top of which exposed a scattering of papers. He wore a white shirt of fine quality, sleeves rolled up, forearms on the flat surface, but focused instantly on his arriving guest. Slowly, he stood as Harold moved confidently into the room.

“Good afternoon, Sir Harold,” he remarked without inflection. “Care for a brandy?”

It was far too early to imbibe. “Thank you, yes,” he replied, deciding time was unimportant when it came to his primary concern.

Justin motioned for him to sit in the straight-backed leather chair across from the desk while he walked to a sideboard, pulling a bottle and two snifters out of the cupboard beneath it. They both remained silent until he handed over the light brown liquid, which Harold took and lifted at once to his lips.