Calculated Exposure (3 page)

“I’m on sabbatical. I’ll be floating around between here and England until the weekend. I’m flying home out of London. Other than that, I’m not on any real schedule. Just wandering and…” She tapped her camera case. “Trying to find some inspiration.”

“Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight? I’d love to hear about what’s going on at home. I haven’t been back to North Carolina since my daughter was an infant. Been too hard to travel. Besides, I don’t get to chat with creative types too often. Pretty much all our regular visitors are geeks of some sort.” Her lips twitched, and Erica wondered what was so funny.

Erica shrugged. “Hell, why not? I could use a good meal.” She extended a hand. “Erica Desoto.”

The woman clasped it. “Carla Fennell. We live nearby, so you could probably walk from here. If you give me your phone, I’ll put the directions into your notepad if you’ve got one.”

“I do.” Erica woke up her phone and handed it over.

“We’ve gone so long without guests other than my father-in-law and my husband’s friends. They’re great to see, but boy, I miss having girlfriends around.”

That made Erica pause. A kindred spirit, perhaps? Maybe she wasn’t as singular as she thought. “Haven’t made any friends?”

“Oh, I guess I haven’t tried. I have friends at home in the US, you know? Good ones. Part of me feels like I’d be cheating on them if I made new friends here, but I know that’s irrational. They’d want me to be social.”

Oh.

Carla handed the phone back.

Erica tucked it into her bag’s front pouch. With her hand on the bag, her memory was spurred about that last shot she missed and the gorgeous slob who’d jogged up the path toward her and grinned as if she were some kind of plaything, and a disposable one at that. Suddenly, she felt very dizzy standing there and realized it was because of all the blood flooding her cheeks. She blew out a breath. Never had a man had that effect on her. “Uh, the guy with your kids, Curt, he’s a decent sort?”

Carla giggled and tugged her creeping shirt over her waistband. “That’s a loaded question. Why do you ask?”

“He’s flirtatious, huh?”

Carla shrugged. “He is, but since he’s always given me a wide berth, I don’t really know the extent.” She looked at her watch face once more and grimaced before mumbling something about tantrums. “So, see you around five? We eat sort of early for the kids. Sorry.”

Erica put up her hands in a calming gesture. “Don’t apologize. Five is great. It’ll give me a chance to charge up my camera battery. Should I bring anything?”

“Just your company.” Carla got almost all the way to the door and suddenly turned with a snap of her fingers. She pointed at Erica. “If you need a charge, use the student lounge. Right around the corner and through the double doors.”

“Thanks!”
Nice lady. If I had friends, I hope they’d be like her.

Erica took one last look at the diptych, and with a sigh padded off toward the lounge. She understood now, and her mind reeled at the revelation. She didn’t have “it,” whatever
it
was. She wasn’t an artist. Never would be, and didn’t even have a fall-back like Carla.

Now what?

* * * *

Curt stared up at the gray sky, raking a hand back and forth through his thick hair as his other hand held his cell phone to his ear.

“We need an answer in two weeks,” the woman on the other end said.

“I can give you an answer right now, but I don’t know if it’s the one you want to hear.”

“You do understand how much paperwork we need to shuffle to arrange for your visa?”

“I’m perfectly aware, or haven’t you noticed I’ve lived in the US for much of the past ten years? I’ve done my own fair share of document filing.”

“Mr. Ryan, are you going to be a problem for us?”

“Probably.”

The woman sighed on her end, and Curt pitied her a bit. She was just a lowly HR drone with the unfortunate task of setting a fire under him. Hell, she probably spent entire days dealing with surly mathematicians and scientists, and likely wondered why couldn’t just
one
of them be easy. Curt knew he wasn’t easy. Never had been.

“We need an answer and your start date,” she said with a sigh.

“Fine.”

“And, uh…” She rustled some paper on her end. “Just for my records, have you been approached by any other companies?”

“Your records, huh? Or did Bridget Rose tell you to ask? Because that sort of falls into the realm of none-of-your-business.”

“The firm is prepared to pay you a signing bonus that could substantially offset the Federal deficit, and you don’t think they’re entitled to some curiosity?”

“Well, well. I think you have a sense of humor, don’t ya?”

“Two weeks, Mr. Ryan.” She hung up.

He let the phone fall to the grass. “Fuck.”

“I hate to interrupt your commune with nature, Curt, but dinner’s about ready and we have a guest.”

Curt sighed, propped himself onto his elbows, and glared at his old college friend. He’d been staying with Grant, his wife Carla, and their two kids for the past few days. They lived in Maynooth, closer to Dublin than his family in Mahon. He needed to be near Dublin to do what he’d come to Ireland for in the first place.

“Oh yeah?” he called across the garden. “I take it this person is the sort of guest who’d be concerned about the lush sprawling on your sod, huh?”

“Most likely. Come on, food’s hot. If we hold up dinner again, Carla’s going to bark. She’s cute when she’s mad, but I don’t want to get her blood pressure up. It’s probably bad for the baby.”

“Probably.” Curt stood with a groan and as he passed through the storm door, Grant gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“A good meal will make it all better. Always does.”

“And it’ll provide something for all that alcohol to soak into, yeah?”

“Precisely. Can’t have you poisoning yourself with Irish Gold when you’re so close to earning your doctorate. Poison yourself
after
you get the check for the signing bonus. That way you’ll have insurance to cover your detox. While you’re drying out, maybe you’ll realize life doesn’t suck as bad as you think and give up the sauce for good.” As he passed, Grant gave Carla a goosing that made her yip and reflexively flick a dishtowel at him.

Curt rolled his eyes and as he approached the sink to wash his hands, he caught sight of the mystery guest in his blurry periphery. He turned his head fully toward the dining table to line her up within focus of his glasses.

That woman! Sitting there at the Fennells’ kitchen table with little Adam on her lap.
What the hell?

“Curt, you remember Erica, I guess?” Carla asked, pressing a glass of whiskey toward him.

He tried not to think too hard about how her supplying him with booze seemed antithetical to the drying out he really wasn’t in need of. “Yeah, how could I forget? Brain’s not quite that pickled yet, regardless of what you lot pretend.”

“Speaking of pickled brains, are you really content with Seth graduating before you? The same guy whose advisor disappeared without a trace for two full years?” Grant asked. “Fuck, you had all that time to catch up while he was in Russia with an expired visa, and you squandered it. What the hell were you doing, anyway?”

“Yeah, about that…” There was a tug at his jeans’ leg. Curt looked down to find Emma staring up him with a scowl on her angelic face. He knelt. “Yes, dear?”

“No eat potatoes.”

Carla blew out a long-suffering sigh at the stove and mumbled something incomprehensible.

“I’ll eat your potatoes,” Curt offered, feeling very magnanimous.

Erica snickered and he raised a brow at her.
Oh, is that funny?

“No want them,” Emma reinstated as he returned his gaze to the tot.

“Okay. I
promise
they won’t touch your plate. There shall be no potato taint anywhere near your dish.” He looked across the room at Grant, who was trying, and failing, to suppress a laugh as he set the table. “You sure she’s Irish?” Curt asked.

“Mostly. That quarter Italian bit seems dominant, though. She’s averse to potatoes unless they’re going into her nonna’s gnocchi and covered in red sauce.”

“Nonna?” Emma turned in circles, looking around for the aforementioned missing grandparent.

“No, honey, Nonna’s not here right now,” Carla said softly, scooping her up. “You can call her later if you want.”

Emma’s bottom lip stuck out. “I want Nonna.”

Carla sighed again and looked back and forth from Curt to Erica, finally landing her gaze on the stranger at the table. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. It’s easier to handle these things before they turn into a full-blown shriek-fest. Five minutes?”

Erica gave her a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it. I’m self-entertaining.”

I bet you are
.

“Good. Uh…” Carla retraced her steps to the stove and center island and knocked lids and covers off everything. “Everyone can help themselves. Dinner’s ready.”

Grant buckled Adam into his high chair as Erica slipped from the table’s backside and headed toward the center island. She grazed Curt’s front with her side as she passed, and offered no apology.

“Ladies first,” he said, scenting the hint of violets on the air as she took up station in line in front of him. The aroma was faint, but alluring in the kind of way that made him understand animals’ attraction to flowers. He wanted to hover near her, taste what she was offering, and leave nothing behind for other predators.

“Curt!”

He whipped around to see Adam waving a decapitated robot toy at him.

Headless robot. That’s me
. He waved back to the tot, thankful for the momentary distraction, but as soon as he turned back to the island, his stupor returned. Her dark hair’s gentle sway as she reached and filled her plate…and things lower. Curt let his gaze trail down her back, past the cinch of her narrow waist, and settled on the ample backside that pulled the seat of her jeans tight. He reached out and hovered his hand near her ass, seemingly on its own accord, and upon breaking free of the trance, withdrew it and shoved it into his pocket.

Jesus.

A surreptitious glance around the room revealed no witnesses, save Adam. Curt blew out a sharp exhalation of relief. He liked women. A lot. Grant knew it. Carla pitied him for it. Still, he tried to keep his hands to himself when around the kids. Wouldn’t do for them to think their godfather was an insufferable letch.

Hell, am I?
He could admit he had been in the past, but he’d been so busy, so distracted lately, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone home with a woman.

Erica turned ninety degrees, reaching past him for a napkin and grazing his arm in the process.

The accidental caress felt far too familiar, somehow, although they’d only just met. She must have thought the same because as she drew back, she gave him a saucy wink.

Shit
.

As nice as her back was, her front was pretty nice, too. He cleared his throat and eased away a couple of paces. He loved dark hair on women, especially when it was long. The shiny, raven tresses hung heavy over her shoulders and framed the perfect oval that was her face. And again, before Curt could help himself, he gave up that space he’d made between them and pulled his hand from his pocket.

He wound his fingers around a length of the hair near her face, skimming her jaw with his knuckles in the process. She didn’t even twitch.

“Having fun?” She giggled, seemingly unfazed by his indelicate treatment of her hair. As if it were all so normal for her, she just reached for the mashed potatoes’ serving spoon and heaped a mound onto her dish.

“Yes, thank you.” He dropped the hair and picked up a plate from the stack.

“Usually people ask before they touch.”

He wasn’t like most people. “If you weren’t so brazen about it, going around with your hair let down like a loose woman, perhaps men like me wouldn’t feel so inclined to help ourselves.”

Shock registered on her face for a moment and Curt, for once in his life, worried he’d offended the woman. Why did he care? He never cared. He hadn’t even gone as far as he was prone to. Normally, he might have suggested she braid her hair, and when she asked
why,
he’d tell her doing so would keep it out of his face when she was on top of him.

She studied his face, probably trying to ascertain if he were pulling her leg, so he wriggled his eyebrows.

That did it. Tension receded. She laughed a deep, throaty laugh that made her full breasts jiggle beneath her clingy pink shirt.

Jesus.
He cast his gaze toward the ceiling and prayed for restraint. That was a new prayer for him.

She was shaped like a pin-up girl without all the Photoshopping they got nowadays. Perfection in analog, she didn’t need digital correction.

“Brazen, huh?”

He returned his gaze to the food spread and reached for the mashed potato spoon. “Oh yeah. Good girls don’t go ’round with all their hair hanging out like that. Maybe a couple of plaits wound ’round your head will temper the effect. Or perhaps a bonnet, darlin’?”

“Say that around Carla and she’d smack you.” Grant joined them at the island holding a little plastic dish with three partitions, each decorated with a different type of plane: Adam’s plate.

“Yeah, Carla probably would. She’s got a mean right hook.”

“Braids and bonnets, huh?” Erica snorted. “I never said I was a good girl. I’ll leave my hair as it is.”

As she moved on down the island toward the meatloaf, Curt and Grant shared a wide-eyed look. Grant knew what Curt did:
no one
was as brazen as Curt. Or at least they’d thought. Erica may have been even more scandalizing with her knowing smirks and flirtatious winks, but she had far more finesse. A woman’s touch. Class, even.

Well then
.

Curt spooned potatoes onto his plate, plus an additional portion which would have been Emma’s, and moved down the line right as Carla returned with the tot.

“All better. Had a quick Skype with Nonna and all is well,” Carla announced.