Santa Reads Romance (12 page)

“But?”

“He's … a kook.”

Mills raised an eyebrow as if to say, When has this little aberration ever stopped a hot-blooded man?

“No. No, believe me, you have this all wrong. I'm sure he would never notice me in that way. He probably isn't interested in such base interactions, being so … so intellectually lofty.”

“Right.”

“Seriously. He might see me as interesting in some bizarre way known only to him.” She thought of his expression and the tone of his voice when he had told her he was going to follow up on her idea, whatever
that
had been. “But only because he thinks he can teach me to understand what he's talking about.”

Mills choked on her tea. “Zanita! I have no idea what you are saying! Do you?”

“Well, no. But don't blame me— it's Tyber's doing. No one could possibly understand a thing he says.” She sighed. “This is not going to be a piece of cake.”

***

As if her words were an omen, when she walked into the fast-food restaurant, Tyber was wolfing down a piece of cake a little girl had handed him. He looked up as she approached the tables where several men from the class, including Stan, were eating hamburgers and fries.

The past twenty-four hours had, if anything, enhanced his appeal. He was just as sexy as she remembered.

There was something about the man that invited touching.

His incredible pecs couched inside the soft cotton of his casual shirt, perhaps? His strong column of toasty warm throat? The boyishly intriguing dimples in his mischievous smile? The incredible intelligence behind his eyes?

It struck her anew how very different he was— not what one would expect at all.

“Hi. Want a sip?” He held out his chocolate shake to her. She eyed the drink dubiously, remembering the pasty taste from her high school years all too well.

“No, thank you. Who's the kid?”

Tyber shrugged. “It's her birthday. She gave us all a piece of her cake. Whether we wanted it or not.” He winked at her. “Fortunately, I'm a sucker for frosting.” He licked a dollop off his finger.

It was an innocent gesture on his part, but for some reason Zanita couldn't take her eyes off that tongue slowly swirling around the edge of his long, beautifully tapered finger. The gesture so fascinated her that she stood riveted, watching him.

“I did promise you I'd be honest tonight.”

“Wh-what?” Her face rose guiltily to his.

“The lecture.” His eyes sparked expressively in his incredibly handsome face. “I think after tonight I'll have you hooked.”

“Hooked?” She knew she sounded like a parroting idiot, but she couldn't get the sight of that sensuously swirling tongue out of her mind. Why did he have to look so sinfully delicious? What would that tongue feel like swirling against— “Like peanut butter to jelly,” he affirmed.

She swallowed convulsively, dispelling the image
that
provoked.

Tyber scooted over in the booth, making room for her to sit down.

Stan, having devoured his mountain of ground beef and grease; noticed her as she took her seat. “So you haven't given up on us, eh, Zanita? Good for you!”

Zanita glanced sideways at Tyber, who smiled softly at her. Even seated, he seemed to tower over her. “I didn't really have a choice, Stan.”

Stan, completely misinterpreting her remark, replied, “I know what you mean. Doctor Evans is inspirational!” He grinned broadly at Tyber, who winced under the unexpurgated devotion.

Looking around the restaurant, he said, “We might as well start this.”

He levered himself up on top of the back of the seat, straddling two booths with his long, jean-clad legs, and addressed the group. “I thought tonight we'd informally discuss artificial intelligence and some related topics …”

While Tyber spoke, the ultimate artificial life form, the restaurant clown, listened in, peering over Stan's shoulder intently, his orange hair glowing under the fluorescent lighting. Several stragglers from the class wandered in. Eventually they had to move out to the playground to make room for everybody. Even the clown followed them outside, his broom dragging on the ground behind him.

There in the playground, under the stars, with a gentle breeze in the night air, Tyber spoke of the mysteries of the universe from the top of a slide. Zanita thought him the most interesting and unconventional man she had ever seen.

Frogs croaked, shooting stars fell, owls hooted, and trees rustled in the wind as he discussed, in plain terms, bringing together seemingly dichotomous subjects such as absolutism underlying relativistic principles.

What fascinated Zanita most was his way of taking several divergent topics and bringing them together into a cohesive unit, pointing out similarities in subjects not often talked about synonymously. He was brilliant.

He was a man captivated by ideas, both the sublime and the ridiculous. His genuine curiosity about every aspect of the nature of the universe was contagious. The group was entranced by his enthusiasm as he delved into explorations of both the known and the unknown.

“Facts always remain absolute,” he said. “It's everyone's point of view that is different, relativistic, although, paradoxically, everyone believes 'their' point of view is the correct or 'proper' one. As Einstein pointed out quite a while ago: 'I'm right and everything else is relative.' If one listens to two politicians in a political debate, one is observing the Theory of Relativity.” Everyone laughed.

“And on that note, I believe we'll call it a night. I thought it might be interesting if we caught the new science fiction picture playing at the cinema at the mall in Stockboro tomorrow. I hear there are some intriguing ideas at work on the nature of space travel and xenobiology. We can have an open discussion afterwards if anyone's interested.” Everyone was very much interested— including the clown, who asked if he could join in. He was assured he could.

Tyber caught up to Zanita in the parking lot as she was heading for her car.

“So— how was that? Did I keep my promise?”

Zanita smiled at him. “You did. In spite of myself, I was fascinated like everyone else.”

“Hmm... not quite what I was aiming at, but it is a start.”

She reached her car and unlocked the door. “As a friend told me recently, in certain matters I would do well to leap before I look.” Of course, Mills had been referring to a totally different subject. “You have piqued my interest, Doc. I will be there tomorrow night.”

He placed his hands against the door of her car, leaning down to speak to her through the open window. “It is you who has piqued my interest, Zanita. Did I tell you I have a cat? No? Well, I do. Good night.”

Now what did he mean by that?
she wondered.

The following evening, she waited for the group in the lobby of the movie theater, trying desperately to stay awake. She had gone to visit her grandparents at their farm last evening after the class. Her grandfather had been sitting out on the front porch, idly rocking on the swing, enjoying the unusually balmy October weather. The natives called it Indian summer, and every New Englander knew to enjoy the brief respite while it lasted, for it presaged the coming winter.

As usual, it didn't take long before they were heatedly “discussing” a current topic of town politics. Zanita always liked engaging Hank in such discussions, often playing devil's advocate just to rile the old man. Hank was something when he got going on a subject he cared about; and Hank really cared about everything that went on in Stockboro, and for that matter, the world at large. In her opinion, it was one of the traits that had made him a great reporter. No story was ever
just
a story to him.

Unfortunately, she had succeeded only too well in riling him up, for the discussion went on well past midnight, with neither one of them aware of the time. It wasn't until her grandmother came out onto the porch dressed in her robe to shoo them inside that they came to their senses.

Due to the hour, Zanita elected to spend the night in her old bedroom. When she made her decision, she hadn't counted on The Hogs hitting town.

It was around two in the morning when the pack squealed into the backyard, reminding her of a motorcycle gang storming into a town for the fun of causing mayhem. The “defiant ones” snorted and snuffled in glee, causing her to sit bolt upright in bed.

She cautiously lifted the shade on the window in time to see the little picket fence which surrounded her grandmother's rose garden crash over. Stomping pig feet echoed in the night.

Her grandmother's garden was trampled in a random display of violence before the herd inexplicably moved on.

Hank was fit to be tied.

The Hogs resided with their neighbor, Joe Sprit, who lived several miles down the road. Every now and then, for reasons known only to The Hogs, they escaped their pen to take a midnight foray through the town. It had been going on for years. Zanita referred to it in her goofier moments as “The Night of The Hogs.”

Since no one was sure how to deal with the problem, they tended to live with it. Joe claimed he had reinforced the fencing several times, but somehow, when The Hogs wanted out; they got out. When a Hog had mayhem on its mind, there was little a human could do.

So now, she ruminated facetiously, she was just grist for the Hog mill. Deciding that some fresh air might revive her, she walked outside to the front of the theater. It wasn't long before she saw Tyber pulling into the lot on the back of a Harley-Davidson. Somehow she was not surprised.

He slung his helmet over the bars, spotting her at once. Smiling a greeting, he walked her way, looking altogether too sensuous and sinewy. He wore black, thigh-hugging jeans with black boots. A gray shirt and cuffs turned back on his forearms completed the dangerous look. His long hair was tied back, once again, in a ponytail. She wondered what it would look like loose about his shoulders, silently thanking him for not putting her through that torture.

“Waiting for me?” He greeted her with a grin.

Unashamedly arrogant. “Getting some air. Everyone's waiting for you inside.”

He nodded, steering her through the door. “I have a confession to make— I really wanted to see this picture, and I hate going to the movies alone.”

“So you engineered it so the whole class would accompany you? Talk about abuse of power …”

“Afraid so. I'll tell you what— to make it up to you, I'll buy your ticket. But you have to buy the popcorn.”

“What kind of a deal is that? The popcorn in this place is more than my rent.”

“I never said I was stupid.” He winked at her, revealing that engaging dimple.

After greeting the class and telling them to meet after the movie in the mall court, he drew her determinedly over to the refreshment stand.

“A jumbo deluxe popcorn,” he told the girl behind the counter.

“Thanks a lot! Why don't you get Stan to buy your popcorn for you? I'm sure he'd be more than willing.”

He considered her question for a moment. “Because Stan doesn't have legs like yours.”

That shut her up. He
had
noticed. “You shouldn't talk to your students like that.”

He threw her a look. “You're not a student, and this is not a classroom. It's a seminar— for
colleagues.
“ He fished his wallet out of his back pocket to pay the girl.

“I am not a colleague of yours, and I said I would pay for that.”

“I'm aware of that. As for the popcorn— I was joking.”

“But— ”

“Let's go see the movie.”

As he led her to their seats, she got the uncomfortable feeling that she had somehow been maneuvered into a date without ever agreeing to one, or for that matter being asked to one. The sneaking suspicion crossed her mind that Tyber could have manipulated the entire class just for that purpose. But that was absurd. Why would he do such a thing?

She felt an elbow nudge her side.

“You're falling asleep again, Ms. Masterson. I don't mind, but the two rows behind us are complaining about your snores.”

“I don't snore.” She mumbled, falling into a doze again.

Jab.

“Will you quit it?”

“Why are you so tired?” he whispered low in her ear, sending a frisson down her bare neck. “Is my company that boring?” His heated breath teased against her.

“No, it's The Hogs,” she murmured sleepily, turning unconsciously toward his warmth.

He was amused by both her response and her action; she was just short of snuggling into him. He casually put his arm around her, drawing her closer, pitching his voice low. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Hogs were on the prowl last night— God, you smell good.” She promptly fell back asleep.

Hogs? What hogs?
He looked askance at the sleeping bundle of woman in his arms. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. And soft. Definitely soft.

He decided he liked the feel of her sleeping in his arms.

***

She awoke toward the end of the movie, mortified to find herself burrowed into Tyber's chest. Worse yet, she had managed to fit her head into the crook of his neck, her forehead flush against the warm skin of his throat. His chin was resting on the top of her head as he watched the movie; his arm was casually draped across her shoulders.

This was so unprofessional of her! Thank God the rest of the group were scattered throughout the darkened theater. Hopefully, they were too engaged in the movie to pay any attention to the two of them.

Damn! How could she ever expect the man to take her seriously now? He'd never give her the interview she wanted. And how did one extricate oneself from such a position gracefully?

Tyber's hand slowly rubbed her back, causing her to instantly stiffen.

“I know you're awake,” he said into her hair.

“Can we pretend I didn't do this?” she asked in a small voice against his chest.

“Of course not.” His husky tone held more than a hint of amusement.

Zanita quickly disengaged herself, affronted. “That's not very chivalrous of you.”

Tyber did not seem particularly concerned about chivalry. “Do you often fall asleep in a public place in the arms of the person next to you?”