Terms of Surrender (13 page)

“Sounds interesting,” he said. “I’m glad I’m going to be there.”

She wasn’t. “I’m sure it’ll be a bore for somebody with your…experience.”

He whistled at the insult.

That had been bitchy, and she knew it. Stammering, she explained, “I mean, you’ve been all over the world, I have no doubt.”

Nodding, though he didn’t look like he quite believed her, he explained, “That’s true. But I meant, I’m glad I’ll be there because the kids can be rowdy and you’re opening a pretty dangerous door.”

“I am perfectly qualified to talk about sex,” she said, keeping her tone cool and professional. She only hoped she could maintain it. The longer he stayed here, the harder it was becoming. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I didn’t say you did. But I’m glad I’ll be there, just in case.” Leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers behind his head, he asked, “So, are you gonna caution them against hooking up with strangers they only met a couple of hours ago?” His expression remained pleasant, his voice holding only a hint of humor.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied quickly. “I intend to preach to them about how
stupid
it is to do something like that. And how, if you do make that mistake once, you’d better make damn sure you don’t do it again. You know, learn from your mistakes and all that.”

“Mistake, huh?”

“Yes,” she replied, her chin going up. “It was a mistake. A lapse in judgment.”

He rose to his feet, his smile faltering, as if she’d hurt him a little, if that were possible. “Don’t say that yet, okay? You didn’t misjudge me. I
am
the guy you met that day, Mari.”

Sure. Except for the uniform. And the part where he’d acted as though what had happened had meaning—his tenderness and promises had implied it, even if he hadn’t voiced it out loud.

Then there was that promise to call.

Assuming he was ready to leave now that he’d gotten her agreement on the joint lectures, Mari rose, too. She was determined to quietly escort him to the door and not throw her arms around his neck and ask him to do that amazing little move with his hips that he’d used on her that night on his boat.

Good God.

Instead of heading for the door, though, Danny eyed her for a minute, then reached into his back pocket. Drawing out a sheath of papers, he handed it to her. “Here.”

Marissa stared at the pages like he was offering her an unwanted subpoena. “What’s that?”

“Just look at them, please,” he urged quietly.

Taking one deep, slow breath, then letting it out, Marissa reached for the pages, being careful not to allow her fingers to brush against his. It was bad enough that she was sharing his airspace, she did not need any skin-on-skin contact to mess with her head. Having Danny here—seeing him sitting on that chair, framed against that window, filling the small apartment with that scent—was already doing a number on her.

She glanced at the first page, seeing a photocopy of a receipt from an electronics shop. “So?” Stepping closer—
too close, don’t get so close
—he tapped the neatly manicured tip of his finger on the description of the purchase.

“Congratulations. 3G?”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he pointed to the upper part of the receipt—the date. “I bought it two weeks ago.”

“Looks like you got a good deal,” she said, pushing the paper toward him.

He wouldn’t take it. “Want to know why I bought a new cell phone?”

“’Cause somebody asked, ‘Can you hear me now?’ and you couldn’t?”

He grinned. “No, because I dropped mine in the bay.”

She gaped, then muttered, “Gee, I hope nobody ever gives you a bomb to hold.”

“Want to know when I dropped it?”

“Not particularly, but I suppose you’re going to tell me, anyway.”

“About an hour after you left that morning,” he explained, stepping even closer, so his pants brushed her calves, bared beneath the capri pants she wore. The contact electrified her…his words even more so.

Because she suddenly remembered what else had happened that morning. How he’d given her his phone to input her number.

He hadn’t written it down, hadn’t committed it to memory. The
only
way he would have been able to find it was in that phone.

“So you’re telling me you lost my number?” she asked, trying to sound flippant, as if she didn’t really care. But she did. Oh, did she ever.

“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you,” he said, his tone steady, unwavering, as if he was trying to convince her with more than mere words. The warmth of his expression aided his endeavor and she found herself softening.

But she quickly steeled herself against it. “Yeah, and nobody knows how to use a phone book anymore.”

“I didn’t know your last name,” he countered.

Hell. He was right. She hadn’t learned his that day, either. How insane was that? She’d shared the most wonderfully erotic night with the man and knew exactly the sweet, deep groan he made when he came, but she hadn’t found out his last name.

Or his rank. Oy.

“Besides which,” he added, “once I did find out your last name—because of a flyer about your speeches on campus—I went searching and found out you’re unlisted.”

“Oh,” she whispered, remembering that. She’d had a few obnoxious letters after her first book came out, and had tried to put up a wall between herself and any overzealous—or overly angry—readers.

“I was tempted to drive around Baltimore to see if I spotted your car parked on the street. I remembered you said you lived near the harbor.”

“I park in a private lot,” she whispered, a warm, funny feeling rising inside her.

He’d tried to find her?
Really? She hadn’t been used and then ditched?

“Now, on to Exhibit B.”

He pulled the top sheet of paper away, revealing the one below it, which she recognized as a printout of her excerpted dissertation. “After I found out your last name, and hunted for you, I found this article.” He tapped the last paragraph on the page. “As you can see, no ‘contact the author’ section. No URL, no email address, no P.O. Box. Nothing.”

Swallowing, she admitted, “I try to maintain my privacy online.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure that’s smart, keeping the cyber-stalkers away. Unfortunately, it kept me away, too, and I’m no stalker.”

She managed a faint smile. “You never did throw those nails down in the parking lot.”

“Nor did I look at your car registration—and see your address—when I was working on your car. Believe me, I’ve kicked myself for that a dozen times.”

He revealed the next sheet in the pile. At first glance, it looked like the printout of an email. It was dated a week ago. “As you can see, I even wrote to the editor of the journal and asked for contact information on the inimitable Marissa Marshall, PhD.”

The email confirmed it.

“Not once,” he added, pulling the first printout away to reveal another one…and then another. “Several times. But I got absolutely nowhere.”

Mari, whose heart had been thudding wildly from the moment she’d realized the implication of him losing his phone, could only stare, reading the words repeated in his three emails. They confirmed what he’d said—he had definitely been trying to find her. Trying
hard
to find her.

It was true. Danny Wilkes hadn’t intentionally blown her off at all. He’d been the victim of a slippery electronic device and Marissa’s own need to carefully maintain her privacy.

“You really tried,” she whispered.

“Hell, yes,” he said, tossing the pages onto the cluttered coffee table. “Even after I’d decided to let fate handle bringing you back into my life, the way fate brought you there the first time, I still gave it my all.”

Fate bringing them together. What a romantic concept, not something she’d expect to hear from a military man. Then again, Danny was like no man, military or otherwise, that she’d ever met. He was funny and good-natured, kind, smart, self-deprecating.

Mr. Perfect.

But not, she had to remind herself, Mr. Perfect-For-Her.

How could he be when he was heading down a lifelong road she’d sworn to stay away from? Their paths had crossed that one magical, wonderful night…but that was all they could have. Any more might be delicious and wonderful and incredibly pleasureful. But in the end, it would go nowhere. They’d walk in circles, coming back to the center: he was a navy man all the way, and she wanted nothing to do with that lifestyle ever again.

No, Danny was nothing like her father, she knew that already. Nor was she weak and easily swayed like her mother. But that wasn’t the only issue. Even without her parents’ lousy example, she knew what that life was like, and she didn’t want it. She had no interest in moving all around the globe, at the whim of the military. She wanted to always feel she had a firm foundation beneath her feet, not like her world could be toppled on end with one painful phone call or telegram, or even a simple station-change order. She’d never want any child of hers to have to go to bed at night wondering if Daddy was ever coming home; nor did she want them to have to go to five different schools in a six-year period.

Sleeping with him is not the same as having kids with him.

No, of course it wasn’t. But she was pushing thirty and she’d already decided to change her life, to move into a solely mature, adult phase of it. So there could be no backsliding by hooking up with a man with whom she had absolutely no future.

And they had none. She mentally repeated that.
She and Danny had absolutely no future.

So as wonderful as it was to know their shared night had meant something to him, it didn’t make her throw her arms around his neck and beg him to take her to dinner. Or to bed.

“I appreciate your showing me all this,” she murmured, meaning it. “Truly. And I’m sorry I believed the worst and didn’t give you a chance to explain yesterday.” She heard the hint of remorse in her own voice, and hoped he did, too. Because it was entirely genuine.

“You’re forgiven,” he told her, that handsome grin widening his mouth, making those amber eyes crinkle in the good humor she’d come to associate with him. “So, what do you say, can we start over?”

She swallowed hard, stared into his face, tempted. So damned tempted. Then, somehow, she drew the words she needed to say out of a deep well of strength she hadn’t even known she possessed.

“No, Danny. I’m sorry, but we can’t.”

He looked stunned.

“It’s probably best for you to leave now.”

Tuesday 5/24/11, 10:50 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/24/Nomore

To quote that kid on
South Park,
“I learned something today.”

Something big.

I learned that I shouldn’t make assumptions about why things happen without knowing all the facts. And that I should trust my gut when I truly think somebody’s a good person, rather than letting my own self-doubts and suspicions make me vulnerable to all kinds of mental nay-saying.

I guess my own background makes me a little less trusting than most people—a shrink would probably say I have abandonment issues. Haha. (Inside joke.)

Whatever the case, I’m here to say I was wrong. Majorly wrong. I feel like shit about it, and I’ve apologized.

But to be honest, I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m not going to say anything more here. I’m done spilling my emotions in public. It’s not healthy and it’s not right. Suffice it to say, I made a big mistake about you-know-who.

He is Mr. Perfect.

Just not my Mr. Perfect.

I can’t have him, and I know it. I’m trying to be all mature and smart about this, but I can’t deny it hurts like hell.

Whoops. There I go, spilling my emotions again.

Zip it, Mari!