Читать книгу Spencer's Child - Joan Kilby - Страница 8

PROLOGUE

MEG PEERED THROUGH her microscope at the marine polychaete curled on its side in the petri dish. With one hand she held open the identification guide to marine invertebrates of the Pacific Northwest; with the other she used a probe to count the bristles arranged in paired sets on each segment. She’d almost finished when the chair next to hers scraped back and someone dropped into the empty seat.

Her concentration broken, Meg glanced up. And her heart beat a little faster.

Spencer Valiella. His brown hair was long and unkempt, as though permanently ruffled by the wind that blew in off the Pacific. He wore khaki pants and a faded black sweatshirt with the sleeves cut out. On the crest of his tanned biceps rode the tattoo of a leaping killer whale.

No one knew much about Spencer. He was a loner. Also a fourth-year honors student here at the University of Victoria and reputed to be brilliant. Yet not the kind of boy her parents would approve of. But she’d noticed him around the building, found him wildly attractive and now he was sitting right beside her.

“His,” she said. “I’m Meg.”

“Spencer.” Barely glancing her way, he hauled his beat-up leather satchel onto the table and began to rummage inside.

Her gaze slid back to the killer whale tattoo. She’d been fascinated with the sleek black-and-white marine mammals ever since she was eight years old and one had leaped straight out of the water not fifty feet from her father’s cabin cruiser. She’d gone into biology with the sole intention of studying them.

“Are you sure you’re in the right class?” she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. “This is Marine Invertebrates 301—a third-year course.”

His features were clean and straight, his sea-green eyes so dark that when she gazed into them she swore she could hear things that went bump in the night.

He took in her styled blond hair, miniskirt and designer top and smiled briefly. “I’m where I have to be, princess.”

Meg turned up her nose and pretended interest in the worm.

Spencer pulled a laboratory manual out of his satchel. A folded square of paper came out with it and slid across the table. From the corner of her eye, Meg saw it coming and stopped it with her hand. She recognized the pale greens and blues and dotted curving lines of a navigation chart.

“Are you into boating?” she asked, sliding it back. “My dad has a cabin cruiser. We go over to Port Townsend all the time.”

“I have a kayak.”

For a second she thought he was being apologetic. But the look that accompanied his words withered that notion and made her cheeks flush. Spencer Valiella was not impressed by clothes or looks or wealth. Meg had brains, too, but she doubted he was interested enough to find out.

He tucked the chart back into his satchel and leaned closer to her microscope. “What have you got there—a polychaete?”

He seemed oblivious to the fact that his knee was now touching hers. She found it hard to focus on anything but the heat generated by the point of contact. Or the wild clean scent of salt air on his skin. “I’m almost finished the ID,” she said without looking up. “You can have the worm when I’m done.”

With a flick of his finger, Spencer turned the worm onto its dorsal surface. “Abarenicola pacifica.”

Meg blinked. It had taken her twenty minutes just to get the family name. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“How many segments is it supposed to have?”

“Twenty,” he said, sounding bored. “Three pairs of branched gills containing hemoglobin on the anterior segment.”

“Wait a minute.” She flipped through the pages of the identification key to the species’ descriptions. “You’re right.”

Meg wrote the name in her notebook beside her pencil illustration of the worm. “Thanks,” she said, and gave him her most brilliant smile. “I’m interested in killer whales, too. Are you studying them for your honors thesis?”

One corner of his mouth curved slowly upward. Above his high cheekbones, his dark eyes gleamed. “Only one thing you need to know about me, princess. I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Oh, really.” She started to close her notebook, annoyed with herself now for even trying to get through to the guy.

“Wait a minute.” He reached for the notebook and took a closer look at her drawing of the worm, which was accurate and detailed, down to the very last segment and bristle. “This is good.”

Pride put a bloom in her cheeks. She whipped her notebook away and stuffed it into her bag. She didn’t need approval from Spencer Valiella.

With the eraser end of a pencil, he pushed back the lock of hair that hid her face. “I’m studying communication between maternal groups of resident killer whales, Meg.”

Reluctantly, yet irresistibly, she raised her eyes to his.

“I’ll take you along sometime if you’re seriously interested,” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she replied as casually as she could. “I’m interested.”