Читать книгу Full Circle - Shannon Hollis - Страница 10

4

“NO.” CATE TRIED TO SLAM the door, but Daniel jammed his foot in the opening before she could.

“Come on, Cate.” The laughter he couldn’t keep out of his voice made her face tighten up, as though she wanted to grab the door and bash it into his foot as hard as she could.

“Sorry, you have the wrong person. The name is Anne.”

“All right, so it was a bad joke. I apologize. Come on, let me in.”

“What for?”

He winced at the implication that there was nothing left between them to do, say or even think about. “I just wanted to say hello. Catch up on what you’ve been doing. Which is going to be really hard out here in the hallway, whispering to you through the keyhole.”

“I don’t have a keyhole. I use a key card.”

He laughed. “I forgot how literal you are. Please, Cate. Just for a minute.”

The Cate Wells he’d known in Mexico would have been a terrible poker player. Her emotions were mirrored on a face so expressive she’d once accused him of reading her mind. Somehow in the past eight years she’d learned to school it, to paste on a calm mask that hid what she was really thinking. Now that mask slid into place and she released her death grip on the door handle.

“Great,” she said politely. “Let’s catch up.” She led the way into the room as though she were wearing designer shoes and a cocktail dress, not cotton pj’s and a pair of bunny slippers.

He resisted the urge to comment.

She offered him the chair in front of the desk and he pulled it out and straddled it backward. She perched on the end of the bed, her jammies and bunny slippers at odds with the woman he remembered. The one who hung on rocks over fathoms of air and laughed. The one who put in hours in the broiling sun and counted it time well spent when she triumphantly held up a potsherd, its white-and-ocher paint faded by the passing centuries.

The one he’d thought he might be in love with.

The one who had run away.

He shook away the memories and concentrated on the reality. “You’re looking well.” Even the sexless cotton pajamas couldn’t hide the fit, slender body underneath. He wondered if her skin was still as soft, and if she still favored skinny little midriff-baring tank tops with no bra when she was out in the field.

“That’s hardly relevant, Daniel.”

Visions of tank tops fizzled in his head. “You’re supposed to say ‘thank you, so are you.’ Then I say, ‘Nice paper on the feminine in that leopard cult,’ and you say, ‘Congratulations on hitting the Times list, I’m so proud of you,’ and I say—”

“I had no idea your book hit the Times list. I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to that kind of thing.”

As putdowns went, that was about as devastating a delivery as he’d ever heard. He studied her for a moment.

“Somehow I’d hoped our reunion would be a little friendlier than this.”

“I didn’t come here for a reunion. I came here for the conference and to consult with you about something. And what do I find?” She stood and began to pace around the room. “I find a man who is so full of himself he expects every woman in the room to swoon, no matter how rudely he treats them. I find someone who happily hogs the spotlight, presenting science as though it’s some kind of entertaining reality show. And worst of all—” she took a breath “—I find someone who isn’t above hurting and insulting people from his past, who finds it amusing to poke fun at them, confident that no one knows what he’s talking about. Well, here’s a news flash, Daniel.” She marched over and stood squarely in front of him, her face flushed and her breath coming fast. “I knew you when you were nothing but a grubby undergrad who couldn’t tell a potsherd from a shark’s tooth and who, in fact, presented a lovely tooth to the class and proclaimed it was Anasazi pottery!”

Oh, God. The embarrassment of that moment flooded his memory—the snorting laughter of the supervising professor, the derision of the students for days afterward, and Cate’s red face as she suffered through the moment on his behalf.

Back then, she had cared. Or so he’d thought.

“Do you suppose anybody remembers that?” he asked softly. And more important, did she remember what had happened afterward?

Later, when dinner was over and people were wandering back to their tents to moan over the no-alcohol rule, he had slipped away to the cliffs and found her sitting under a piñon pine, her back to the sandstone and her feet hanging over a hundred-foot cliff as if it were the deck of a swimming pool.

That night, the moon had witnessed their first kiss.

She was looking at him as though trying to see under the surface of his skin. “I doubt it,” she said at last. “They’ve probably all bought your book so they can brag about how they knew you when.”

“Except you.”

“I bought it. Tonight. For my friend Anne. And you made a mistake in the inscription.”

No, he hadn’t. “I’ll give you another copy for your friend and sign it properly this time.” He stood and returned the chair to its place in front of the desk. “I was being an ass. Forgive me?”

Every time he moved, she made sure the distance between them stayed the same. He wondered what she’d do if he crowded her up against the sliding glass door. Her room was on the second floor of the main lodge, and he had no doubt that she’d probably rappel over the balcony, bunny slippers and all, if he tried it.

Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “Who are you now, really, Daniel?”

He took refuge in flippancy. “The ‘real Indiana Jones,’ according to Newsweek.”

“Yes, I read that, too. But I’m more interested in what you think, not what Newsweek thinks.”

“I could ask you the same question. I could ask why a successful, attractive associate prof is still single. I could ask why you prefer pajamas to, say, Victoria’s Secret. And I could ask what I really want to know, which is why do your bunny slippers have teeth?”

Waggling a foot, she pretended to admire one slipper the way a woman admires a huge diamond ring. “They’re a feminist reaction to male control of the sexual arena commonly known as the bedroom.”

He stepped back, alarmed, and for the first time, her eyes warmed and her face lit with a grin. “You’re not a Monty Python fan, I take it.”

He shook his head. “You know me. The Webslinger’s my man. Always has been.”

“Some day I’ll explain it to you.”

“How about tomorrow? Over breakfast, say? We can talk about why you like teeth and I like crime fighters.”

“I’m going for a run first thing.”

“I’ll wait. Some geology guy from San Jose State is talking about the mammoth bones he discovered in a riverbed. Not really my thing, so breakfast together would be a good alternative.”

“Let’s see how it works out. Good night, Daniel.”

And somehow—he wasn’t sure how—he found himself out in the hallway without even a kiss, while the door closed quietly between them.

In the morning, Cate proved just as elusive. When she didn’t answer his seven o’clock knock at the door and she wasn’t in the common room swilling strong coffee with a lot of milk—was that still her drug of choice?—he decided to mosey on down to the beach. True, she could have decided that a run under the trees, where the road in to the conference center ran through five miles of thick Monterey pine and live oak, was a good idea, but he doubted it. The woman he remembered would have headed to where there was space and light. In the absence of hundred-foot cliffs, he’d bet she was already a mile down the beach.

He’d have lost his bet, as it turned out. Big Sur was famous for plunging cliffs and crashing breakers, and the beach below the conference center was about fifty yards long and mostly submerged under high tide. A thin ribbon of sand was still left at the base of the cliffs, though. Enough to give a woman access to—aha.

Cate Wells sat on a ledge about forty feet up, her legs dangling in empty space in exactly the way he remembered. The ledge wasn’t very wide, but she made it look as though she were draped on a chaise longue poolside at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

With a grin, he parked himself on a grassy patch at the side of the path down to the cove, and watched her. Did she do this at home in NewYork? Did she have days when she thought, Gee, I’d like some air—I think I’ll go climb out on one of the Woolworth building’s windowsills. Or did she do what normal people did, and go find a climbing wall at the nearest sporting-goods store? More important, did she have a climbing buddy who partnered her? And just who might that be? Some tight-assed stockbroker who thought everything revolved around him? Who only went out on windowsills when the market dipped?

There must be a man in her life somewhere. A woman like Cate wouldn’t be alone. But if there was, how come he wasn’t with her? Was he some kind of stay-at-home guy who did all her cooking and let her boss him around in bed?

A rock dug into his hip and Daniel got to his feet, feeling a little less cheerful than he had a few minutes ago. The movement attracted her attention. Cate’s gaze swung from the pale horizon to him, and he lifted one hand in a wave. She waved back, turned to the side and began climbing down.

Watching Cate descend a cliff without equipment was like being six again and watching the trapeze artists at the circus. He knew she was capable. He knew it wasn’t a vertical slope and she had plenty of handholds. But still, he didn’t really breathe properly until she’d dropped lightly to the sand and begun the walk up to where he stood.

“Good morning.” She loped up the slope and joined him where he once again lounged on the grassy patch overlooking the sea.

“I thought I’d find you down here,” he said, “though I was thinking beach, not cliff. Have a seat.”

“Couldn’t resist.” She flopped down next to him. “I feel as though I’ve been cooped up in my office for months.”

“The academic year is almost over. Got any fieldwork scheduled for the summer?”

She refashioned her ponytail and stretched out those long legs. The way she leaned back on both hands thrust her small breasts into prominence. She was a line of lean strength mixed with an elusive sense of vulnerability that made him want to pull her into his arms and find out what was wrong.

For which she’d probably send him over the cliff.

“I’ve been working pretty hard,” she said. “I was asked to assist on a site in New Mexico, but a friend of mine—Anne—” she shot him a sidelong glance “—wants to do a literary tour of England and asked if I’d be interested. I need to make up my mind soon.”

“That sounds like a snooze. Here I thought you’d be dragging your boyfriend up El Capitan or something.” The granite dome in Yosemite National Park was a magnet for rock climbers. He’d heard you had to schedule your climb the way golfers had to schedule their tee times.

“I’m between those at the moment.” Her tone was calm as she looked out over the ocean instead of at him, but her jaw was tight. “Besides, I’ve already done El Cap.”

“I’m sure you have. Not to mention every other rock face on this continent. You’re going to have to widen your range to Europe at this rate.”

With a smile, she said, “Maybe. I wonder if I can find Anne some literary sites in Switzerland.”

“So what is it about climbing, anyway? Do you just like being on top?”

Her expression didn’t change, but in the clear morning light it was hard to miss the hot color washing into her cheeks. “Does that threaten you?” she asked.

“A woman on top? Not a bit. I’m a big fan of that, in fact.”

“I didn’t know rock climbing interested you so much.”

He grinned, that patented you-slay-me grin that studio audiences ate up. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about rocks.”

This time she looked at him full in the face. “If you’re trying to embarrass me by making sexual innuendos, it isn’t working.”

“Liar. Who’s blushing? Not me.”

“I can’t help my physiological reactions.”

“I love it when you talk geek, Cate.”

Abruptly, she got up and dusted off the back of her khaki shorts. “Clearly it’s impossible to have a conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around your two favorite subjects—yourself and sex. It probably works very well with your groupies but I need a little more mental stimulation.”

She was already five strides away by the time he got up, and he had to jog to catch her.

“Cate.” He swung her around by one arm. “Hey. Don’t go.”

“I want a cup of coffee.” She pulled away and kept walking.

“Let me buy you one.”

“I don’t think so, Daniel.”

“Come on. You can’t avoid me all conference.”

“I can do a fine impression of it.” Her pace didn’t slow one bit. They were leaving the cut through which the river ran and would soon be on the conference center’s lawn.

“What about that consultation you wanted?”

That got her. She slowed. “Right. The photographs.”

“We can grab some breakfast and take it up to your room, if you want.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“We need to be able to talk freely.” He threw down his trump card. “Don’t forget we’re surrounded. If these photos are something really extraordinary, we don’t want to give anyone the jump on it, so to speak, by overhearing our discussions.”

Despite her reluctance, he could see her acknowledge the truth of that. “All right. Breakfast at my place.”

Internally, he was grinning, though it didn’t show on his face. “Race you to the coffee,” was all he said.

He let her win.

For now.