Beauty And The Brain. Elizabeth Bevarly

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СКАЧАТЬ that such a geek should have such gorgeous eyes. And yes, the man’s deep brown hair had been kissed with reddish gold highlights reminiscent of the auburn, unruly thatch that Willis had never quite been able to tame.

      Other than that, there was nothing about the man who had just called himself Willis Random that even remotely resembled the obnoxious little jerk she remembered.

      There was only one way to proceed with this thing, she told herself. She was going to have to follow that particular vision—and the other specter that had borne an uncanny resemblance to her own mother—and demand to know just what the hell was going on.

      After she got dressed, she amended, glancing down at her attire. And after she’d poured herself a cup of coffee, she added, hearing the coffeemaker wheeze out a last gasp.

      Armed with an oversize mug full of black coffee, Rosemary peeked out the kitchen doorway in an effort to discover which way her assailants had gone. Hearing nothing, she took a few silent steps toward the living room, and paused at the staircase. Muffled voices told her that her two visitors were upstairs, but she couldn’t tell which room. So she padded quickly up the hardwood steps, her movements silent thanks to her stocking feet.

      When she rounded the stairway landing, she saw that the attic door at the top of the staircase was agape, its collapsible steps extended down to the hallway floor. Her mother’s voice carried through the opening, and Rosemary heard her saying something about the spectacular view.

      Hastily, Rosemary ducked into her bedroom and closed the door behind herself. For a moment, all she could do was lean against it, trying to steady her breathing and figure out why her mother was here with a man who claimed to be Willis. True, her mother technically still owned the house that Rosemary called home, even if Janet March wasn’t living here. But Rosemary had come to think of the rambling old English stucco as her own place, having lived there by herself for the last three years.

      Originally, it had belonged to her maternal grandmother, who had left it to Rosemary’s mother when she passed away. But Janet March had never expressed an interest in living in the hulking old house. Since the death of Rosemary’s father five years ago, Janet had preferred to live in a condominium in downtown Endicott, explaining that the move would put her closer to her job, and at the heart of all the civic activities her position as mayor demanded she attend.

      So her mother had offered use of the big stone-and-stucco to Rosemary if she paid the insurance and taxes, and Rosemary had jumped at the chance to live there. She’d always adored the place, and associated with it nothing but good times and warm feelings. At least, she had until she’d glanced up this morning to find a man claiming to be Willis Random haunting it.

      The memory jolted her into action, and she went to her closet to tug her work uniform off its hangers. She set down her coffee long enough to throw on her straight, navy blue skirt and crisp white blouse, embroidered discreetly above the pocket Jet-Set Travels. She was still buttoning up the latter when she ducked out her bedroom door and into the hallway and ran right into Willis Random.

      Or rather, into Willis Random’s chest. Then again, seeing as how his chest had grown to roughly the size of Montana since she’d last seen him, it was kind of hard for her to miss it.

      “Whoa,” he said as he reached out an arm to steady her. “Where’s the fire?”

      She glanced up to find herself staring into midnight-blue eyes she remembered way too well for her own good, and she immediately identified the source of the fire he asked about. It was where it had always been whenever she’d had to deal with Willis, and she didn’t like the realization of that now any better than she had fifteen years ago.

      Oh, God, it really was Willis, she thought. He was back. And he was beautiful.

      “Oh, God,” she muttered aloud this time.

      “Rosemary, please,” her mother said. “Be nice to Willis. He’s going to be a guest in your house for the next few weeks.”

      It took a moment for that to sink in, a moment Rosemary spent drinking in the sight of the man who had been her high school nemesis. The last time she’d seen Willis, he’d still stood eye-to-eye with her, in spite of his having shot up some in their junior year. His face had been a road map of state capitals, and he’d always reeked of Clearasil and Lavoris. But this Willis was so...so...so...

      Wow.

      He was huge. Huge. A good four inches taller than her own five-eight, and broad enough to block the sunlight streaming into the hallway from the door across the way. His skin was flawless now, deeply tanned and creased with sun-etched lines around his eyes and mouth. And what a mouth. She’d never noticed before just what beautifully formed features Willis had. And instead of Clearasil and Lavoris, he smelled of the great outdoors. Like pine trees and thunderstorms and life.

      “Willis?” she finally said, her voice emerging as little more than a squeak.

      “I’m baaaaack,” he sang out with a smile that was completely lacking in humor. “Didja miss me?”

      Even the sound of him was different, she thought, feeling as if she were descending into some kind of weird trance. His voice had deepened and grown rough over the years, just as everything else about him had seemed to do. For a moment, Rosemary could do nothing but stare at him. She simply could not believe he was the same boy who had tormented her so throughout high school. Although the potential for torment was still there, she knew without question that, these days, it would be of a decidedly less adolescent nature.

      “Rosemary?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

      She nodded. “Uh-huh.” But she couldn’t think of a single other thing to say.

      Willis twisted his lips into an expression she recognized all too well. “I see you still have that vast, scintillating vocabulary I remember so well,” he muttered sarcastically.

      That brought her up short, and she frowned back at him. So the first shot had been fired, had it? That meant war. Willis might have changed completely on the outside, but inside, he was still the same vicious little cretin who was always putting her down and trying—usually with success—to make her feel like a fool.

      Rosemary straightened, pushing herself back until she was more than an arm’s length away from him. “And I see you’re still Mr. Know-It-All,” she countered.

      She groaned inwardly. Was that the best she could do for a put-down? Dammit, Willis had always made her feel like an empty-headed, unimportant, inconsequential little gnat. Somehow, her mind had always ceased functioning whenever he was around, and not only could she never think of anything even moderately interesting to say, but she could never come up with a good comeback to his numerous assaults on her intelligence. It had just reinforced his argument that she was, quite simply, really, really stupid.

      And now, here Willis stood, in her own home no less, making her feel really, really stupid all over again. It was almost more than she could bear.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded. Instead of waiting for an answer, she turned to her mother. “Mom, what’s he doing here?”

      Her mother smiled that soothing, complacent smile that had always made Rosemary feel anything but soothed or complacent.

      “Willis is here for the Comet Festival, darling.”

      “I’m here to study Bobrzynyckolonycki,” he announced shortly at the same time.

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