Sex Drive. Susan Lyons

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СКАЧАТЬ train of thought made sense. “You know how it is with a good friend?”

      Theresa was watching him intently, fork poised in the air as if she’d forgotten about it. “How do you mean?”

      “Like, how you first meet someone through a friend or through work.” He’d met Bry, a cop, when he was researching his first Kalti Brown book. He’d needed information about the structure of the police department, how crimes were investigated, and so on. “You hit it off, go for a beer, talk about something other than work. Find common interests. Discover you think the same way about things, have the same values.”

      Her eyes were narrowed in concentration. “Go on.”

      “The relationship grows. Pals turn into good buds who are there for each other, no matter what.”

      Now there was a sheen in her eyes. Was she thinking of a close friend? Or maybe wishing that’s how it was with her sisters?

      “So,” Damien said, “what if you had that kind of thing with someone of the opposite sex? A solid friendship plus great sex. Maybe that’d be worth building on, rather than moving on to the next lover.”

      “Yes, I…” She swallowed. “I think it sounds wonderful.” Her voice was choked up, like she was on the verge of tears.

      Suddenly he realized that he must have made her think of her ex-husband. “Crap. Sorry, Theresa. I didn’t mean to remind you of your marriage. I’m an idiot.”

      “No. But, surprisingly,” a tiny smile flashed, “you’re a bit of a romantic.” The smile disappeared. “And, while that kind of relationship does sound great, how do you know it’s real? That you can trust in it?”

      “That it’ll beat the statistical odds? I dunno. Gut instinct? Leap of faith?” He wondered whether she’d fallen out of love with her husband, or vice versa.

      Knowing that the enforced companionship of a long flight could breed its own kind of trust and openness, he tested the waters. “I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”

      “I made a big mistake, falling for Jeffrey. I learned I couldn’t trust him.”

      “Damn. He cheated on you?” The guy must’ve been a right bastard and a fool.

      A corner of her mouth turned up ruefully. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Not with another woman. And in fact, he didn’t exactly cheat on me, he cheated me out of recognition.”

      I’m intrigued.”

      She made a face, picked up her wineglass, and drained it. “For this, I need more wine.”

      He leaned into the aisle, caught Carmen’s eye, and held up his own empty glass. She gave him a nod, then turned toward the galley.

      She returned with the wine bottle, filled their glasses, and gathered up their entrée plates and silverware. “For dessert, we have a cheese and fruit platter, lemon cheesecake with pomegranate glaze, and chocolate Cointreau mousse.”

      “The mousse, please,” Theresa said.

      “Cheese and fruit,” Damien said.

      “I’ll be right back. Coffee, tea?”

      Theresa ordered decaf coffee and Damien asked for the same. Then, when the two of them were alone again, he said, “Go on. Tell me what happened with your ex.”

      She took a drink of wine, another, then put the glass down decisively. “When we met, he was a tenured sociology professor at the University of Saskatchewan. With my brand-new PhD, specializing in indigenous studies, I’d just won an appointment in their native studies program. I had an idea for a research project, and went to him to get his opinion.”

      She grimaced. “He was enthusiastic. About not only the project, but me as well. We started dating and he helped me put together a grant application. We had a whirlwind courtship—in a way that would probably strike you as hopelessly dull and academic, but all the same it seemed romantic to me—and got married two months after we’d met.”

      “He swept you off your feet. I wouldn’t have taken you for the type.” Damien felt a twinge of jealousy, and also annoyance at the jerk who’d hurt Theresa and made her so cynical. He wanted to touch her, offer comfort, but her arms were wrapped protectively around her body and he sensed she wouldn’t welcome it.

      “I was young. Naïve. Dazzled by his interest,” she said grimly. “Stupid.”

      He tried to imagine Theresa as a girl who’d had the brains and drive to get her doctorate, yet been naïve enough to be swept up in a romance with a man who’d ended up hurting her. Now she was what? Thirtyish? And still bitter about her ex, and cynical about relationships. “So, what happened next?”

      “I’d almost finalized the grant application and was waiting for Jeffrey’s feedback. Then he proposed, wanted to get married right away, and everything else got shoved aside. Or so I thought. We had a civil ceremony and a brief honeymoon. When we got back to work, I pulled out the grant application and asked when he’d be able to review it. He said he’d forgotten to tell me, but he’d already revised and submitted it. We just needed to wait to hear back.”

      “And?”

      “When the grants were announced, my project had got funding. But Jeffrey had applied in his own name, listing me as a research assistant but not as coauthor.”

      “Wanker!”

      “When I asked what was going on, he said I must have misunderstood. It had always made sense for him to apply, because I was too much of an unknown to get the grant.”

      “But it was your idea and you did the work,” Damien said indignantly. “You deserved the credit.”

      “Wouldn’t you think? And instead, all I’d be was a researcher again, just like when I was a student at Harvard and the New School for Social Research in New York.”

      “Harvard?” The woman had a habit of dropping these amazing tidbits. “You went to Harvard?”

      “Yes. So did my dad. In medicine. And no,” she scowled at him, “I didn’t get in because I was a legacy, I had the marks.”

      She’d lost him. “What’s a legacy?”

      “At the Ivy League schools in the States, typically ten to fifteen percent of new admissions are the children of alumni.”

      Did the woman memorize statistics on everything?

      “Especially of distinguished alumni,” she went on. “The kind who make donations to their alma mater. The entrance qualifications for their children are often, shall we say, a trifle lighter. The kids are referred to as legacies.”

      “Well, that’s crap. Whatever happened to equal opportunity?”

      “Exactly. Anyhow, you wouldn’t believe the number of people—profs and students—who assumed I was a legacy.”

      “Until they saw your work.” He barely knew Theresa, but was sure she’d excel on her own merits.

      Her СКАЧАТЬ