CHAPTER FIVE
KELSEY
THE WONDERLAND CAFÉ WAS HOUSED IN a Victorian building at the corner of Poppy and Emerald Streets. A whimsical sign held by a sculpted white rabbit hung from the roof, and red rockers sat on the front porch. Inside, the first-floor rooms were decorated with murals of the Mad Hatter tea party and Munchkinland, with a painted, “yellow-brick road” staircase leading to the upstairs rooms.
Though I didn’t have much to do with the café’s daily operations, I dropped by every so often to see how things were going and to sample the newest chocolate confections or cookies. Plus, though I’d never admit it aloud, I liked the crazy bustle of the place, the noise of birthday parties, the lively chatter, and the way Liv and Allie were always sailing around like happy little boats.
Today, however, I had the added motivation of thinking it would be easier to ask Liv rather than Dean about Archer West.
When I went into the café, I found her talking to Max Lyons, Allie’s father, whom I hadn’t seen in months. A handsome, older man, Max smiled and stood as I approached the front counter.
“Max, Dean told me you were in town,” I said, after we had exchanged a brief hug. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you’re just in time,” Liv added, setting a glass of water in front of me. “We took some ham-and-cheese croissants out of the oven five minutes ago. I’ll bring you one.”
She glanced from me to Max and hurried toward the kitchen, as if she couldn’t wait to leave us alone together.
Max slid his gaze over me. “You look great, Kelsey.”
“Thank you.” I was suddenly self-conscious. Max and I had gone out a few times months ago before he got busy with a commercial office project in Cleveland that took him out of town frequently.
I remember not being as disappointed by the waning of our brief relationship as I probably should have been. A successful architect, Max was as gentlemanly and responsible as they came. On paper, he was everything I should want, and our dates had been pleasant.
But that was all. Pleasant.
We sat at the counter and talked for a few minutes about his work and mine. And though Max was polite, intelligent, and a good conversationalist, I didn’t hear much of what he said because I was too busy wondering what Archer West was doing right that very second.
Archer had said he was staying for a couple of days, so he might already be gone. But he’d also said he was going to finish it. What the hell did that mean?
“There’s a new place over on Dandelion I’ve been wanting to try,” Max said.
“Excuse me?”
“Friday night,” he said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.
“Friday night?” I repeated.
“I just asked if you’d like to have dinner with me on Friday night,” Max said with a resigned smile.
I groaned inwardly, feeling like a terrible person.
“Max, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough week.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he said gently.
“No… I mean, I’d like to…” I sighed. Truth was, I didn’t want to go out with Max again, especially not when I couldn’t stop thinking about Archer. I wasn’t sure I’d want to go out with him even if Archer hadn’t shown up in Dean’s office.
“It’s just a bad time,” I admitted. “I’m sorry.”
Max stood, dropping a few bills onto the counter. “No problem. Sometimes the timing is off.”
“It was good seeing you again,” I said truthfully.
“You too.” He touched my shoulder and brushed his lips across my cheek. “Take care, Kelsey.”
Oh, lord, he was so nice. My mother would love him to pieces.
The thought of my mother intensified my guilt. She would love it even more if I finally settled down and married a man like Max Lyons.
I watched him leave the café. I’d dated a number of men like Max over the years. Kind, well-mannered. Men with good jobs who liked sports and nice dinners. Men whom I always broke up with after I realized I was bored out of my skull.
And that always happened long before I’d considered sleeping with any of them. Hence the reason that it had been three years since I’d been “fucked real good.” Or fucked at all. I couldn’t even remember the last time it had been “real good.”
Oh, but it would be so much more than that with Archer West…
I grabbed my glass of iced water and took a few gulps in the hopes of cooling myself down.
“Here you go. I brought you a strawberry tart, too.” Liv came in from the kitchen with two plates of food. “Where did Max go?”
“I don’t know. Home, I guess.”
“Oh.” Liv put the plates in front of me. “He asked about you when he first came in. He seemed quite interested.”
“He was. Unfortunately, I wasn’t.”
“You turned him down?” Her eyebrows rose with surprise.
“Never let it be said I can’t make a decision.”
“What happened?” Liv asked. “He’s such a nice man.”
“I know. He’s perfect, actually. A perfect gentleman.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
“I don’t get it.”
No, she wouldn’t. I sighed. My sweet, lovely Liv with her trusting nature and heart of a lion. Not for the first time, I wished I had her goodness, her love for stability. I wished I didn’t have this dark, urgent pull toward recklessness and danger.
I shook my head. I didn’t have that desire anymore. I couldn’t. I’d spent so many years trying to eradicate it. I wouldn’t let a few encounters with a wild boy unleash my suppressed urges.
Except I was scared shitless they already had.
Liv went to ring up a customer’s bill before returning to where I sat. Though I knew she would figure out the reason for my question, I asked it anyway. “Hey, have you seen Dean’s brother since he got into town?”
“Yes, he stopped by the apartment yesterday, and we went up to the Butterfly House,” Liv said. “Dean told me he showed up in his office without warning. You met him, right?”
I nodded. “In Dean’s office. I hit Archer in the head with a door.”
Liv grinned. “Good thing he’s hard-headed, then.”
He was hard everywhere, I thought. A shiver of awareness traveled down my spine.
“So why are you asking about him?” Liv asked.
“No reason.” I tried to make my voice light, though I was glad to finally get it out there that he was on my mind. “I mean, he’s hot and all, right? But I’m not stupid.”
“You’re anything but stupid.”
“And Archer is a total slacker.”
“Huh,” Liv mused. “Sounds like something Dean would say.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t make that assumption based on one meeting,” Liv said.
I thought of that night in the bar. My blood warmed.
“It is true that Dean has plenty of reasons not to trust Archer,” Liv continued. “But as far as I can tell, you don’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said. You sound like you’re trying to come up with reasons not to be interested in him, even though you obviously are.”
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head. “He’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
Liv didn’t respond, only looked at me with her thoughtful brown eyes like she knew me better than I knew myself.
“What?” I said.
“That’s your life’s work, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s what you love.”
“What is?”
“Disasters waiting to happen.”
Irritated, I pushed away from the counter. “My life’s work is figuring out how to predict disasters. How to warn people that a tornado is about to hit so they can get out of the way. I’ve already predicted Archer West, and he’s as destructive as they come.”
“You’d better get out of the way, then,” Liv suggested.
I’d had that chance already. Instead I was afraid I’d put myself right in the tornado’s path.
“The van got stuck on a muddy road outside of Muskogee,” Colton said. “I had the camcorder in my pocket, but it fell into a puddle when we were trying to push the van out. Ruined all the video. I did get some good stills, though.”
He turned the laptop toward me. Luke, Derek, and the others passed around photos and the log they’d compiled.
My conviction about the Spiral Project was solidified every time my students went out into the field. I knew to the core of my being, both emotionally and intellectually, that sending out a fleet of scientists and specialized vehicles to collect data would give us unprecedented insight into how tornados and storms formed. Our findings would lead to ground-breaking forecast improvement and could also launch my scientific reputation to a whole new level.
I wouldn’t give up on the project, no matter how tough things got. I couldn’t.
After we finished talking about the chase, I opened one of my folders. I had been dreading this announcement for the past few days. My grad students had always been so supportive and excited about tornado research.
“I wish I had better news for you,” I said, steeling myself for their disappointment, “but my meeting with SciTech the other day was a disaster. They didn’t like my results from the first phase, so they pulled the funding for the Spiral Project.”
My students stared at me.
“You mean for good?” Luke asked. “How can they do that?”
“They’d agreed to sustain funding if we had conclusive results from the first phase, which we didn’t. So they took the money away.”
A ripple of anger passed through the room. I held up my hand.
“That doesn’t mean I’m giving up,” I assured them. “I’ve already sent the proposal to five other scientific agencies, including NOAA.”
“But if everyone knows that SciTech killed our initial funding, what are the chances of another agency giving us a shot?” Colton asked.
Not good, Colton. Our chances are not good at all.
“I’m going to keep the agencies apprised of new data we’re assimilating,” I said in a voice I hoped was reassuring. “And things are changing all the time, so I’ll keep trying.”
That seemed to mollify them somewhat. After we worked for another hour, I gathered my stuff and returned to my office. There was a voicemail from my mother on my cell, and I called her back. Some of my tension eased as we talked in Russian about her activities and her gift shop.
“You will come for a visit soon?” my mother asked.
“I don’t think so.” Regret twisted inside me. “Not until summer, at least. With the tenure decision coming up and classes, I have a full schedule.”
“You work too hard.”
“I’m fine, Mama.”
She sighed. “You know I worry about you, dochenka.”
I tightened my fingers on the phone. I suddenly couldn’t wait to see my mother again. I’d visited her over the Christmas holiday, but that had been almost five months ago.
Now I had a sudden, sharp longing for my mother’s down-to-earth dependability, the way she cupped my face in her hands the minute I walked in the door, studying me for signs of stress, fatigue, worry, whatever. I wanted to be in her little Russian gift shop surrounded by matryoshka dolls, painted lacquer boxes, icons, and embroidered shawls. I wanted her egg bread, blinchki, and borscht.
I wanted her strength. For most of my life, I hadn’t known or acknowledged my mother’s strength. She had always been the peacekeeper between my stubborn, iron-willed father and me. But after my father died, and my mother was forced to pull me from the wreckage of self-destruction while also fighting her own battles, I realized she had always been stronger than me and my father combined.
“Kseniya?”
“I’m here.” I straightened, clearing my throat. “I’ll come and visit as soon as I can.”
“The university had better give you a vacation after all this work you do,” she said. “I will talk to the board of trustees myself if they do not.”
That made me smile. I didn’t doubt she would.
“It’ll be over soon,” I promised.
“Next time you come, you bring me more pysanky.”
“I will. Ya tebya lyublyu.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu, Kseniya.”
I ended the call and logged in to my computer to check email. There was a message from Stan reminding me about the deadline for my tenure review file, and another from the NOAA grant department declining to fund the Spiral Project.
Bitter disappointment flooded me. With a groan, I pressed my palms against my eyes.
I wasn’t soft. I’d always been able to deal with shit. I could handle my work, the tenure process, my students, the pressure from my colleagues. I could handle having my research proposals rejected.
But being forced to contend with everything at once, and even thinking about giving up the Spiral Project…
Fuck.
I grabbed my satchel and went outside into the afternoon sunshine. The air and coolness eased some of the prickliness in my nerves. Spring was in full force in Mirror Lake, flowers and trees blooming, and pedestrians strolling on Avalon Street.
I ordered an iced coffee from an outdoor stand and found an empty table on the terrace near the lake. I should have powered up my laptop, but instead I just sat there and looked at everything.
A kid at a nearby table was eating a double-decker ice-cream cone. A college couple was sharing a plate of fries. A guy was sitting by himself near the fence, one booted foot propped on the wrought-iron railing.
Oh.
Not a guy. A man. And not just any man. Archer West. A big, sexy Archer West man.
He looked out of place amidst the crowd of families and college students, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. A spiral-bound notebook lay open on the table. His body was relaxed, one hand curled around a cardboard cup of coffee, his eyes concealed behind a pair of sunglasses. He wore faded jeans and a navy T-shirt, the sleeves tight around his very well-defined biceps. He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth and swallowed, the muscles of his throat rippling.
Oh times infinity.
I had a flashback to the night when I’d watched him at the bar. I felt that purely girl flutter of awareness again, a deep stirring of all my fantasies about sexy rebels who stormed through life on their own terms and made no apologies for it. He was exactly like that. I knew it.
I also knew he was no whitewashed hero. Sexy rebels always had a dark side. Sometimes too dark. The warning bells rang loud and clear in my head.
Still I watched as he lowered his foot to the ground, the movement stretching his jeans at the thigh. I swore my mouth was watering.
When he stood, I forced my gaze back to my work. I busied myself getting my laptop out of the case, watching Archer’s movements from the corner of my eye. He was getting closer… closer…
Oh, lord. My heart thumped harder with every step he took in my direction. I felt like I was in the school cafeteria with the object of my heartbreaking crush walking toward me. I even held my breath as I waited to see if he would notice me, and if he did, if he’d ignore me and keep walking or…
“Professor March.”
Never in all my years of teaching had anyone—anyone—said my name and title like that. Like he wanted to eat it.
“Archer.” I lifted my head, shading my eyes from the sun as I looked at him and putting on my professor voice out of both habit and a twinge of desperation. “I thought you’d be out of town by now.”
“Not yet.”
He moved to the right, in front of the sun, and I realized he was blocking the glare for me. I lowered my hand. He was in shadow now, a halo of light around him. Dark angel.
He took off his sunglasses, his gaze like a hot caress over my skin.
“Your shirt is unbuttoned again,” he remarked.
Oh, crap. While I secretly appreciated that Archer liked my choice of lingerie, I didn’t want to get a reputation around the university for showing off my cleavage. I glanced down to fasten the wayward buttons—which were firmly locked into the buttonholes.
“Made you look,” Archer said.
I smiled, temporarily disarmed. I looked up again to find him watching me with amusement and a touch of heat. The combination had a devastating effect on my senses.
And even though my reason was still at war with my instinctive attraction to him, I pushed the opposite chair away from the table with my foot.
“Have a seat,” I said.
He put the notebook and his coffee down before sinking into the chair.
“What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the five-subject notebook.
“My little black book.”
He grinned when my mouth dropped open slightly. I flushed. Apparently I was gullible as all hell where he was concerned.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “No classes today?”
“No, I just wanted to get some air. My office is pretty stuffy.”
“What do you do in your office?”
“Research. Write proposals. Grade exams. Help my students.”
“You like the work?”
I’d told him I was a straight shooter. I certainly couldn’t lie now.
“I like the forecasting,” I said. “I love it, actually. Tracking storms, finding new methods of prediction. I like working with my grad students. I don’t like the bureaucracy or the headaches. I don’t like writing proposals or having to publish tons of research papers. I don’t like being stuck in a classroom or that other people get to tell me what to do.”
“So why did you take a professor job?”
I shrugged, reaching for my coffee. That wasn’t a question I could easily answer.
“Stability,” I finally said. “And if I get tenure, my position is permanent. I’m set for life.”
He didn’t respond. I sensed he didn’t think being “set for life” was necessarily a good thing. There had once been a time when I didn’t, either. When I’d wanted freedom and spontaneity.
“And if you don’t get tenure?” Archer asked.
“Then I’m fired from King’s.”
And the Spiral Project is dead.
An ache prodded at me. I looked at my laptop. The sun made it hard to see the screen.
Then I felt his fingers on my knee. My heart leapt. I jerked my gaze to Archer, who smiled faintly as he reached to cup his hand around my ankle and lift my foot to rest on the chair beside him.
“What…” I swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”
“Touching your leg.” He skimmed his fingers over the arch of my foot and a few inches up underneath the hem of my pants. His touch rocketed heat through my entire body, so powerful that I almost gasped.
But I didn’t pull away.
“Um… why?” I stammered.
“Because I’ve wanted to touch you since I first turned around and saw you staring at me,” he replied, stroking his hand farther up my pant leg. “Then again when you stormed into Dean’s office and whacked me on the head. And because you wear some damn sexy shoes. And because I meant it when I said I was going to finish this.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I asked, trying to inject a sharp note in my voice. “What’s your definition of finish?”
“It’s the principal language of the Finns in Finland.”
A laugh burst out of me. It felt good to laugh. I didn’t laugh very often. Archer smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners and giving him a boyish look at odds with his sexy, rough-guy appearance.
He stroked his fingers over the outer arch of my foot again, tracing my skin right beneath where the strap of my sandal crossed. I could feel the ridge of calluses on his fingers. My blood warmed.
“You…” I had to stop and draw in a breath. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“My definition of finish.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a deep rumble that made me hot and prickly everywhere.
I wanted to arch against him like a cat begging to be scratched. He would scratch so good.
“I want to sleep with you, Kelsey March,” he whispered. “After I kiss, bite, and lick you. After I fuck you deep. After I make you come so hard you scream my name. After I make you lose control. That’s my definition of finish.”