Scent of Roses & Season of Strangers Page 46

  And yet he found this division of the sexes, these powerful feelings of maleness, exhilarating beyond anything he could have imagined.

  He straightened his patterned silk tie and turned away from the mirror, crossing the artistic, sparsely furnished bedroom, past the king-sized pedestal bed, his black shoes clicking on the polished hardwood floors. Modern art lined the walls: nothing too expensive, just new young artists with an eye for color and form. Patrick’s contemporary tastes corresponded with the simple lines in the world Val had come from, making it easier to accept this place as his temporary home.

  On his way out the door, he passed the platter of cold-cuts and crackers—a favorite of Patrick’s—that he had been determined to eat. He picked up a piece of salami, felt his stomach swim with nausea, and laid it back down on the plate. Consuming Earth food had been one of his most difficult adjustments. Everything was too spicy, too hot or too cold, the texture so different from what he was used to it almost made him gag.

  Still, his body needed nourishment. He had to keep trying. He took a thin slice of chopped ham, rolled it up and took a bite, forced himself to chew, grimaced and swallowed it nearly whole, then continued on into the living room. All the while his mind remained fixed on the evening he would spend with Julie Ferris.

  It was crucial he increase his involvement with her. He was there to study her in her natural environment, see what he might learn. Physically he had found nothing different about her, from other female subjects, but the testing had been minimal. He needed to study her habits, her likes and dislikes, what foods she ingested into her stomach, what sort of care she took of her body. Through Patrick’s memory bank, he already knew a great deal. Tonight would provide another study opportunity.

  At 8:00 p.m. he arrived at the office to find her still at work, a phone to her ear as she bent over her desk. She was standing with her back to him, scribbling something on a piece of paper. A small brass lamp on the edge of the table reflected the reddish sparkle in her hair. Dressed in a powder-blue suit with big pearl buttons, she smoothed the knee-length skirt that hugged the curves of her bottom. The tailored jacket didn’t quite reach her tiny waist.

  Watching her, Val’s groin tightened. His blood began to thicken, pulse in a slow throbbing rhythm through his veins. Damn! His body was readying itself, desire sliding through him, making him hard against the front of his pants. He focused his attention on the map of Los Angeles County Julie had pinned to one wall. He studied the streets, memorized the names of the ones he didn’t already know. By the time she had hung up the phone, he was damp between the shoulder blades but back in control.

  Julie turned to him and smiled, her pretty pink lips tipping up at the corners. “Sorry I’m late. I meant to be through by the time you got here.”

  “That’s all right. I enjoyed watching you work.”

  She looked at him strangely. “You’ve been watching me work for the past eight years.”

  His face went warm. “I’ve always liked watching you. I just never told you.” That was the truth. Patrick wanted Julie—hungered for her—but only on his own terms. Since he couldn’t have that, he had ignored his feelings for her. Val intended to use those feelings to his own far different ends.

  She glanced away, started rearranging the papers on her desk. “I guess we’d better go.” She straightened the papers into an orderly pile and turned to face him with a smile. “I haven’t eaten since noon and you’re probably starving.”

  He wasn’t hungry, of course. On Toril, people ate far smaller quantities of food, and certainly not as a form of enjoyment. But his body needed sustenance. He would force himself to eat. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be finished, so I haven’t made any reservations. I thought we might go over to Trebecca. It’s quiet and I know how much you like Italian.”

  Her smile broadened. “And I know you aren’t that crazy about it. Why don’t we try that new little Japanese restaurant down the street? It’s supposed to be very good.”

  Japanese. He hadn’t tried that yet. Italian definitely didn’t set well. He wondered how hard it would be to get down Japanese-style dishes and hoped the portions were small. “Sounds good to me if we can get in.”

  “Are you kidding, Patrick? There isn’t a place in this town you can’t get in.”

  She was right. Patrick knew how to grease a wheel. Enough greenbacks and he could manage just about anything.

  Val found himself frowning. Even his thoughts were beginning to sound like Patrick. Then again, perhaps that was good. He wanted to absorb the culture, learn about Earth in a way none of his people ever had.

  “Come on,” he said, sliding an arm around Julie’s waist. “Let’s get going. It’s getting kind of late, and I’m hungrier than I thought.”

  The restaurant was just a short drive away. Val tipped the maître d’, who promised he would find them a quiet table in the rear. A few minutes later they were seated on the floor on tatami mats in front of a low black lacquer table with a hole cut underneath for their legs. Sort of the American version of sitting Japanese-style on the floor.

  The waiter handed him a menu. As soon as he started to scan the items listed, the thought occurred that Patrick hated Japanese.

  He’d never told anyone. Eating sushi was chic. He wasn’t about to admit he didn’t like raw fish. Instead he had simply avoided places like this.

  Val smiled across the table at Julie. “I’m not much of a connoisseur. Why don’t you order for both of us?”

  She eyed him a little bit strangely. Patrick rarely relinquished control. “All right.” When the tiny Asian waitress came up to the table, Julie ordered several kinds of sushi as an appetizer, followed by soup and a stir-fry shrimp and vegetable dish. The first course arrived and Val hesitantly placed two of the artfully designed sushi rolls on his plate. When he didn’t begin to eat, just sat there working up his courage, he felt Julie’s gaze on his face.

  She started grinning, her wide green eyes bubbling with mirth. “Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t like sushi? It isn’t a crime, you know.”

  “What makes you think I don’t like it?” he said blandly.

  “Probably because you aren’t eating it. You’re just staring at it like it’s going to crawl off the plate.”

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. Determinedly, he picked up the small roll of rice and fish, placed it in his mouth, and slowly began to chew. It tasted surprisingly mild, not at all what he had expected. In fact it tasted a great deal like bizcal, a food eaten on Toril.

  The second bite was equally light and easy for him to handle. He finished the sushi and started on the clear, thin soup, which was a little too salty for his taste but not unpalatable. The main dish was mostly vegetables, the sauce pleasantly mild, as long as he avoided the soy sauce. He ate one of the shrimps, whose texture wasn’t a favorite, but the rest of the meal fit his palate better than anything he had tried so far.

  “I think you’re beginning to like it.”

  “Actually, it isn’t too bad. Maybe I just needed you to do the ordering.”

  She smiled prettily, glanced down and saw the fork in his hands. “Oh, no you don’t. Chopsticks only. If you don’t know how to use them, I’ll show you.”

  Patrick knew how, of course. In fact he was a pro. Though he avoided Asian food whenever he could, he wasn’t about to be embarrassed in front of one of his women.

  Val, on the other hand, thought the lesson might be fun. He fumbled with the long black pointed sticks. “I’m afraid I’m not very good. What’s the trick?”

  “It’s simple. Just hold them like this.” She showed him several times, but he still couldn’t seem to master the technique. Getting up from her side of the table, Julie walked around and knelt on the floor behind him. He could feel her breasts pressing into his back as she leaned over his shoulder, the warmth of her small
fingers wrapped around his long dark hands. The faintly sweet smell of her perfume drifted around him.

  “Not that way.” She carefully adjusted the stick. “When you hold them too low, it means you’re from one of the peasant classes. Nothing but the upper crust will do for you, my boy.”

  He held the sticks just right, wriggled them a time or two to show her he had finally gotten the hang of it, then picked up a bite of food.

  “Perfect.” She grinned with pleasure and started to rise, but before she could escape, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  For a moment she seemed frozen, then she eased away. “Y-you’re welcome.”

  She returned to her place across from him and went back to working on her food, careful to keep her head down. It allowed him a moment to watch her, to study her as he had come here to do. She was a lovely young woman, both inside and out—everything he knew about her said so. But what was different about her, different about the other subjects like her?

  What did a male artist from Santa Fe have in common with a real estate lady from Beverly Hills? Mentally he went over the list of those who had fought the testing in the same violent manner: a retired army colonel, a housewife and mother of three from Detroit, an Italian immigrant who owned a pizza parlor in New Jersey. What was the common link they shared?

  “Do you ever go to church, Julie?” She didn’t as far as he knew. She worked at least three Sundays a month. But maybe there was some other form of religion that gave her that incredible inner strength.

  She looked at him strangely. For Patrick, it would have been a very odd question indeed. “No, I don’t. Not that I’m opposed to church or anything. It’s just that my father and mother weren’t religious so I never went to church as a child. But I do believe in God. I think God is all around us. That He’s part of everything we do. Perhaps at times He even directs us.”

  “What about your sister? Is she religious?”

  “I know she believes in God. She’s not quite as philosophical about it as I am, but she’s definitely a believer.” She tilted her chopsticks against her plate. “What about you, Patrick? You’ve never mentioned church before. What do you believe?”

  He smiled at her softly. “I believe God is everywhere in the universe. That He’s the link we all have to each other. In God’s eyes all of us are one. Space and time are one. All matter is part of the same whole. And yes, I believe He guides us, if we’re smart enough to listen.”

  Julie just stared at him. “I’ve never heard you talk this way. I never knew your thoughts ran deeper than which party you were going to next or which woman you were going to seduce.”

  A cautious voice warned he should back off, assume Patrick’s lighter persona. But he didn’t want to. He wanted Julie to glimpse the person he was inside. “Maybe my brush with death gave me time to think, see things in a different perspective.”

  “I hope so, Patrick. I really do.”

  They spoke of lighter subjects after that, the weather, sales in progress at the office, nothing consequential yet it helped to round out the picture of her that he carried in his head.

  She glanced down at his empty plate. “All right, admit it. You liked the food after all.” Julie smiled at him across the table.

  “It was great. We’ll have to come back here again.”

  Her warm smile faded. For a moment she just looked at him. “Patrick, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  He leaned forward, gently took hold of her hand. “I haven’t felt this good in years. What about you? Any more headaches?”

  Julie sighed. “As a matter of fact, I had one late this afternoon.”

  He frowned, not liking the news. “What does the doctor say?” No that it mattered, since no one could possibly discern the cause. Still he was curious.

  “They haven’t found anything physical. Dr. Marsh thinks it’s stress. After what happened today, I figure it probably is.”

  “Today? What happened today?”

  She took a sip of tea from the small, hand-painted teacup on the edge of her bamboo place mat, then set it back down on the table. “I went to see Dr. Heraldson, my sister’s psychiatrist. Laura’s been having some problems. Today I listened to a tape of her last two hypnosis sessions. It was—” She broke off and looked up at him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re hardly interested in hearing my personal problems.”

  Val squeezed her hand. “You’re wrong, Julie. I am interested. Tell me what happened with Laura’s psychiatrist.” He knew the girl had been seeing a doctor. She was wearing an implant, a tiny tracking device. They knew everything about her.

  “I’m really worried about her, Patrick. If you could have heard her on that tape…God, she said the craziest things. She talked about hospitals and being examined…she sounded so frightened. I can’t imagine what could be wrong with her.”

  “She’ll be all right. She has you to help her. What more could she ask?”

  Julie smiled faintly. “That’s a very nice thing to say.” She studied him a moment, then a guarded look appeared. She was wondering at his motives and the smile slid from her face. She pulled her hand away. “I’ve really enjoyed the evening, Patrick, but it’s getting kind of late. I’ve still got a long drive home.”

  He squelched an urge to suggest he drive her. Moving too fast would only make her more wary. “All right, I’ll take you back to your car.” She relaxed a little when he didn’t press her. They talked about trivial subjects on the way, and a few minutes later they were standing in the parking lot behind the office.

  He took her key and unlocked the door to her little silver coupe. “I had a good time, Julie.” He helped her slide in, then stopped as an odd thought occurred. “Tomorrow’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Before his stroke, my father used to take you out to dinner every year.” He smiled. “Since he isn’t well enough to do it this year, why don’t I fill in for him?”

  She shook her head, nervously chewing her lip. “I appreciate the offer, Patrick, I really do, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. I’m having a few people over. Babs and Laura, Owen Mallory has promised to stop by.”

  He frowned. “You’re not involved with Mallory, are you…on a personal level, I mean? I know he’s always had an eye for you, but I never thought you were—”

  “Owen is one of my most valuable clients. Beyond that he’s a friend, nothing more.”

  Relief swept through him. A different sort than he had expected. It bothered him and suddenly he felt uneasy. He forced himself to smile. “Then you won’t mind if I stop by too? I promise to bring a bottle of good champagne.”

  “I—I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He arched a brow. “Why not?”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Because…because…” Her chin went up. “You know very well why not. Because you’re you and I’m me. Because you’re my employer. Because we work together, that’s why not.”

  “We’re also friends, aren’t we?”

  “Of course, but—”

  He closed the door to her little Mercedes, cocooning her inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said loud enough to be heard through the glass. “Lock your doors,” he called over his shoulder as she rolled the window down, but he kept on walking away.

  Tomorrow night he would see her again, watch her actions within the familiar setting of her home. So far he hadn’t a clue as to why she had reacted so differently to the study probe than her sister. Perhaps if he saw them together…

  But as he climbed into his car, it wasn’t studying Julie’s behavior that occupied his thoughts. It was the way her jacket had pressed against the ful
lness of her breasts, the compelling pink shade of her lips. Just sitting at the table, he had been hard off and on all evening. Thinking about it now made him hard again.

  Val used one of Patrick’s favorite swearwords. By now his benefactor would have assuaged his sexual needs with one or more of his numerous women—a fact verified by any number of incredibly graphic memories. Recalling them, Val knew what to do and exactly how to go about getting it done. Every day since he’d left the hospital, women had been calling him, offering their condolences and a whole lot more. But unlike Patrick, Val was interested in only one woman. He wondered what it would be like to take Julie Ferris to bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Julie woke up Saturday morning feeling a little out of sorts. She was twenty-nine today. A year away from thirty. The big three-0. It didn’t make a woman feel good.

  Which was one of the reasons she had given herself the day off. A birthday came just once a year. She deserved a little present to herself, and time off to do whatever she pleased was what she wanted most.

  The last thing she wanted was to work.

  Chances were slim, but she might run into Patrick at the office.

  Julie felt a tightening in her chest just to think of the supper she had shared with Patrick last night. God, those eyes. A bright cornflower blue. Beautiful eyes that had seduced dozens of women. For years she had taught herself to ignore them. But then not once in the last eight years had he looked at her the way he did last night—as if there was no one else in the room. Maybe not anywhere else on the planet.

  He seemed so different since his heart attack, so much…stronger. That was the word.

  He had always been physically attractive, but the attraction went only surface deep. Beneath the chiseled face and athletic body was a self-centered, hedonistic, hopelessly destructive individual. The Patrick Donovan of last night was not the spoiled little boy he had always appeared. He was a man, and Julie found herself helplessly drawn to him.