WhatLiesBeneath (8 page)

Will pulled into the parking lot adjacent to Ad Lib, the
students’ affectionate nickname for the university library, which bore the
cumbersome surname of its benefactor, Jonas P. Adelsperger. He switched off the
motor but left the heater on.

In the passenger seat next to him, Amanda shivered. She
hadn’t been able to get warm since she walked out the front door of Body of Art
two weeks ago. In a moment of melodramatic misery, she’d told Will her heart
felt like one of those frozen inserts people used in drinking pitchers to
prevent the beverage from becoming watered down by ice.

“I hate to say this, duckie, but you look a shambles.” Will
frowned. “Let me take you home.”

The only thing she wanted more than her own bed right now
was her own bed with Jericho in it. Or Jericho’s bed. Or the backseat of
Jericho’s Harley. She just wanted him.

She’d never imagined doing the right thing would feel so
bad. The first two days after leaving him, she’d called off sick from work. The
headache and upset stomach were legit, brought on by crying jags that left her
red-eyed and snot-nosed. She ignored the phone, which prompted Will to show up
on her doorstep. He let her sob for a full two hours before shaming her into a
shower and clean clothes. After staring her down until she ate most of the
cheese sandwich he had grilled for her, Will tucked her into bed and said he
expected to see her back in the classroom the next day.

Since then, she had gone through the motions of living. Her
students noticed the change, a few expressing concern, most just becoming more
and more disengaged. The Abbess Collection had become nothing more than a bunch
of dusty old papers; Amanda no longer cared about the exhibit. Will and a shy
adjunct named Lindsay had taken the lead on the project, leaving Amanda to
handle the paperwork. She wasn’t so immersed in her own wretchedness that she
missed the affection developing between the two. She was happy Will had moved
on; seeing his eyes light up when the quiet brunette came into sight relieved
some of the guilt she still carried for their failed romance.

“Timothy would be disappointed if we didn’t show up. He’s
been hounding everyone in the department to be here tonight. There’s supposed
to be some kind of big announcement or something.” She stared through the
windshield, not seeing the city lights or the clear night sky. This evening’s
event was simply another motion to go through. The sooner they went in, the
quicker they could leave. “We’re already late. Let’s go make an appearance and
then you can take me home.”

“I’m worried about you, Amanda. You haven’t been fine in
quite a while.”

Will’s play on her name reminded her of the first time
they’d met. He’d said something similar. Why oh why hadn’t she fallen for this
sweet, funny, tender man? Instead she’d mistaken passion for lust, or love for
passion, or lust for love, or…oh hell, the mix-up didn’t matter. The end result
was still the same—confusion, regret and a huge, gaping hole in her heart.

Unwilling to dump more of her emotional mess on him, she
took his hand and squeezed.

“I have something for you.” Will pulled a small package out
of his inside coat pocket and put it on her lap.

Something rippled inside her—so faint she almost didn’t
recognize it. It was only a brief, tiny burst of pleasure but the fact that she
could feel something more than pain buoyed her spirits. She untied the simple
white bow and folded back the brown paper to reveal an aged, small blue book.
She gasped.

Honoria’s Heartbreak.

“When I asked you what this book was about, you said it was
the kind of love every young girl dreams of experiencing.” Will lifted her chin
with his forefinger so he could look into her face. “Do you remember what else
you said?”

Unable to speak, overwhelmed by his gift, she shook her
head.

“‘I have a much more practical outlook on such things’, you
said.” Will removed the keys from the ignition. “It’s time to stop being
practical, my dear.”

Love without passion is life without breath
.

Amanda was suffocating from the heaviness weighing down her
heart. Her chest was so tight she couldn’t breathe. Life had become nothing
more than a series of meaningless motions.

Oh dear god in heaven above the earth and beyond the
stars!
How had she missed it?

It wasn’t the sex that drew her to Jericho. It wasn’t
chemistry that made their physical encounters so amazing. It was the love.
Instinctive, all-consuming, passionate love.

As she sat, absorbing the dumbfounding truth, heat flooded
her body. She blinked and stared at Will. “How did you know?”

For less than an instant, naked grief shone in Will’s eyes,
but he covered it with a smile. “I can’t wait to meet your peasant, Honoria.”

The university hosted several literary events each year but
the attendance at this one was higher than most. Amanda had expected to
recognize most of the attendees but there were dozens of individuals who did
not appear to be affiliated with Benbine.

Will kept his hand under her elbow so they didn’t get
separated in the crowd as they made their way across the marbled foyer. He led
her to an alcove and scanned the room. “Wow. This guy must be something.”

Still grappling with the realization that she was in love
with a man wholly her opposite, Amanda wanted only to find Professor Mueller,
spend a few minutes nodding and smiling, and then head home. Will’s interest in
the guest of honor threatened to delay those plans.

“There are even a couple of players from the 49ers here.”
Will gave a low whistle. “That’s Nickelback Jimson. Did you see his comeback
performance? Three touchdowns in one quarter.”

“I didn’t know you like football.” Amanda followed Will’s
line of vision and caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered, light-skinned,
African-American man. “What was he making a comeback from?”

“Are you serious? He’s been out with some kind of knee
injury. The game sold out after they announced his return. Lindsay managed to
get a couple of tickets from her uncle. Really, Amanda, you should broaden your
horizons. There’s more to life than books.”

She couldn’t agree more. There was Jericho. Books and
Jericho. What else did she need? Oh yeah. Sex. Sex and books and Jericho. She
wasn’t sure how she was going to make that happen but she was impatient to
begin trying.

“There’s Timothy.” Will sighted the professor. “Ah, perfect.
He just joined Jimson’s group. Let’s go. Maybe I can get an introduction.”

“Ask for his autograph while you’re at it,” she muttered. It
was going to take forever to pry Will away from the reception.

She followed him through the throng, clinging to his hand.
She didn’t want to lose her ride home. She wondered if it would be too late to
call Jericho when she got back to the Pacific Heights mansion.

Bodies pressed in around her but she heard Professor
Mueller’s familiar voice.

“Glad you made it, Will. Where’s our girl? I want both of
you to meet tonight’s honoree. May I introduce—”

Will moved a few inches to the side and pulled Amanda
forward.

Timothy smiled at her. “Oh there you are—”

“Amanda Fine.” Jericho’s face tensed.

The professor’s eyes widened. “I was not aware you two were
acquainted.”

“You’re the Marquis de Sade fan.” A redheaded woman pointed
at her.

Amanda realized the circle included the owner of the Wicked
Words bookstore.

The man Will had called Nickel- or Dime-something considered
her with obvious interest. “Would that be Marky D’Saad of the Detroit Lions or
the Marquis de Sade de pervert?”

“So this is your peasant.” Will dropped her hand and stepped
away.

Between the curious stares and Jericho’s sharp eyes that
missed nothing, Amanda felt like a bug under a microscope. She ignored the
embarrassed flush rising up her neck and straightened her spine, meeting his
stony stare. “I know this isn’t the best place or time, but could we talk?
Maybe just a few minutes?”

“You’re the girl with the ball.” The football player slapped
Jericho on the back, hard enough to make him stumble. “Now I get it, J. Uh huh.
I would have been a cranky prick too if a hot babe like her dumped me and took
her game to another dude’s court.”

“I didn’t dump him.”

“She didn’t dump me.”

Amanda and Jericho snarled the words simultaneously and
looked away from each other.

“This is the biatch? The one who had you groping your balls
in the middle of the sidewalk? Very nice, Creegan, very nice.” The bookstore
owner raked her gaze over Amanda.

“Here now, young lady. I won’t have you calling one of my
faculty members a butch or a bitch or whatever it was you said.” Professor
Mueller frowned at the redhead.

“Cool it, pops. No offense intended.” The woman flashed a
gorgeous smile that seemed to confuse the professor.

The buckshot conversation was starting to draw the attention
of others around them. Jericho had not answered her nor had he moved from where
he stood.

Will cleared his throat and, with inimitable British aplomb,
suggested now might be a good time to visit the buffet.

As the others drifted away, Amanda and Jericho remained
facing one another.

“Can we talk?” Amanda fisted her hands to hide their nervous
trembling. Waiting for a response, she had time to notice details she’d missed
before. His hair wasn’t back in a ponytail; it had been cropped short. He was
clean-shaven and wore a black tuxedo. With his confident stance and elegant
attire, he fit right in with the university crowd. As handsome as this version
was, she wanted the old Jericho. Her Jericho.

“I gave you a chance to talk. You didn’t have anything to
say then and I’m not interested in anything you might have to say now.” He
hesitated, as if he wanted to add something else. “Goodbye, Amanda.”

He walked past her, close enough that his arm brushed her
shoulder.

She thought she heard him moan.

For the rest of the night, Amanda watched from the back of
the room as Benbine faculty and administrators fawned over and flattered
Jericho. Will offered to take her home but she had unfinished business with the
tattoo artist-turned-author.

His curt dismissal surprised her, but she understood his
reaction. She had a hell of a lot to make up for. She had been selfish and
thoughtless, dragging him into a temporary fling without considering what he
might want. She had used him, leveraging their fiery chemistry to avoid
accountability. He had trusted her with his uninhibited lovemaking and
emotional vulnerability and she had betrayed him.

But the worst of her transgressions was the way she had judged
him. The mistaken assumptions she made about him. False ideas based on his
appearance and occupation. She’d thought she was protecting him from the
criticism of others when the only person stereotyping him was her.

She may have blown her chances with him because of her
failure to see past his exterior. However the brief glimpses she’d caught of
the man beneath the tattoo and jeans and long hair were enough to keep her from
walking out in defeat. It had taken a while for the truth to sink in but Amanda
loved him too much to give up without a fight.

Earlier, she’d slipped over to the display featuring his
book and publicity clips. Her face burned with shame when she found out exactly
how wrong she’d been about him. Artist, photographer, world traveler,
historian, author. What other dimensions did he possess?

Incredibly talented lover.

Her ink slinger was a definite hit with the women. Jealous,
watching their flirtatious smiles and calculated hair tosses, she consoled
herself with the observation that the grim expression never left his face. If
anything, her world-class bad boy seemed uncomfortable with so much female
attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?”

The university president tapped a microphone. Jericho stood next
to him on the short dais.

“Thank you for coming this evening. It has been an honor to
showcase the debut publication of Mr. Jericho Creegan.”

The president continued after a smattering of applause. “I
had hoped to announce Mr. Creegan would be joining Benbine University as an
adjunct professor, but we have not been able to lure him away from his other
professional pursuits.”

Dismay rumbled up from the crowd. Everything Amanda thought
she had known about Jericho had been proven false tonight, so the prospect of
him teaching didn’t surprise her.

“That’s the bad news. The good news”—the president slid a
quick glance at Jericho, who nodded—“is that Mr. Creegan has agreed to serve as
a consultant for a new program yet to be publically unveiled.”

An expectant hush fell over the audience. Jericho nervously
pulled at his bow tie so it sat crooked. Amanda’s heart fluttered.

“The Contemporary Studies program will offer Benbine
students a comprehensive and objective perspective on topics and trends
relevant to our local and global communities. The courses will be developed by
non-traditional academics, such as Mr. Creegan. Let’s give him a warm Bennie
welcome.”

Shouts and catcalls rang out over the enthusiastic
handclapping. Jericho shook the president’s hand and hurried off the stage. She
saw him duck into a back hallway and took off after him.

The corridor was dark except for the faint red glow of an
exit sign. At the far end, Jericho crouched on his toes, hands dangling between
his knees, tie trailing on the floor.

“Congratulations.” A lame way to start the conversation, but
she had to start somewhere.

“Go away.”

He no longer sounded angry, just tired. She took it as an
encouraging sign.

“Not until I’ve apologized.”

She stood in front of him but he didn’t look up. Okay, so he
wasn’t going to make this easy.

“I’ve been wrong about so many things I don’t even know
where to begin. I’m sorry for making decisions we should have made together.
I’m sorry for making assumptions about what kind of person you are. I’m sorry
for not having enough courage to trust you.” Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry
for not giving us a chance. More than anything, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Jackknifing to his feet, he said nothing and tramped off.
She didn’t know whether to stay or follow him. After a few steps, he stopped.
She stared at his back, mentally begging him to turn around.

“Just tell me one thing.” His voice had hardened again.
“Why?”

The question confused her. “Why what?”

“Why would a rich, classy woman like you want to screw around
with someone like me when you could have any guy in the world?”

“What do you mean, a rich, classy woman like me? And why
wouldn’t I want someone like you?” Her temper was starting to flare.

He laughed but there was no humor. “Oh come on. The big house.
Your fancy college job. And the pearls. Those goddamn fucking pearls.” Pivoting
to face her, he shouted, “No one wears pearls nowadays except debutantes and
old, blue-haired women whose maids serve them tea in the garden.”

She didn’t know whether to scream or cry or laugh. So she
wasn’t the only one guilty of stereotyping. The irony struck her, and she
suddenly realized where Jericho’s faulty reasoning had led him.

“Let me get this straight. You think because I live in a
multimillion-dollar home and work for a prestigious university—which, by the
way, is not the same thing as a college—and because I wear pearls that I’m some
kind of uppity bitch who wouldn’t give you, a mere tattoo artist, the time of
day unless it was for the thrill of slumming.” The rambling accusation left her
breathless.

“Yeah. That sums it up pretty good.”

“Well. Sums it up
well
, not good.”

“Whatever.” He started walking away again.

“You’re wrong.”

“Blame it on my English teacher. She sucked.”

“You’re wrong
about me
.” Her words hung in the air.

“Tell me something I don’t know. I was wrong when I thought
you cared.”

“God, Jericho. You are so fricking dense.” Amanda ran up and
grabbed his sleeve. “That’s the only thing you have right. I do care. Hell, I
love you. All those other ideas you have about me are wrong.”

“What did you say?” He froze.

“You’re wrong. I’m house-sitting. And these pearls belonged
to my grandma. She died two months before I finished my doctorate. I wear them
because they make me feel close to her.”

“No. Before that.” His voice was thick with disbelief.

She smiled in the dark. “You’re dense?”

His arms came around her and she burrowed into his chest.

“After that.”

“I love you.”

He sighed, his breath warm on her skin. “I never thought I’d
hear you say that. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He kissed her
long and hard to prove how much.

It was like putting a match to kindling. In seconds, Amanda
was hot and wet and achy. She pushed Jericho into the wall, twining herself
around him. He propped a foot on the wall and nudged her atop his bent knee.
She rocked back and forth until a shuddering orgasm overcame her. He captured
her moans in taunting, open-mouth kisses that promised more pleasure.

“Your hair.” She threaded her fingers through the short
strands. “Why did you cut your beautiful, sexy hair?”

“You just got yourself off by rubbing up against me in the
library of an upstanding, well-respected university and you’re worried about my
hair?” His chuckle reverberated deep in his chest.

“Well…yes.”

“I chop it every three years. On whatever day my mom gets
another all-clear from her oncologist. I donate it to be made into wigs for
cancer patients.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “What other wonderful
things do I not know about you?”

“We both have a lot to learn about each other. Now that
we’ve straightened out the basics, there’s probably just one other vital piece
of information you need.”

“Can you tell me on the way to your place?” She wanted more
than a hallway quickie with her tux-wearing, clean-cut, make-your-panties-wet,
world-class bad boy, and he had promised her a king-size bed and big-screen TV.

“Let’s go.” He wound his fingers through hers. “The money
doesn’t matter.”

People had begun leaving but there was still a crowd in the
library. Jericho ignored those waving at him. Amanda saw Will, who gave her a
thumbs-up.

“What money?” she asked.

“Your money.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I know. I love you anyhow.”

At the edge of the parking lot, in front of Benbine
University’s Adelsperger Library and several curious reception guests, Amanda
Fine, a not-so-traditional literature professor, and Jericho Creegan, a
not-so-unconventional tattoo artist, took their first breath together.

Love without passion is life without breath.