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In the process, though, she bumped the gentleman to her right. “Excuse me,” she automatically said. That’s when she really looked at him. And almost screamed in revulsion. Please, she pleaded to the forces in the universe responsible for the galactic seating arrangement, this can’t be happening to me. Not here. Not now. But it was. It was him—with a capital “H.” Kennedy King Cooper. Again.
Their eyes locked. A cold shiver seared down her spine. Not again. It was evident he recognized her. But would he say anything? And did she really want to talk to him?
She forced a smile and quickly stuck her head back in the book. But it was too late. Her body was beginning to go limp with uninvited sexual attraction. Damn that love scene. She had discovered that this reaction to good-looking men was an occupational hazard for romance writers.
Could it really be that her fictional friends saw something she was too blind to see? She pushed that idea from her head. That was just stupid.
Suddenly, she could hear his words. Calm yourself, she told herself. Just calm yourself. Good looking. Check. Sexual attraction. Check. Can you build a lasting relationship on that alone? Of course not. Would she like to give it a try? Check. No. What was she thinking? No. She reminded herself of his attitude toward romance writers. That helped. A little.
“I see you got the Philly Experiment,” Kenn said. She nodded. She didn’t trust her voice to speak to him. Why? Was she afraid she’d act on her urges? Nonsense.
“And the onions are there.” She mustered up the courage to say something. “No free cappuccino for me.”
“Maybe next time. There’s always that off-chance their de-particlizer will work.”
“I’m not holding my breath on that one.” She took a bite of the sandwich and forced herself to read. She feared if she kept talking, she would commit herself to some type of date that she wouldn’t ordinarily agree to. She believed she was still “under the influence” of romance novelist’s idealism. Nothing more.
Just as she was getting highlighting pens out and sticky notes for page references, Cooper continued the conversation.Damn him. He questioned her about the book she was reading.
“That book looks interesting. I never dealt much with Harding, but I find him and his Teapot Dome scandal pretty fascinating.” She didn’t dare tell him what she was really researching. He would undoubtedly have the same response many of her colleagues had when you mention the word conspiracy.
“You know, there’s a conspiracy theory floating around the internet that Harding didn’t die of accidental food poisoning,” Kenn began.
“Many believe,” JJ continued, “that his wife actually poisoned him.”
“You’ve heard it, too? That’s absolutely absurd.”
Why do some men have to be so smug in their opinions?They voice an opinion as if it’s fact. She just shook her head, while she decided how to respond.
She worked extra hard at maintaining an outward composure. But inwardly she was furious. Who was he after all to declare it absurd?
Instead of lashing out in anger, she merely smiled, commenting, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And Mrs. Harding, from what I’ve read, felt scorned. After all, it was rumored Harding was quite the womanizer.”
“But would she really kill her husband over these actions?”
“Let me play devil’s advocate a moment,” she suggested. Kenn nodded in agreement. “Let’s say she didn’t kill him because of that, but because she was fearful he would soon be implicated in the web of corruption that was surrounding his administration. Is that a motive for murder?”
He placed the Chernobyl Chicken Meltdown he had been holding on his plate. “Would his wife kill him basically to save his reputation? Doesn’t seem like a good trade-off to me. No, no. I can’t buy that one. I think only a lazy historian would accept that conspiracy theory.”
“Lazy?” Impetuously, she leapt from her seat.Thud. Her chair fell backward in the process, causing a number of customers to stare. She stomped around it as best she could in such tight quarters. She started to raise the chair at the same time Kenn bent over to help pull it upright. Their hands touched. The rage that had circulated through her felt more like passion now.
Hurriedly, she gathered her things and looked Kenn square in the eyes. He possessed the kindest, most compassionate eyes she had ever seen. Her rage melting, she began to feel…was that vulnerable? Still, his remark was careless and judgmental.
“Listen, just because a historian wants to explore an unconventional topic does not make him or her lazy.” She could feel the tension in her jaw build as she tried to keep her voice down, her words measured. “Every good historian needs to be open minded to all the possibilities.”
Her appetite was lost. She hurriedly gathered her book, notebook, and pens and shoved them in the messenger bag. And she left without saying another word, leaving her sandwich and onion strings behind.
Chapter 12
Alex lingered in bed, her head resting in the crook of Blake’s arm. “It was magical,” she whispered. “You are magic.”
He pulled her even closer. “It was, love. I can’t imagine—”
Blake never got the chance to finish his thought.
“If anyone had any lingering doubts,” JJ announced as she entered the house, “like you Alex, wherever you are, you can just wipe them from your mind.”
Alex shot up and hastily pulled on some type of covering. Blake reached for the nearest thing to cover him. Alex, wrapped in a robe and Blake, shrouded in a blanket, timidly stepped out the bedroom door. Alex was the first to speak. “You ran into him again?”
