The Way to a Man's Heart Page 4

  “No,” she said, and shook her head, more than willing to discount his words. “I should be the one to make amends to you. I don’t know what came over me, or why I felt it was necessary to be so insensitive. I’m not often so opinionated—well, I am, but I’m usually more subtle about it. If it means anything, I want you to know I felt terrible afterward.”

  “What you said was true,” he admitted bluntly, frowning. “Dr. Essary is an arrogant bore. The reason I took exception to your description of him is because Essary and I are actually quite a bit alike.”

  “I’m sure he’s a fine man of sterling character—” Meghan stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon?” She was sure she’d misunderstood Grey. He couldn’t possibly mean to suggest that he was anything like his colleague. She didn’t know Grey well, but everything about him told her Professor Carlyle was nothing like the other man.

  “After dropping you off, I drove back to the university campus. I’ll admit I was upset … more than I have been in a long time. I sat in my car fuming, feeling confused. I couldn’t seem to put my finger on why I should be so insulted.” He paused, pulled out a kitchen chair, and gestured for Meghan to sit down. She did, and he took the seat across from her.

  “You were defending your friend, the same way he would have supported you,” Meghan reassured him, silently chastising herself for her arrogant ways.

  “Not true,” Grey contradicted, his frown growing darker and more intense. “Fulton and I have never considered ourselves in those terms. You might even say there’s a friendly rivalry going on between us.”

  Since they were both sitting, Meghan poured the tea, handing Grey his cup. She didn’t feel nearly as shaken now.

  “Something you said, however, struck a note with me,” he continued. “You suggested I ask my students what they thought. You seemed confident at least one of them would open up to me.”

  Meghan did vaguely remember suggesting that.

  “A group of my pupils were having coffee after the lecture. I joined them and asked for their honest opinion.” He hesitated, looking mildly distressed. “I asked. And, by heaven, they gave it to me with both barrels.”

  Hearing that others shared her sentiments didn’t cause Meghan to feel better about what had happened between her and Grey, but it helped.

  While he was talking, Grey added both sugar and milk to his tea, stirring it in as though the sweetener were made of some indissoluble compound. “I took a long, hard look at Fulton,” Grey continued, “and what I saw was a sad reflection of myself.”

  “Grey, no.” Her hand automatically reached for his.

  “Meghan, you don’t know me well enough to contradict me.”

  “But I do … I realize we’ve only talked a few times, but you’re not anything like Dr. Essary. I know it as surely as I’m convinced we’re sitting here together.”

  He captured her fingers and squeezed lightly. “It’s kind of you to say so, but unfortunately I know differently. My life has been filled with academia and its importance. In the process, I’ve allowed myself to become jaded toward life, forgetting the significance of what I thought were trivial matters. In the last few years, I’ve immersed myself in a disapproving, wet-blanket attitude.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  His smile was sad, his features grim. “I’ve laughed more with you in the past few days than I have all year. I look at Fulton, so deadpan and serious, and I recognize myself. Frankly, I don’t like what I’m seeing. If you feel there’s no passion in him, you’re right. But there’s none in me, either. It’s not something I’m proud to admit. Fun is often associated with frivolity. And as a learned man—an educator—I’ve looked upon fun as a flaw in the character of a man.” He studied his cup as though he expected the tea leaves to spell out what he should say next. “I owe you much more than an apology, Meghan. In only a few short days you’ve revealed to me something I’d been too blind to recognize until now. I want you to know I’m truly grateful.”

  Meghan didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure you’re putting more stock than necessary in all this. The minute I met you I saw an intense, introverted man of undeniable intelligence who loved Chaucer and Milton the same way I did. I’m nothing more than a waitress at a popular diner, and you shared your love for the classics with me. If anything, that made you more appealing to me than a hundred other men.” Meghan understood all too well the differences between them. Grey was accustomed to a refined, academic atmosphere while she was fun-loving and slightly outrageous. From the moment she’d started talking to him, Meghan had recognized Grey’s type. He was analytical, weighing each fact, cataloging each bit of information before acting. Impulsive actions were as foreign to him as a large savings account was to her.

  “What I saw was a bright, enthusiastic woman who—”

  “Who doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut,” Meghan finished for him.

  They both laughed, and it felt good. Meghan took a sip of her tea, feeling almost light-headed. She realized it had taken a good deal of courage for Grey to seek her out and apologize.

  He glanced at his watch, arched his brows as though he was surprised by the time, and stood abruptly. “I’m sorry for interrupting what remains of your evening, but I wanted to talk to you while I still had the nerve. The longer I put it off, the more difficult it would have been.”

  Meghan appreciated what it must have cost him to come to her, and her estimation of him, which was already high, increased a hundredfold. She didn’t want him to leave, but she couldn’t think of an excuse to delay him.

  “I know how difficult it was for you to stop by. I’m glad you did.”

  “I am, too.” He edged his way to the front door.

  Meghan’s mind was racing frantically in an effort to prolong his leaving. She thought to suggest a game of Monopoly, but was certain he’d find that childish. Cards weren’t likely to interest him, either.

  “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Anytime.”

  His gaze fell on the yellow robe that had been carelessly draped over the recliner, and he smiled. “Good night, Meghan.”

  She went to open the door for him, but his hand at her shoulder stopped her. She turned, and his narrowed gaze met hers in a lazy, caressing action. His eyes were filled with questions, but Meghan couldn’t decipher what it was he wanted to know. A contest of wills seemed to be waging within him as his look continued to embrace her. Meghan returned his gaze, not understanding but wanting to help in any way she could.

  “Every time I act on impulse, I regret it.”

  She blinked, not knowing what to make of his comment. “Sometimes it’s the only thing to do,” she murmured. “My mother always claimed I should follow my heart. That’s good advice—I suggest you do the same.”

  The frown left him, to be replaced by a determined grin. “You’re right. Sometimes doing what seems natural is by far the best thing. I have the distinct feeling I won’t regret this.” With that, he lowered his head to hers and she felt the warm brush of his mouth across her own. He slipped his arm around her waist and gently pulled her against him, half lifting her from the floor. He touched the upper part of her lip with his tongue, lightly, and moistened the outline of her mouth.

  A choppy rush of air escaped from her lips at this subtle attack on her senses. Meghan moaned softly and leaned into him, letting his weight absorb her own. Then, moving her head farther back, Grey rubbed his lips against hers, applying a gentle pressure until her mouth parted in welcome, eager for a more thorough exploration.

  Meghan shouldn’t have been so surprised that he would kiss her, but she was. She flattened her hands against his chest, her fingers clenching handfuls of his shirt as she gave herself over to the wealth of sensation that rocked through her.

  It was a short kiss as kisses went; his mouth lingered over hers for only a heartbeat more and then quickly withdrew, leaving her hungering for more.

  “I’d like to
see you again,” he said, in a voice that sounded unlike his own, strained and reluctant. “Soon.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow night, at six? Dinner, a movie, anything you want.”

  Meghan made some kind of appropriate response, but the minute he was gone, she leaned against the door, needing its support. Several different emotions buzzed around her head. She felt disappointed that the kiss had been so short, and at the same time electrified and thrilled. With that brief kiss had come an immeasurable flash of excitement. She lifted her fingertips to her lips and examined them, half expecting there to be some lasting evidence of his touch. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt as if her ribs were about to collapse. It wasn’t that she’d never been kissed before, but no one had ever caused her pulse to react like this.

  No one.

  Four

  The dishwasher was humming softly in the background when Meghan stepped into the shower late Saturday afternoon. She’d gone shopping and splurged on a new outfit, and had gotten home later than she would have liked. Normally she would have waited until the dishwasher was finished, but there wasn’t time.

  From the moment Grey had left her apartment the night before, her mind had been filled with romantic daydreams. She imagined him wining and dining her and then leading her onto a dance floor. Her fantasy showed him wrapping his arms around her and gazing into her eyes with undisguised admiration. Visions of him holding and kissing her filled her mind. Everything about this night was going to be perfect. They’d had such a rocky beginning, and she longed to make everything right.

  Halfway through the shower, the water went freezing cold. Crying out in protest, Meghan turned off the knob and reached for a thick towel. A faint gurgling sound could be heard in the background. Thinking she should probably look into what was happening, Meghan wrapped the towel around her body and traipsed into the kitchen. Her wet hair fell over her face and she impatiently swatted it aside as she investigated the scene. An icy cold, wet sensation struck her toes the instant she moved onto the linoleum floor.

  Meghan gasped and hurried back onto the carpet on her tiptoes.

  Her dishwasher had overflowed.

  “Oh great,” she moaned, running into the bathroom for some towels. As luck would have it, there was only one dry one, and she was forced to search frantically through her laundry hamper for something to sop up the liquid. In her desperation she was tossing clothing left and right, hurling her panties and bras above her head.

  Gathering up what she could, she hauled an armload of soiled clothes into the kitchen and quickly spread them over the floor. The first thing she had to do was soak up as much water as she could as fast as possible. The whole time she was working, she was glancing at the clock.

  The towel, plus a couple of shirts and two pairs of jeans, looked like mismatched puzzle pieces across her linoleum by the time she finished spreading them around. Still, water was puddled everywhere.

  In an effort to help her clothes absorb as much as possible, Meghan danced over them, stomping her feet in a wild kind of jitterbug.

  The doorbell chimed and Meghan froze. Please, she prayed, don’t let that be Grey! Her gaze swung to the kitchen clock. It was still five minutes early. If there was an angel watching over her, then it wouldn’t be Grey at her front door.

  “Who is it?” she called out, holding the front of her housecoat together with one hand, bunching the material together so tightly her nails threatened to bend. Her hair was half dry by this time and stuck out in several different directions.

  “It’s Grey.”

  Meghan’s faith in heavenly assistance quickly faded. She couldn’t answer the door dressed in her robe and underwear with her hair resembling something out of a science-fiction movie. If that wasn’t bad enough, her kitchen floor looked as if several bodies had recently been vaporized.

  “Meghan?”

  “Ah … I’m not quite ready,” she responded, forcing a cheerful note into her voice. “Would it be possible for you to come back in a few minutes?”

  Silence followed her request.

  “That is, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience,” she tried again, desperately hoping he would agree. When he returned she’d explain, but she couldn’t let him see her like this.

  “I did say six, didn’t I?” he pressed.

  “Yes,” Meghan muttered.

  “It’s obvious that something else has come up, or more likely someone else has come by,” Grey called back to her. “How long would you like me to disappear for? An hour? Two? Will that be long enough for you?”

  Someone else! Grey thought she was trying to get rid of him because there was a man in the apartment with her? Her shoulders sagged in defeat. Without hesitating any longer, she yanked open the front door and stepped aside.

  “You might as well come in and have a good laugh,” she said, sweeping her hand in front of her. To her horror, her voice became a high-pitched screech, barely discernible. She tried several times to swallow, but all she could manage was to make more of the same wretched sounds.

  She dared not look at him, because once she saw the dismay in his eyes, she was bound to burst into tears, and that would only humiliate her further.

  “Meghan, what happened?” He moved into her apartment and closed the door.

  Her head hung so low that her chin was tucked against her collarbone. “I was in the shower when I heard funny gurgling noises … My dishwasher died and there’s water everywhere and I look like something from outer space.” Desperate for oxygen, she sucked in a huge breath.

  “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Grey said.

  He made it sound as though she’d purposely planned the whole disaster to evoke sympathy from him. “I wanted everything to be so special tonight—and then you seemed to think I’m keeping a man in here.” She didn’t dare admit that he was the only male she’d thought about from the minute he’d stepped into Rose’s Diner. Her shoulders jerked up and down each time she tried to breathe.

  “Meghan,” he said, appealing to her with his hands. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, I thought—”

  “I know exactly what you thought,” she interrupted, as the situation and his initial reaction started to get the better of her. “As you can see, something has come up, and I won’t be able to go out tonight.” Pointedly, she walked over to the door and opened it for him.

  “The least I can do is help,” he insisted.

  Somehow the picture of Professor Grey Carlyle under a sink refused to take shape in her mind. This was a man familiar with George Bernard Shaw—not water pipes and broken-down dishwashers.

  “I doubt that you know the least bit about plumbing,” she remarked stiffly.

  “I don’t,” he agreed, and then added under his breath, “and even less about women, it seems.”

  With her chin tilted at a defiant angle, Meghan stood with her back straight, her fingers tightening around the doorknob. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Positive,” she said, and flipped a damp strand of hair out of her eyes with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn’t much.

  He proceeded to walk out but paused just outside the apartment door to exhale sharply and murmur, “I’m sorry, Meghan.”

  “So am I,” she responded, feeling both miserable and defeated.

  Ten minutes later, after Meghan had dressed and run a brush through her hair, she phoned the apartment manager, who was gone for the evening—naturally. Given no other choice, Meghan phoned her father.

  Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty with Grey, she mused in the quiet minutes that followed her call home. He’d only been trying to help. Unfortunately his offer had followed on the heels of his implication that she was hiding a man in her apartment. For him to even suggest such a thing was enough to set her teeth on edge.

  Both Meghan’s parents arrived within the half hour.

  “Hi, Mom
. Hi, Dad,” she greeted, hugging them both, grateful for their love and support.

  Her father carried a toolbox with him. At fifty, Patrick O’Day was in his prime—healthy, fit, and handsome to boot. Meghan had always been close to both parents.

  “What happened in your kitchen? A mass murder?” her father teased, then laughed at his own joke as he stepped over the sopping array of clothes.

  “Thanks for coming over,” Meghan told him sincerely. “I don’t know what I would have done. The apartment manager wasn’t in, and more than likely he wouldn’t be able to get anyone here until Monday morning, anyway.”

  Colleen O’Day removed her coat while studying Meghan. “Weren’t you going out with that professor friend of yours this evening?”

  In her excitement, Meghan had phoned her mother and told her all about meeting Grey. “Was, as in past tense! Obviously, something came up.”

  “Meghan, darlin’, you must be so disappointed.”

  She nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. This evening wasn’t turning out the least bit the way she’d hoped.

  When it came to Grey, she felt like someone eager to appear in a circus performing in the high-wire balancing act. Although she wanted badly to do it, she couldn’t seem to find her footing. Each time she tried, she nearly slipped and fell.

  “You look tired,” her mother said next.

  Meghan felt exhausted. For most of the day she’d been running on nervous energy, not taking time to eat lunch. Breakfast had been a glass of orange juice while on the run.

  “It’s not your dishwasher—you’ve got a broken pipe down here,” her father shouted from beneath the kitchen sink.

  “Surprise, surprise,” Meghan answered with a soft chuckle. With her mother’s help she removed the clothes and towel that littered the floor, placing them inside the empty laundry basket.

  Her father had nearly completed the repair when her doorbell chimed. The teakettle whistled at almost the same second, and, frustrated, Meghan paused, not knowing which to attend to first.