His, Unexpectedly Read online

  And Neal was touching my shoulder. “Now wait a minute. I thought you two were friends.”

  I released Mark, stepped back, and turned to the mechanic. “Yeah, we met at Marianne’s.”

  He frowned at both of us. “Jenna, you can’t go off with some strange guy you just met.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Mark said, sounding vindicated. He frowned slightly. “Though I wouldn’t say I’m strange.”

  I gave the two of them an evil grin. “Of course, ten percent of serial killers are female.” A statistic I totally made up.

  Mark scowled. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Serial killers?” Neal said, brows high. “What?”

  “Joking.” Jeesh, did no one have a sense of humor? “Okay, look, Neal can write down your license plate, Mark, and take our driver’s license info. If one of us turns up dead, he’ll tell the police who did it.” Truth was, I’d have asked Mark for ID anyhow, to back up my gut instinct.

  “Let’s take a look at that ID,” Neal said grudgingly.

  But once he’d made a careful examination of the contents of Mark’s wallet, he gave a satisfied nod. “Okay, Dr. Chambers.”

  “I’ll go get my stuff,” I said, heading toward Mellow Yellow with Mark behind me. He helped me put up the convertible top and roll up the windows, then I made sure the registration was locked in the glove compartment and collected any loose belongings.

  He popped the trunk. “That’s all your luggage?”

  “It’s all my worldly possessions, pretty much.” I hauled out a backpack, leaving another pack and the small cooler for him.

  “Really?” he said incredulously.

  “Aside from some old clothes and stuff at my parents’ place. I figure if it doesn’t fit in my car then I can’t need it very much.”

  When I said stuff like this, a lot of guys—and most women—thought I was nuts. But Mark grinned approval. “I hear you.” He slung the backpack strap over one shoulder and hoisted the cooler, muscles rippling in a deliciously effortless way. “What’s in this?”

  “Cheese and crackers, fruit.” I gestured toward the two items that remained in the trunk: a faded sleeping bag and a thin pillow. “Do I need these?” I wouldn’t if he shared his bed.

  “Uh …” He looked at me and a spark of sexual awareness zinged between us. But, as before, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he frowned. “Jenna, where were you planning to sleep?”

  “Either in the car or on the beach. Maybe a campground.”

  He shook his head. “D’you have parents?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. And yeah, they’d be on my case. Which is why I generally don’t tell them what I’m doing. So, should I bring this stuff?”

  “No, I have it covered. The Westfalia’s luxurious compared to this.” Which could mean that he was anticipating cozying up in bed together—or that he had a spare sleeping bag. Of all the guys I’d ever met, he was the hardest to read. And totally intriguing.

  When I gave Neal my keys, he handed me his card. “Call me or drop me an e-mail in a few days. And tell your sis, best wishes.”

  “Thanks.” I planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best.” Once again, the universe had provided exactly the right person at the right time.

  Just as it had with Dr. Mark Chambers. The sexy scientist was in for the road trip of a lifetime. And so was I.

  I followed him to his camper, admiring his butt and the stretch of his muscles as he slid open the side door. We slung my gear on the floor and I said, “Ready to hit the road?”

  This time, he gave a firm nod, like he’d finally got with the program. “Let’s do it.”

  We buckled up, and I smiled. This was intimate, the two of us side by side in this cute little house on wheels. Too bad there wasn’t a bench seat rather than two big swivel seats. Even so, we were really going to get to know each other—in many senses of that phrase, I hoped—in the next couple of days.

  A few minutes later, the Westfalia was on the coast road heading north.

  I rolled down the window and sighed with pleasure. “I love the open road.” Possibilities. Not only poppies and beaches now, but maybe smoking hot sex with a man who had the body of a surfer and the mind of a scientist. Totally tantalizing.

  “Are you planning on taking the coast road all the way?” I asked.

  He’d unrolled his window too. His left arm rested on the window frame and the breeze ruffled his nutmeg-colored hair. “I was. That a problem? You’re in a rush, eh?”

  “Not enough of a rush for I-5.”

  “Good. I hate freeways. Avoid them like the plague.”

  “Me, too. They’re soul-destroying. Country roads are better.”

  He smiled over at me. “Always. Especially if they’re by the ocean.”

  “You said you’re a marine biologist.” I tilted the seat back a notch and got comfortable. Getting to know people—especially sexy guys—was one of my favorite things in the world. “Is that because you love the ocean?”

  “Yeah.”

  I waited. When he didn’t go on, I prompted, “Tell me more. How did you come to love the ocean? Did you grow up by it?”

  “No. Inland, in Oregon.”

  Born an American, but now he drove a camper with a British Columbia plate and had a B.C. driver’s license. So many things to learn about him. Some men were in love with talking about themselves, and others needed to be drawn out. Give Mark a scientific topic, and I’d bet he could go on forever, but I was going to have to work to learn his life story.

  “When did you first see the ocean?” I asked.

  “When I was five.”

  “It’s like pulling teeth,” I teased. “Come on, Mark, tell me more.”

  “Uh, why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’m interested. It’s called conversation.”

  He glanced at me quizzically, as if I were speaking a foreign language, then again focused on the road ahead.

  “We’re going to be in this camper for a lot of hours,” I said, “so let’s get to know each other. Now, think back to your first visit to the ocean and tell me about it.”

  My strategy worked. A moment later a smile touched his mouth. “We all went to the coast, and it was incredible. Awe-inspiring, yet I felt like I belonged there.”

  “Maybe in a past life you were a sailor.”

  “Tell me you don’t believe in past lives.”

  “I dunno. I keep an open mind. Anything’s possible, right?”

  “Anything? I don’t think so. Some things are too farfetched.”

  “In your humble opinion,” I teased. “Look out there.” I gestured out the window at the ocean. “Once, the scientists of the day scoffed at the far-fetched notion that the earth was round. They used to think if you sailed too far, you’d fall of the edge.”

  “Hmm. You have a point.”

  I leaned over to squeeze his bare forearm gently. “I know you scientists hate admitting you don’t know everything.” But he’d conceded my point, which impressed me. I let my hand linger, savoring the warmth of his skin, the subtle flex of muscles, before I sat back in my seat. I hoped he was feeling tingles.

  “True.” His gaze flicked from the road ahead, down to his arm, then back again.

  “And yet, that’s what science is about, isn’t it? Exploring the unknown.”

  “In large part, yes.” He glanced over again, blue eyes sharp with curiosity. “You’re an ornithologist?”

  I snorted. I told the man I’d been surveying falcons and he assumed I was an ornithologist? “No way. My dad’s the scientist in the family.” As dear old Dad would be the first to say, I didn’t have the brain or the discipline for it.

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a geneticist. Researching genetic links for cancer and trying to find a cure.”

  He nodded approvingly. “Impressive. And your mom?”

  “A litigator. On the side of good, not evil. Mostly, she represents plaintiffs in class a
ction suits against big corporations that are doing nasty stuff.”

  “Good people, your parents. How did you come to choose the environment as your field?”

  My field? “Mark, I don’t have a field. I’m interested in too many things to settle on one. When something intriguing comes along, I do it.” I went wherever the wind, the mood, the next tempting guy or job took me.

  “The falcon survey?”

  “I was in Santa Cruz and someone mentioned it. It sounded good so I volunteered. I love birds, love being outside.” In my own unstructured fashion I was an environmentalist. I felt an affinity for nature that was almost spiritual. Like, it healed wounds and sorrows, and in return I wanted to take care of it. But I loved people, too, so often switched between nature jobs and people jobs. I was versatile, a quick learner; I just couldn’t work at anything that required special education or skills, because I didn’t have any.

  “Besides,” I went on, “I liked working irregular hours, having time to surf.” In fact, I’d gone to California because of a sexy surfer dude, Carlos. “The survey was perfect.” I gave a rueful smile. “Except, of course, for the part about no pay. I supported myself by waitressing.”

  “Hmm.” Just a sound, but one that told me he wasn’t impressed. The man was so serious; he probably didn’t relate to a free spirit.

  I shoved breeze-blown curls off my face and, curious to know more about him, said, “You said, you all went to the coast. You mean your family?”

  “In the broad sense of the word. I grew up on a commune.”

  “Ooh! Seriously?” Wide-eyed, I stared at him. “That must have been so much fun. I’m totally jealous.”

  His mouth twisted. “Too bad we couldn’t have traded. I wanted a normal family, a conventional life.” He slowed to pass three cyclists. “Which I did eventually get, with my grandparents.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  He picked up speed, leaving the cyclists behind. Seemed as if he wasn’t going to answer. Was I being too pushy? People usually responded to my friendly curiosity.

  Slowly, he said, “There was only Alicia.” His tone was cool, distanced. “I was born on the commune and paternity wasn’t relevant. People thought monogamy, much less marriage, was archaic.”

  “Well, yeah. Look at how it originated. Political alliances, property exchanges, possession of a woman and kids. Women needing some strong guy to protect them and their babies. None of that stuff’s relevant anymore.”

  Wryly, he said, “At least that’s a logical argument.”

  “At least? Meaning you don’t agree?”

  “I agree marriage is pretty archaic. But I’m not sure most people are evolved enough to handle jealousy and unstructured relationships.”

  I grinned to myself. I loved unstructured relationships and didn’t have a jealous bone in my body. Well, maybe toward my sisters, but not when it came to guys. Nice to know I was so highly evolved. “How did things work on the commune?”

  He snorted. “Poorly. Freedom Valley wasn’t exactly organized around a philosophy—except hedonism.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with pleasure.”

  “Depends where it comes from.”

  I reflected. “Like, no one should take pleasure from hurting someone else. Or harming the environment.”

  He nodded strongly. “Agreed. But lack of knowledge, disregard, and the wrong priorities create as dangerous results. Take your falcons. They wouldn’t have become endangered if it wasn’t for pesticides. At first, no one really understood the impact of pesticides on the environment, then for a long time economic interests outweighed environmental ones. Until people realized that destroying the environment didn’t make economic sense.” He went on, and I listened intently.

  Later, I’d ask again about life on the commune. For now, he was talking about something interesting and, even better, the passion in his husky voice, the animation on his face, the way he gestured as he spouted off in scientist mode were pretty damned sexy.

  Mark glanced over at Jenna, aware he’d switched from conversation to lecturing. Discoursing on science was effortless; discussing philosophy—like the sociological pros and cons of the institution of marriage—was interesting; but talking about himself was uncomfortable. Not because he had any deep, dark secrets, but because he so rarely did it.

  Usually, he interacted with people through work. He was the team leader or the expert consultant. When the others hung out at the end of the day sharing a meal, having a few drinks, chatting, he either retreated to bury himself in work or took a seat in a back corner and kept quiet.

  Let’s face it, aside from his work, he was one of the most boring guys alive.

  His lovers had always been colleagues and they’d mostly talked about the project they were working on.

  Jenna was gazing at him with apparent interest, but probably she was only being polite. Yeah, here he was with a beautiful woman and he was boring her to tears. He should shut up now.

  No, he had a better idea. They were coming into Fort Bragg, and there was a spot here that fascinated him, one she might enjoy. It would throw them off schedule, but not by a lot. “Have you ever been to Glass Beach?”

  “No. What’s that?”

  “It used to be a dump. People heaved all kinds of garbage on it, including lots of glass. Finally the town wised up and tried to clean it up. They got the big stuff, but not all the broken glass. Waves pounded the glass, and now the beach is covered in little colored glass pebbles.”

  “Cool! Let’s go.”

  Her eager response made him smile. She reminded him of a little girl who was excited about a treat, just as when she’d tackled that strawberry pie. The woman was engaging, no doubt about it, even if she wasn’t the intellectual, cause-oriented type of person he usually associated with. Normally, when he drove, he liked being alone with his thoughts, but Jenna made the journey more interesting.

  He turned toward the beach. No doubt about it, she’d charmed and bedazzled him. Here he was, holding out the promise of a sparkly beach as if it were a special treat to tempt her.

  He parked and before he’d turned off the engine, she jumped out. He locked up, then led her down a dirt path to a cove framed by jagged rocks, where a half dozen people roamed about. Small, white-fringed waves rushed onto shore then retreated, making a low, steady whispering sound. From a distance the beach looked like normal little stones, albeit kind of glittery in the sun, but when you looked closer—

  Jenna darted past him. “This is incredible!” A stiff breeze tossed her hair and swirled her skirt around her legs as she bent to scoop up a handful of pebbles.

  So beautiful. His cock was hardening again and even his hands ached, wanting to touch her. She’d brushed against him a couple of times. Casually. It had taken all his willpower to shift away rather than pull her into his arms.

  She’d said nice things about him, said he had a nice body, but did that mean she was flirting? His friend Adrienne told him she’d never met a man who was so oblivious to being hustled. But how was a guy supposed to know? He sure didn’t want to offend Jenna, and—

  She darted up to him, beaming and holding out the pebbles she’d gathered. “Mark, they’re so beautiful!”

  Another man would have said, “No, you’re beautiful.” Instead, he stared down, trying to regain his composure as he focused on her collection.

  He’d visited here before, his scientist’s curiosity engaged by the history and the processes that had transformed a dump into this unusual beach. Yet he’d never actually thought about the beauty of the bits of glass. Now, he studied the handful: gleaming and sparkling in the sun, pieces of sea-polished glass mingled with regular beach stones and seashells. Most were clear or white, and there were a few amber bits, some green, and one of vivid blue.

  “Cup your hands,” she commanded.

  When he did, holding them below hers, she gradually let the pebbles trickle between her slender fingers into his cupped palms, sunlight glin
ting off them as they fell. “There you go. A handful of magic.” She curved her own hands around his, her palms and fingers warm against the backs of his hands. “We’re holding magic.”

  His pulse raced. Yes, the bits of glass were pretty and sparkly, but the magic was in the sparks that hummed between her hands and his.

  She sighed. “I wish I could take them home. But if everyone did that, there’d be no more beach to enjoy.” Her hands moved away from his. “Besides, it wouldn’t be right to lock these lovely pebbles up in a glass jar. Set them free, Mark.”

  Rather than toss them down, he opened his fingers and let them slide through in a slow, light-catching cascade until they were a part of the beach again. The only single one he could identify was the bright blue one, as distinctive as Jenna herself.

  “Let’s walk,” she said, kicking off her sandals.

  “Careful, there’s still the occasional bit of metal garbage. Don’t want to cut your feet.”

  She gazed at him as if he was crazy. “Mark, you can’t wear shoes on a beach on a sunny day.”

  “I can’t?” He would have taken his sandals off—it was her feet he was worried about—but now he was curious to hear what she’d say. “Why not? Is that some kind of rule?”

  “Are you a rule follower?” she teased.

  “If the rule has a good reason behind it. Otherwise, not so much.” He had no qualms about bending or breaking a rule that was senseless or harmful.

  “Shoes are disrespectful to the beach,” she said promptly. “They can crush seashells. This is an environmentally fragile area. You don’t want to damage it.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me.” He bent to pull off his leather sandals. Under the soles of his feet, the pebbles were a bumpy carpet holding the sun’s warmth.

  Jenna headed toward the edge of the water, leaving her sandals behind. He collected them, along with his own, and followed her. She splashed her toes in the ocean, gave a sigh of pleasure, then began to walk along the edge. He fell in step beside her, the soft fringes of waves rippling around his feet.

  “Thanks for bringing me here,” she said.