Body Chemistry (9 page)

Anger radiated through his calm demeanor as Dominic returned to his car. He’d returned to the city looking forward to seeing Brenda again. He hadn’t expected her to fall into his arms, but he definitely hadn’t been prepared to see her hand on Franklin’s arm as she flashed a coy smile at another man. He had struggled hard to stop the urge to knock the two men’s heads together.

Brenda was his. He hadn’t sent her postcards and his manuscript just so she could toy with him. He’d never be anyone’s toy. He’d followed her home because he wasn’t going to allow her to dismiss him as she had the others. Sitting in the car only let his anger grow, but it warmed him as the cold air seeped in. When she’d finally invited him inside he was ready to unleash his fury, only to be met with her own fury. And in an instant his anger turned into disbelief. She hadn’t received any of his mail.

Sergeant greeted him when Dominic made it home that evening.

“Oh, you’re back,” Sheila said when she saw him. “I made you your favorite.”

He patted his dog. “I’m not hungry,” he snapped, then saw her face fall and softened his tone. “Thanks. I’ll eat it later.”

He went into his bedroom and sat on the bed without turning on the lights. Sergeant sat and stared up at him. “I’m all right,” Dominic told the dog, stroking its head. “Just disappointed.” He’d driven straight from the airport to Brenda’s office, eager to see how much leeway he’d made with her. When Chuck told him she’d taken time off, he’d been disappointed because he’d told her when he was returning. Seeing her outside the coffee shop had been an accident, but then again maybe it was meant to be.

He looked at the bright red letters of his clock. He waited until late before he called Thomas.

The ringing phone startled Thomas out of bed. He groped for it in the blackness of early morning, then picked it up. “Hello?”

“What happened?” a dark voice said over the line.

Thomas instantly knew whom it belonged to. “What do you mean?”

“Brenda didn’t know I was away. I thought I told you to tell her.”

He could feel Natalie waking up beside him and lowered his voice. “I did tell her.”

“But she said you didn’t.”

“Look, who are you going to believe? A bitter ex-wife or me? Your cousin and manager? Have I ever let you down? She probably lied just to put you on your guard.” Silence greeted him. “Dominic?” he said, wondering if the phone had gone dead.

“Brenda doesn’t lie,” he said, causing goose bumps to form on Thomas’s arm.

Thomas swallowed and turned on the lights, blinking against the shine. Wrong strategy. He wouldn’t attack her character. He had to think fast and come up with another reason. “Maybe she just forgot. It’s been a busy week and it was a short conversation.” He switched the topic, hoping to distract Dominic. “How does she like the water heater?”

“She’s very pleased.”

“See? I told you I’d come through for you. It was just a little mix up.”

“And it won’t happen again?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Dominic paused, then said, “How’s the studio coming?”

“The studio is fine. I’ve found a great location for her.”

“Good.” The line went dead.

Thomas hung up, then fell back on the pillow.

Natalie sat up. “What was that about?”

“Dominic was confused about something.”

“What?”

“Just something,” he snapped. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“He asked about the studio space?” Natalie asked unfazed by his irritation.

“That’s right.”

“Where?”

“What do you care?”

“I’m just curious,” she said in a small voice.

He saw no harm in telling her and filled her in on where it was located.

“You can’t put her there,” she said horrified. “That place is a dump.”

He sat up and shrugged. “She’ll get used to it. Artists like places like that.”

“She’ll blame Dominic. And he’ll blame you.”

“No, he won’t. I’ll tell him that’s all I could find on such a short notice.”

“Thomas—”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said with a smug smile. “I’ve done it before.”

“But—”

“Are you his manager or what? I’m the one who’s gotten him this far. You got your job because of me. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you mean more than that. We both know that before me you were only qualified in how to spend your father’s money. Don’t put your pretty nose where it doesn’t belong. Brenda’s a gold digger.”

“I don’t think she’s a gold digger.”

“She’s not good for him and Dominic needs to see that. I’m helping to make his vision clear.” Thomas turned off the light and fell back to sleep.

Natalie stared at the shadows on the wall.

“C
ooking lessons!” Brenda read her instructions again:
Schedule an appointment with Rania for a special cooking session
. She set the paper down. She hated cooking. Why would she need to take lessons? If this was going to be the way to finding her ideal man, she was beginning to doubt the Society’s claim of a guarantee. Her lack of cooking skills was known to her family and Dominic had never tasted it. She’d loved him too much to put him through that agony.

Perhaps the Society could work miracles, things were going well so far. She’d gotten men’s attention, if this would improve her odds, she was up for the challenge. So she made an appointment.

Rania arrived on time that Saturday. Brenda didn’t know whom she’d expected to arrive, but it wasn’t a striking, full-figured dark-skinned woman in a cashmere coat and high heels with her arms filled with groceries.

“Put these items in your refrigerator right away,” she said, handing Brenda two grocery bags. She followed Brenda inside, then stopped and stared once she entered the kitchen. “Oh my.”

Brenda rested the bags on the counter. “What?”

“This looks like a science lab.”

Brenda took it as a compliment. She took pride in her kitchen, although she never used it to cook in. It was orderly and immaculate, a masterpiece in design. All of the appliances were stainless steel, she had a granite countertop, a marble cutting block and a kitchen island. The herbs and spices sat lined up in neat rows, each one clearly labeled.

Rania opened the cupboard. “It’s obvious you don’t cook.”

“How do you know?”

“Easy. Hand me the salt.”

“Salt? I don’t have salt.”

“How about the flour?”

“No.”

“Cooking spray?”

“No.”

“How about a skillet?”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. I didn’t know I was supposed to have those items. But, I can go to the store and get them.”

Rania began unloading the bag. “You won’t need to do that, Brenda. I came fully prepared. Do you have an apron?”

“Yes. Actually, I have a total of ten.”

“Ten? Why ten?”

“It’s a little family joke. They love the irony of someone like me having an apron. I’ll get one for each of us.” Brenda reappeared with two brand-new aprons. “Here, you can have this one. I like the one with the big pockets. And here’s a box of latex gloves.” She rested it on the counter.

Rania frowned. “Why do we need latex gloves?”

“One of the things I hate about cooking is touching raw meat. I know that sounds odd for a scientist, but that’s the way I am. And I hate getting flour stuck under my fingernails. So whenever I cook, which is basically never, I always wear gloves.”

Rania watched in amazement as Brenda carefully put on her gloves, as though preparing for a dissection. Rania sighed, then put on her apron. “Cooking is like chemistry. Simply science. That’s why I’m sure once you know the basics you’ll enjoy it.

“I don’t intend to turn you into a chef, but the old adage,
the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,
holds more truth than we would like to think. I am going to show you how to prepare one complete meal including dessert, and I promise you, by the end of the day, you will be able to prepare it yourself.” Rania briefly went over the basics, then pulled out three large laminated picture cards and placed them on the counter.

“Here are the recipes with clear instructions. If you follow them step-by-step, nothing will go wrong.”

Great.
Brenda thought.
Science she understood.
Before beginning any of the recipes Brenda read each one, then organized each ingredient in groups on the cooking island. She used a yellow highlighter to emphasize the measurements.

She pointed at one instruction. “What’s this?”

Rania looked. “A pinch of salt.”

“What exactly is a pinch?”

“It’s small.”

“I don’t understand. What is the unit of measurement a pinch of salt should be? Is it like grams?”

Rania grabbed a pinch and put it in the bowl. “It’s like that.”

“Oh. Could you show me again?”

Rania took a deep breath. “No. We’re making a basic dish. Shepherd’s pie, a simple recipe that consists of a layer of browned ground beef and a layer of mashed potatoes on top, baked in the oven for approximately one hour at 350 degrees.”

“Approximately? Does that mean less than one hour or more than one hour?”

“It means approximately.”

“You cannot set the oven timer on approximately. It’s either an hour or it’s not.”

Rania rubbed her forehead as though she had a headache. “It’s an hour.”

The session went downhill from there. Brenda burnt the beef, setting off the fire alarm; cut herself while peeling potatoes; washed the vegetables for nearly five minutes, then cut them into uniform, bite-sized pieces; demanded to know the difference among vegetable oil, canola oil, olive oil, corn oil, and sesame oil and then inspected each strawberry to be used in the dessert, throwing out any that looked bruised or defective.

Rania threw up her hands. “Stop!”

“What?”

“The perfectionism. The questions. It has to stop.”

“What questions?”

Rania mimicked Brenda’s voice: “‘How small should the potatoes be cut? Half an inch or one inch in size?’ ‘Are you sure this is the right kind of butter to use?’ ‘What if I don’t mash the potatoes correctly?’ ‘What does non-hydrogenated oil mean?’”

Brenda felt her face grow warm. “I just want to understand.”

“You do understand. You’re afraid of making a mistake and that’s impossible. Mistakes are part of learning. You’re going to do this quickly.”

Brenda froze. She never did new things quickly. She hated the prospect of failing at something. Growing up, she had succeeded at everything she had ever done. She had been the valedictorian at her high school, was on the Dean’s list throughout college and upon graduation had won a highly competitive international scholarship to study abroad for a year in London in a prestigious science lab.

But Rania rushed her through the rest of the session and in the end the meal didn’t look as expected. Fortunately, it tasted fine. Both Brenda and Rania ate it, surprised.

“Wow,” Brenda said with renewed confidence. “I would never have thought of making a dish like this,” she said, taking a second helping of the pie. “When I go to visit my mother, I’ll surprise her by making this.”

“And others,” Rania said. “Try to experiment. Remember it’s not fatal to make mistakes.”

The next day Dominic’s manuscript arrived in her e-mail and she printed it out. She started reading, planning on just skimming a few pages, then getting to her laundry, but the depth and passion of his prose captivated her.

She finished the book and set it aside, amazed. He always told her how he envied her ability to draw, claiming he couldn’t draw a stick figure, but he could write. It was the same skill that kept people entranced around the world. She knew this book, like his others, would be a bestseller.

She still had his first one. He’d dedicated it to her and signed it “With love.” She hadn’t looked at it in years, wondering when she’d be able to without feeling any pain. She lifted the manuscript again and ran her hand over his name, remembering his first effort at writing a book. She’d come home from teaching and found him sitting in front of the computer.

“So how is it coming?” she asked.

He glumly pointed to the screen. She peered over his shoulder and saw one sentence. “I can write papers, articles and lectures, but I don’t know how to write a book,” he said.

She rested her hands on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “You don’t have to. Just think of it as a presentation.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“It is the same.” She gently shoved him from his seat. “Move.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to dictate.” He reluctantly stood and Brenda took his seat and flexed her fingers. “Okay, begin.”

He folded his arms, unimpressed. “This is not going to work.”

“Yes it will. Tell me about…” She searched her mind, then gave him a subject.

At first his words were dull, then as he warmed to the topic they became interesting and fresh. Soon he didn’t need her anymore. And over the following months she learned to fall asleep to the sound of the keyboard.

Then one evening he crawled in bed beside her and kissed the back of her neck. “I’m done.”

She turned to him. “Really?”

He drew down the strap of her nightgown with intimate slowness. “Yes, really.” He placed a feather-light kiss on her shoulder. “All thanks to you.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” she said trying to sound rational, although his mouth and fingers made her feel anything but.

He drew down the other strap with equal deliberation. “You can take most of it.”

“You did all the hard work.” She licked her lips and watched him uncertain as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Dominic, what are you doing?”

He tossed his shirt aside and stared at her with innocence. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

“You don’t look like you’re ready to sleep.”

He unbuttoned his trousers. “I’m not. I’m planning to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me this much. You’ve worked very hard and I’m sure this book will be a hit.”

He took off his trousers and tossed them aside also. “I don’t care as long as you like it.”

“I’ll like it. I always like what you do.”

He began to smile.

Brenda noticed the sensuous gleam in his eyes and shook her head. “Dominic, I have work tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t. You’re not going in.”

A knowing grin touched her mouth. “I’m not?”

“No, you’re calling in sick.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to keep you up all night.” He pulled down her nightgown. “And then I’m going to cook you breakfast and make love to you until lunch.”

“Then you’ll cook lunch?”

“No, we’ll order in.” He leaned toward her.

She held him back. “Tempting, but I have lots of work to do tomorrow. Wait until the weekend.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.” Brenda pulled up her nightgown, jumped out of bed and headed for the door. “I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

Dominic leaped up and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her up against him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“We can’t afford to lose work hours and—”

He spun her around. “Don’t worry about the money.”

She sighed with helpless frustration. “Dominic—”

“One day I’m going to make so much money you won’t have to teach anymore. You’ll do all the research you want.”

“I don’t mind teaching.”

“You hate it.”

She shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

His jaw tensed and his gaze grew cool. “You don’t believe that I can—”

She covered his mouth with her hand. His expression may have frightened someone else, but she knew him too well to ever fear him. He’d only looked at her like that once before when he’d discussed his mother and his terrible home life with her. She stared at him determined to erase that look from his face. “I believe that you can accomplish anything you want. I know you haven’t even reached all that you’re going to.” She saw his gaze soften and smiled. She removed her hand, then kissed him. “Now good night.” She turned to leave.

“I knew it was a brilliant idea.”

She stopped. “What?”

“Marrying you. One day you’ll feel the same.”

“I already do.”

“Then spend the night with me and let me take care of tomorrow. Trust me.”

Brenda bit her lip, briefly shut her eyes then looked at him feeling all of her resolve melt away. She removed her nightgown and let it fall to the ground. “I do.”

Dominic swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He gently eased her down on it before covering her body with his. The warmth of his hard flesh pressed against her sent a pure and explosive sense of desire cascading over her. Soon she no longer wanted to talk. She was consumed with the primitive need to feel him inside her; to be one with him. Within moments passion, desire, promises, love surrounded them as strong and unrelenting as a tropical storm. And when the fierceness of the storm threatened to ease, Brenda looked at Dominic and whispered, “Did you really mean what you said?”

“About what?”

“Making love to me all night until breakfast?”

Dominic didn’t reply with words. However, he used his mouth to give her his answer.

The phone rang, jarring Brenda out of the past and forcing her back to the present. “Hello?”

“Did you like it?” Dominic asked.

The sound of his voice made her body grow hot; for a moment the past mingled with the present as she tried to erase the intimate memory she’d indulged in. She took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s very good.”

“You used to think my work was excellent.”

“Yes.”
I used to think everything about you was excellent.
She undid the button on her blouse, then tugged on it to cool herself. “You don’t need my praise anymore—you have plenty of other people ready to stroke your ego.”

“That’s not why I asked you. I’ve always valued your opinion. You know that.”

His honesty touched her. “I’m honored to be a part of this book. I know it’s going to be a hit.”

“Good. I’m ready to get started. I sent you an e-mail. I want us to meet Saturday.”

“Okay. See you then.”

That Saturday Brenda stared at her closet and realized she hadn’t worn her second pair of stockings yet. She’d tried her first pair on Dominic, why not the second? She put on a pair of striped gray stockings, which felt heavenly and added a bit of danger to her legs, then selected a soft lime-green cashmere sweater dress.

At first she tried on a pair of cranberry-red flats, but they didn’t work with the stockings or the dress. Instead they looked festive and made her look like a holiday decoration that only needed tinsel. She exchanged the shoes for a more subdued pair of two inch dark brown pumps.

She took a final look. Practical and sexy, but not over the top. Fitted but not too tight, and the green shade complimented both her figure and skin tone.