Gargoyle's Mate (4 page)

***

Gordy ambushed her as soon as she re-entered the hall leading to the various conference rooms. “Okay, now will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

She sighed. “You’re probably going to hear about it when we get home. Mr. De LaRue represents a foundation interested in pursuing more extensive gargoyle research.”

“Gargoyle research?”

“As in the possible existence of actual gargoyles.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“I wish I were.” She exhaled deeply. “Apparently they would like me to head this effort.”

“You can’t honestly be serious about accepting the job. You’ll be committing career suicide.” He was incredulous, his normally pale face taking on a pink hue.

“I don’t have much choice. The university will receive a hefty donation for my participation.”

He frowned. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this?”

“Mr. De LaRue approached me yesterday, and when I refused he went over my head. I got the call from Hansen after lunch.”

“Surely there’s something else you can do to get out of this?”

“I wish there were,” she muttered, remembering Lorn’s too perfect form. “I wish there were.”

***

Fatima handed the silent man, who’d identified himself earlier as Mike, the last of the signed paperwork before nervously glancing at her watch.

He slid the items in a manila folder.

“Your passport will be waiting for you at the terminal when you depart for your international flight.” He smiled warmly, his blue eyes twinkling.

Maybe if she prayed hard enough it would get lost somewhere in transit.

“I’ll be taking you to meet Mr. De LaRue for dinner now, if you’re ready,” he continued, giving the dress pants and earth-toned blouse she’d changed into a brief once over.

This is as good as it gets
, she thought at the man’s quick perusal, wondering what Lorn had told him about the nature of their meeting.

“I’m ready if you are.”

Fatima followed behind Mike, speculating how he’d come to work for Lorn De LaRue. His accent appeared American, maybe Midwestern. He was tall, just above six feet, and well formed. He didn’t compare to Lorn, but definitely wasn’t shabby by anyone’s standards. He dressed much in the same fashion of most style-conscious twenty-something-year olds, in light colored flared bottom jeans and a snug button up black top sporting the first two and last button undone. For all intents he could have just as easily been a model. She hazarded a guess at what his hair looked like underneath the black knit cap he wore tugged down over his ears. Probably one of those forty-dollar unkempt looks so popular among hip white guys, she speculated.

She followed him outside to a waiting silver colored luxury sedan which sat unbothered at the hotel’s main entrance.

Of course
. Fatima rolled her eyes heavenward. If her own beat up compact sat there unattended for more than two seconds she would be making arrangements to pick it up at the local impound. She chalked it up as one more reason to dislike Lorn De LaRue.

Fatima sat in the rear of the vehicle trying to avoid getting too comfortable in the plush seats. The city scenery faded as they left Ann Arbor’s border, giving way to a tree lined rural setting. She watched in awe admiring the lush fall colors bursting vibrantly from trees. The beauty of seasonal change was definitely something lacking in California.

After several miles of quiet contemplation the car slowed its way down a private paved road. Fatima’s heart began to pound erratically when she realized they weren’t pulling up to a quaint country restaurant but a home or rather a Tudor style mini-mansion made of red brick. It was beautifully adorned with overgrown ivy which gave it an aged appeal. Mike came around, to help her out of the back seat and lead her through the home’s large foyer into a sitting room.

“Mr. De LaRue will be with you shortly.” He smiled and she felt a sense of calm overtake her. Alone, she allowed her eyes to take in the eclectic ensemble of old world furniture. She wasn’t surprised to see the room done in dark woods and deep colors; it suited Lorn.

“Your ride was enjoyable?” The rich timbre that could only belong to one man reached her just as Lorn entered the room. His sudden appearance caused her to start. Why hadn’t she heard him approaching on the hardwood floors?

“Yes, thank you,” she added as an afterthought.

“Dinner will be ready shortly. In the meantime can I get you something?” He indicated the bar in one corner.

“No, I’m fine,” she answered, drinking in every inch of his enormous height. He’d changed into khaki colored slacks and a cream mock turtleneck. His normally bound hair hung loosely past his shoulders, which only accentuated his Viking-esque attributes.

The throbbing had begun again, but Fatima was becoming so accustomed to the sensation it hardly registered with her now.

“When you said dinner I thought you meant at a restaurant,” she said, trying not to stare at his firm backside as he made his way to the mini-bar.

“Is that what I said?” he asked, pouring amber liquid into a snifter.

“Well no, I just assumed.”

He took a sip from his drink. “I hope being alone with me doesn’t make you uncomfortable. After all, we’ll be working very closely together and sharing many meals at my home.”

Why did his words sound like a warning?

He took a long swallow, emptying the glass in one gulp. Fatima found her gaze drawn to his throat as he drained the contents.

“I live in a very remote town, so the opportunity to dine out will be limited. Our being alone together is something you’ll need to quickly come to terms with.” He seemed to study her face for her reaction.

“I assure you, Mr. De LaRue, I am quite capable of handling the research without your supervision,” she began. “I’ll take the utmost care with your documents and whatever else is given to me to analyze.”

“I don’t doubt it; however I think once again you have misunderstood. My purpose isn’t to supervise but to work with you, under you if you will. It has always been my intention to be very hands-on,” he answered without annoyance.

She squirmed at the imagery his words conjured up. Had he intended them to sound so suggestive?

“While I’m sure you’re perfectly capable at everything you do, anthropological research is scientific and requires skillsets developed from formal education or hands on experience, preferably a combination of both,” she replied hotly. How dare he assume he could just barge in on her area of expertise as if it were as simple as reading the morning paper? Granted the items were his, but if she was to maintain any merit in an already laughable endeavor he would need to respect her craft.

“What is it you assume I do?” he asked, ignoring her diatribe, finally making his way to an unoccupied chair opposite her own.

“What?” Her brows furrowed at the question.

“You make having wealth sound like a crime. So what exactly is it you think I do?”

“I don’t know, and personally I don’t care --”

“I’m an engineer by education but my passion is anthropology and archeology. I have funded and been a part of many archeological digs. My primary concern on any venture is the preservation of our discoveries. I don’t believe every find should be displayed in a museum, nor do I condone grave robbing. I am a purist if you will.”

Fatima felt immediately ashamed. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.”

Before she could offer up the apology on the tip of her tongue, a young woman shyly entered the room, her eyes darting between the two. Quietly she announced dinner, waiting until Lorn nodded a dismissive acknowledgement in her direction before leaving.

They sat opposite each other in the formal dining table and Fatima found herself greedily enjoying the first course, a smothered fish and some type of exotic vegetables she’d never tasted.

“Why is your foundation so interested in proving the existence of gargoyles?” she asked.

“Why not? Gargoyles have just as much right as any other species to have their history validated and chronicled.”

His answer would seem logical if they were discussing an extinct creature like the Tasmanian tiger, or zebra horses but this was in a realm of its own. Still she had to admit a level of curiosity about the so called records he claimed to own.

“I am intrigued to see the items you’ve collected.”

He arched a brow at her. “And skeptical?”

She nodded but didn’t rise to the bait.

“Of particular interest are the samples you possess which would necessitate the need for a cellular biologist. You don’t - you don’t have some sort of biological sampling you think might be gargoyle in origin?” She couldn’t mask the fascination in her voice.

“I’m sorry but I’m not at liberty to discuss particulars now,” he apologized. “As I said before, I am a preservationist which applies to information too. There is still the formality of non-disclosure documents which need to be signed. They should be dropped off later.”

“Of course,” she answered with less enthusiasm.

Dinner was completed with minimal conversation, although Fatima found her companion quietly observing her on several occasions, his face was an unreadable mask. The release forms arrived during dessert and she was eager to read and sign the papers which would allow her to question Lorn further and finally get some straight answers. Disappointment sank in an hour after she’d interpreted all the legalese and affixed her signature to the ten paged form, which basically imposed a gag order on her. It seemed she would need permission to even dream about the information she would be researching. Sadly, even after signing all of her rights away Lorn remained closed mouth about the evidence he claimed to hold in his vaults.

“Tell me about Professor Singleton. Will you be able to part from him for the year required?” he asked suddenly as they shared a small sofa while he double-checked the forms she’d signed before pushing them aside on a low table opposite them.

“Gordy? I thought I made it clear earlier, we’re just colleagues,” she supplied. Why was he asking?

Lorn nodded his acceptance of her answer and Fatima could have sworn she heard a barely audible sound similar to a cat purring.

Lorn was pleased with her response, not that it would have changed his decision to have her. There was already a connection between them. He knew she felt it, could tell in the way her pulse accelerated whenever he came close, the way she stole glances in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“Is there anyone else you’ll have a problem putting an ocean’s distance between?”

“No, I’m the only one left in my family and I don’t date much.”

“Why?” He’d known about the death of her parents but her lack of a social life still baffled him.

She shrugged. “Work, opportunity, and a general lack of enthusiasm. I’ve just never been much into modern day dating ethics.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I’d prefer to live my life ‘game’ free. There are too many unspoken rules in dating today.”

“Such as?”

“Let’s just say I don’t have time to speculate over whether someone is really interested in me or just biding time until Mrs. Right comes along,” she told him frankly.

“So you want a man who is honest and forthcoming about his feelings from the start.”

She sighed. “Me and the rest of the female population on the face of the earth.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Of course not. We, women just love being lied to and having men trample over our hearts. It ranks right up there with female circumcision,” she didn’t attempt to cloak the sarcasm of her words.

“I don’t think women really know what they want from men.”

“How chauvinistic!” Her voice rose slightly. “And I bet you think you know exactly what women want?”

“You don’t believe I possess such knowledge?”

“Of course not. How could you? Men and women speak two different languages which prohibits true understanding.”

“And you think it’s impossible for our genders to learn a common language.”

“Not impossible just difficult, and most people today are not able to stay interested in one person long enough to really attempt it.”

“We’ve diverted from my original question. Do you believe yourself to be one of those women who want the truth and nothing but the truth from a man?” He found it difficult to keep the humor from is voice.

“It goes without saying,” she huffed.

“Why don’t we just test your supposition, doctor?”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“No?” he asked, taking her hand in his. “How would it make you feel to know I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I first laid eyes on you?”

She stumbled at his question. “Um…well, I would have to say I’m flattered. You’re obviously an attractive man but given the circumstances surrounding our
working
relationship it would be completely inappropriate.”

“Alright, but how does my question make you feel?”

“Well… I uh--”

“Ok, we’ll work our way to feelings later, can you be honest enough to admit your attraction for me?” he asked as his thumbs began to stroke the back of her hands.

He could hear the change in her heart beat. “I think it would be unwise to even entertain this conversation,” she began.

“You’re dodging, what happened to honesty? Will you admit it?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it, and by the way this has nothing at all do with the kind of honesty I’m talking about,” she added quickly, attempting to remove her hands from his.

“No?”

“You’re just talking sexual urges, man’s baser needs. I would like to think as humans we’ve evolved beyond basic primal indulgence.”

He gave a small laugh. “I doubt even evolution could change such a need.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He could tell she was trying to sound detached.

“You think you’re beyond succumbing to your ‘baser instincts’?”

“Let’s just say I’m happy not having a little head do all the thinking for me.”

“So you don’t give in to primitive desires?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Ever? I would think carefully before answering.”

He smiled and watched her squirm underneath his unwavering gaze, not wanting to back down. Images of her sensual display from the previous evening flooded his mind, causing his already aroused shaft to strain against his pants.

“No,” she stood abruptly. “And since it seems our conversation has completely deviated from the purpose of our meeting I think it’s time for me to go.”