Indivisible Line (15 page)

The afternoon meeting with Jeremy had been fun. She hadn’t spent much time out with friends, much less in the company of the opposite sex, except for Greg. Sarah had caught herself several times imagining that it was Greg talking about cancer biology with her instead of Jeremy. She’d imagined Greg’s blue eyes sparkling with animation while he discussed carcinogens and tumor virology. What was the world coming to? In the past weeks, she’d found it difficult to think of anything but Greg: Greg would love this; Greg preferred coffee to tea; Greg this, Greg that. Any more Greg, and she’d be a walking, talking Greg poster.

She tossed in bed and glared at the clock. Ten o’clock.

Sure, Jeremy was interesting enough. His wide shoulders rivaled that of a pro football player, and his brown, curly hair gave him a boyish charm, but she preferred mature men. Sarah liked a man who could take charge of situations and was able to say what he wanted and what he meant. She had even caught herself comparing Jeremy to Greg, which had been both unfair and unnecessary.

First, she wasn’t attracted to either of them, and neither one had shown interest in her at all. Well, that might not be entirely true. She had noticed Jeremy’s subtle movements and occasional attempts to start up conversation about whether she was involved with anyone. Second, she couldn’t be looking for a relationship now, not when her arranged marriage to Trimble still hanging over her head. She’d be better off concentrating on her distant and still-hazy future.

Then the little voice appeared again.
Don’t forget your feelings for Greg.

She tossed again and again, before she gave up on sleeping. If it wouldn’t come, she couldn’t force it. Maybe some fresh air would help relax her mind. Sarah got up and pulled on the robe at the foot of her bed. She slipped out of the room barefoot, and the darkened and quiet hallway greeted her.

Knowing her way around the penthouse, she required no lights to get to where she wanted to go. Sarah tiptoed her way through the living room, making sure to avoid causing the slightest noise. She reached the patio, noticed the sliding door open a crack, and found a figure standing outside. Under the glow of the city lights, she recognized Greg’s features illuminated by the radiant surroundings.

She turned to walk back but paused when she heard a sliver of the one-sided conversation that piqued her curiosity.

“If you’re sure it’s him you’ve located, I want you to tell me where to find him. I will personally see that he gets what is coming to him. It won’t be pretty, but I won’t be cruel. I don’t think the bastard deserves to live a moment longer.”

The weight of his threats slammed Sarah with a heavy dose of reality. Greg hadn’t forgotten about the shooting and hadn’t forgiven his friend, and he sounded like hell wouldn’t stop him from getting his revenge. Her mouth gaped open at the burden of his statements, and she refused to listen any longer than she already had. Afraid he’d catch her eavesdropping, she ran back to her room, creating more noise than she’d intended.

When the door was safely closed and locked, Sarah leaned against the jamb and tried to catch her breath. Damn right, she was scared—scared of what Greg was capable of doing in a fit of rage. She had a vague idea of who he was referring to, and she’d be damned if she would allow him to take matters into his own hands. Was Greg the man he’d said he was? Could she trust the man who’d taken her against her will, or had she been living in a bed of lies all along?

After she regulated her breathing, Sarah climbed back into bed. All of a sudden, she felt impossibly tired. What could she do? In her confusion, she started reciting the prayers her mother had taught her. Gwich’in words flowed from her mouth like honey as she wished she could do something—
anything
—before things got out of hand.

Chapter 10

Sarah sat in the kitchen, eyeing the coffee maker with impatience, sometimes glancing over to the big picture window overlooking the twinkling skylines. At six o’clock in the morning, the city had yet to rise from its slumber to grace her with another day filled with forced solitude and boredom. Greg had been too distant.

She was up earlier than usual, just as she had been for the past week. Sleep had been rather evasive for several days now, which she attributed in part to the fact that she hadn’t seen much of Greg, either.

Ever since she had come back from her study meeting with Jeremy and had overheard his conversation, she had barely seen Greg around the house. He’d refused every single one of her asinine attempts to draw him out, and he’d declined her invitations and subtle efforts with the justification that he was involved in long business conversations and satellite meetings. She had no reason to be in the same room with him under those circumstances, so she ended up moping in her room for lack of anything better to do.

From what she remembered of their arrangement, she was to help him out if necessary. All signals coming from him were that help from her was not needed. Why did it seem like he was avoiding her? The more disturbing outcome from this whole cat and mouse situation was that she missed him. It felt like she was experiencing withdrawal, and she’d be a hypocrite if she pretended Greg’s absence didn’t bother her.

She missed their conversations, their relaxed banter, and most of all, his companionship. With nothing else to fill her days, she’d gone out with Jeremy a couple of times, where they’d spent the better part of the day in the library buried in medical books. Sarah didn’t think Greg would mind if she went out. She doubted he even realized she was gone. Simon accompanied her each time, but he would retreat to the sofa at the end of the room when her studying commenced.

The drip, drip, drip continued, and she tapped her anxious fingers on the granite counter. She kept the lights in the kitchen off, not wanting to wake up Matilda, who always fussed at her for performing even the simplest chore. The elderly lady often shooed her away, insisting that Sarah concentrate on her school-related work instead of helping around the house. Matilda had been sweet, but it was stifling at times. In a way, she reminded Sarah of her mother.

The coffee maker chimed at last, cutting off her flow of thoughts. The aroma of coffee wafted around the kitchen while she marched zombie-like to the cupboard. Sarah retrieved a big mug emblazoned with the Wharton School of Business logo. She smirked as she filled the mug to the brim and added a teaspoon of sugar. With the steaming mug in hand, she returned to the counter and sat on the barstool. While she waited for the coffee to cool a bit, she blew the rising steam away from her face, keeping tabs of any movement in the quiet household.

Greg, no doubt, would still be asleep. Before she’d gone to bed the night before, she had spotted him on the patio, engrossed in another phone conversation as he had been for the past few nights. Sarah thought of the conversation she’d overheard a week ago.

Several explanations flashed through her mind, and considering the possible outcomes made her cringe. Greg shouldn’t take matters into his own hands; it would only lead to trouble. Sarah hugged her robe tighter around her body. The idea of Greg being involved with a heinous crime gave her chills, but they hadn’t gotten the chance to talk in several days, not that she had any idea how to broach the subject. Still, it scared her to think of what Greg might end up doing. She had to help somehow—encourage him to talk to her. But how?

You’ll have to engage him in a more meaningful conversation. Try harder,
her tiny voice told her.

“And you think I haven’t been trying?” she grumbled in the darkness.

“I didn’t know you were in the habit of talking to yourself.” Greg walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

She jumped, startled, and spilled some of her coffee on the countertop. “You scared me!” Hopping off the barstool, she hurried to the roll of paper towels, tore off one, and wiped the surface dry.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. Didn’t know someone else would be up this early. What are you doing talking to yourself in the dark?” Greg laughed, loud enough to wake the entire household.
 

He was garbed in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, and Sarah, despite her embarrassment, couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Even in the darkness, she could see the contours of his chest muscles and his powerful back while he crossed the kitchen to switch the lights on.

Her blush always appeared at the worst time. Being caught talking to herself made her seem like a child, and worse, he must’ve seen her staring at him. Sarah felt the pink creep up her face when the lights blinked on. Mortified, she took a quick sip of her coffee and tried to ignore his teasing.

Greg stood in the center of the kitchen, looking rather smug and comfortable while he waited for her answer.

“Considering there isn’t anyone else to talk to, I resorted to talking to myself,” Sarah said, raising her chin. She blew out an irritated breath, hating the goose bumps rising on her skin with Greg’s half-naked body staring back at her.

He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a long scrutiny before walking to the fridge. “You sound like you’re sulking, little girl,” he commented.
 

She picked up the laughter in his voice, even though she couldn’t see his face. “I beg your pardon. I’m not a little girl, and I’m certainly not sulking.” Sarah huffed and sat up straighter.
There you go—you just acted like one.

“Hmm . . . that’s not how it sounds to me.” He turned his head in her direction for just a moment. “Whatever. I’m going to make an omelet. Would you like some?” Greg took out four eggs, a green bell pepper, an onion, and fresh mushrooms and set them on the counter.

Sarah wanted to pursue his comment, but she let it slide. There was no point in getting into an argument with him over something silly. She nodded her acceptance when he raised an eyebrow. Taking another sip of her coffee and pulling her attention away from his bare chest, Sarah shifted in her chair uncomfortably. She could feel his eyes on her.

“Can I help?” She was hoping he’d say yes so she’d have something to distract her from the perfect male musculature in front of her.

He shook his head. “I’ve got it. I
can
cook, you know.”

Greg took a cutting board from the cabinet and pulled out a Gunter Wilhelm knife from the wood block. It gave an ominous gleam when the overhead light hit the blade, and Sarah inhaled sharply. Greg settled across from her on the counter and started cutting the vegetables like one of those celebrated chefs on television, dicing and chopping and slicing with speed and confidence.

“You can make omelets?”

“Among other things.” He lifted his eyes to her. “So, what have you been up to? I haven’t seen much of you around the house.”

His tone irked her for some reason. Greg made it sound like she was the one who had been unavailable. “You’ve been cooped up in your study from sunrise to sunset, so you wouldn’t know if I’d died or what. If my guess is correct, I’d think you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shocked with herself at her unprovoked outburst, Sarah jumped out of her chair and walked over to refill her cup, but not before she caught the look of what seemed like yearning and pain cross Greg’s face. Just as fast, the expression disappeared.

Sarah had no idea how to interpret the heightened tension in the room. She kept her back to him while she tried to compose herself, drawing several deep breaths before returning to her seat. Greg kept slicing and dicing as if nothing had happened. She watched him in silence.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. “What made you say that? I’ve been around. You, on the other hand, had been in and out, studying with a
friend
.”

It was so wrong for him to go there. He had no right to put her on the defensive. There was no way she was going to let him turn the tables on her. “In the absence of things to do around here while you’re working, I had to use my time wisely. And don’t tell me you just don’t approve of Jeremy as a study buddy.”

Greg’s head jerked up at her caustic tone. His brows drew together, and he held her gaze for a good length of time before he broke away, walking to the cabinet to retrieve a bowl and a whisk from the drawer. It was just another one of those reactions she couldn’t understand.

“I know Jeremy, all right. Son of Senator Singer, oldest of three boys, consistent on the Dean’s List, and broke up with his model girlfriend not too long ago. I know him well enough.”

“Have you been spying on my friend?”

“A senator’s son graces the tabloids and newspapers once in a while. It’s common knowledge among city folks.” Greg didn’t look up. He just continued to whisk the eggs.

The way he had recited all that information infuriated Sarah. “Look at me, Greg. Where is this coming from?” She leaned forward and tilted his chin up with her forefinger. When their eyes met, his expression surprised her. In his eyes, she found vulnerability she hadn’t expected and a hint of jealousy, which made her heart soar.

Her finger burned where it touched his skin. Greg held her gaze for a moment before turning away. He walked over to the stove and turned the knob.

“Nowhere. It’s going nowhere,” he replied in a quiet voice.

That wasn’t my question.
Sarah eyes widened. Could Greg be jealous? Why? He hadn’t given her a reason to believe he was interested in her in any way beyond the terms of their arrangement, which he was supposed to have concocted to benefit them both. As far as she was concerned, she was here to pay him back for what she’d done. So far, Greg hadn’t benefited from their arrangement at all. She’d been doing the taking, while he seemed content to keep giving.