Killer Kisses (8 page)

“I’m so glad you can see me.” Beneath his open nautical windbreaker, a tiny polo player raced across Chip’s shirt. As he placed his hand over his heart, the Virginian extended a small bouquet, and the scent of roses wafted her way. “Darling, these are for you.”

She ignored the flowers and took a step backward. “Chip, I’m sorry. I thought I was clear in my email. I don’t have time for dating now, I have to finish my thesis.”

He dropped to his knees in front of the desk, much to the amusement of a nearby child playing with a toy truck on the threadbare carpet. The little boy giggled and ran to his mother, pointing at the ‘funny man.’

“Please go out with me!” He clasped his hands to his chest, still holding the flowers. “I think about you constantly. I can’t sleep–I can’t eat. I must be with you.”

Levisa’s face burned with embarrassment. It seemed as if people were coming out of every nook and cranny to watch the dramatic scene. If she heard one more woman say, “Isn’t that romantic!” she was going to scream.

“Get up!” Levisa seethed between gritted teeth. “I’ll have a cup of coffee with you, but that’s it.” She grabbed her raincoat. “Let’s go.”

All the way to the café, Chip jabbered about his admiration for her profession, how dedicated she was, how lovely she looked, and how brilliant she must be to be able to identify all those accents. By the time she got into line, Levisa was exhausted. She looked at her watch for the fourth time.

“Did I tell you how much I admire you?”

Levisa gave Chip a weak smile and answered, “Yes, many times.”

For heaven’s sake! Why did it take so long to make a latte?

The preppy leaned his head close to hers, the smell of mouthwash heavy on his breath. “I must tell you, Sam Parker is driving me mad with his practice. Did you tell him to put marbles in his mouth?”

“What? No, I never even saw him in the clinic!”

“Gotcha!” Chip guffawed. “The look on your face! If only I had a camera.”

The milk steamer hissed in the background, matching Levisa’s slow burn. “That’s not funny.” She turned her back on the snickering man.

“Oh, come on. It was just a joke!”

Maybe they should play rock-n-roll instead of jazz to make the lines move faster! One cup of coffee with this jerk and she was gone. A second register opened and the clerk motioned to Levisa to approach.

“Let me get that,” Chip interjected.

“No, thank you.” She reached out to give the clerk a five-dollar bill.

“Really, I insist.” He flashed a perfect smile and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from the barista.

“I said—No— Thank You!” Levisa wrenched her hand away from his viselike grip. He was beyond a jerk, and had moved up to the jackass category.

“Oh, you are a vixen! I like it when a woman has fight.”

Coffee in hand, she backed towards the exit. “Get away from me. I never want to see you again.”

 Everyone in the coffee shop stared at her.

“Levisa, darling! Don’t do this to me,” Chip called, following her out the door. “You know how much you mean to me.” He reached for her arm.

Could it get much worse than this?

She turned to flee, felt her footing slip on the wet concrete steps, and tumbled through the air.

~*~

“Are yew okay?” Sam’s face came into her field of vision, a worried frown creasing his handsome features.

“Why am I on the ground? What happened?” Oh, my God! Of all the times, of all the places to run into him again! She attempted to sit up, but he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She felt heat rush to her neck and face. Was his hand really that hot? Or, was it just that the ground was so cold and damp by comparison?

“Yew fell down the stairs. I think yew got knocked out. Stay put. The police are on their way.”

“I just had the wind knocked out of me.” She took a deep shuddering breath and lifted her head. Flashbulbs went off in her skull and the crowd of students surrounding her began to spin. She closed her eyes to keep from getting sick.

“Let me put this under your head, Hon. Then yew can tell me what you remember.” The pleasant scent of a spicy aftershave wafted up from his jacket, as he tucked it in place. He brushed her hair back on her forehead, and his fingertips left a blazing trail on her skin. She blinked and found herself staring into his warm brown eyes. Her stomach dove in a long, lazy somersault. Yes, maybe she should stay put for a little while longer.

She took a deep breath. “Your buddy, Chip, he’s a weirdo.” She related how he had emailed her so often she’d had his email address blocked, then his embarrassing behavior in the clinic. “I thought if I got him out of where I worked, I could reason with him, but he wouldn’t give up. The last thing I remember was him trying to grab my arm. Which reminds me—where is he?”

Sam shook his head and frowned. “He ain’t my ‘buddy.’ We just live in the same apartment building.” He glanced around the crowd of students, his hair ruffled by a light breeze. “I don’t see him.”

The BMU Police and EMTs arrived, took reports from Sam and Levisa, and placed her on a gurney. She clutched Sam’s jacket to her chest, intending to return it to him, but when she looked around, he was gone. A pang of disappointment surprised her. What’s happening to me? I’m a scientist, cool, calm, rational. But when he’s around, I’m a quivering toy poodle! She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, and dozed off to sleep.

~*~

A week later, arm in a blue sling, Levisa stood behind the counter at the clinic, reviewing her caseload for the morning. Holiday garlands of green, red, blue and silver decorated the crowded waiting room, and the scent of pine filled the air. Senior citizens played musical chairs with one another, each vying for a seat closer to the intake room.

Levisa hummed, and headed for her office, juggling coffee and client files with her good hand. She was going to try to reach Sam again—this time through the Accounting Department. Maybe they’d know how to find him.

“BMU Department of Accounting, how may I help you?”

Mouth dry, she tried to sound businesslike. “Yes, I’m looking for a student in your department. His name is Sam—Sam Parker, I think. I’d like to return his jacket.”

“Certainly. I’ll put you through to his office voicemail.”

Office voicemail? For an undergraduate? How odd.

“Hi! Yew’ve reached the voicemail of Sam Parker. I’m not available rate now. If yew are calling about tutoring, I have office hours Mondays and Wednesdays from two to four in the afternoon. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to yew.”

“Sam, this is Levisa Harris.” She hoped she didn’t sound too anxious. “I’d like to return your jacket. Please call me at the clinic.” She placed the phone on the receiver, puzzled. He had an office—with voicemail. Only graduate students and faculty had those perks. And he tutored people. Sam Parker, Pigtown man of mystery.

Mrs. Pierce stood in the doorway, her plump cheeks flushed.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

Levisa felt a surge of fear. “Chip?”

“Heavens, no! I’d call the police if it was him.”

“Does this one have a Pigtown accent?” Levisa held her breath, hoping for the answer she wanted, and the right man to go with it.

“Oh, yes!” The receptionist smiled. “If he didn’t speak he’d be adorable. Puppy dog eyes…”

“Sam!” Levisa exploded out of her chair and pushed past the daydreaming woman to the front desk. Sam stood at the counter, looking around as if he was in a foreign country.

“Am I in the rate place?” Sam lowered his voice to a whisper. “What’s wif all dem old folks?”

Levisa suppressed a smile. “Free hearing tests.” She pressed her good hand on the counter to keep it from trembling. No man had ever affected her this way before. Could he tell? “I was just trying to reach you. I have your jacket. Come around, so we can chat in private.” She led him to her office and handed him his coat.

Their hands touched and a spark of static electricity flashed between them.

“Ouch!” Levisa jumped back, caught herself, and laughed.

Sam smiled and said, “Sorry ’bout dat. How’s yer arm?” He pointed to the sling, a worried look on his handsome face. “And head?”

“Sprained. Mild concussion. It could have been worse. Thank you so much for all your help.” Her gaze traveled along his strong jaw to that oh-so-kissable scar. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Sam looked at the floor. “Yes.” He looked up and made direct eye contact. “Yew were rate.” I had an innerview at the Career Center. The guy didn’t unnerstand me. Told me ta get rid of my accent. I need your help.”

Moved by his beseeching look, she fought back the urge to hug him and tell him everything would be all right. “First of all, you can probably reduce your accent, but I can’t promise you’ll be completely rid of it.”

“Okay, I can live wif dat,” he nodded and a shock of black hair flopped into his eyes.

“When do you want to start?” One-handed, she pulled out her phone to look at her calendar. If only her fingers would stop tingling, she could get the darn thing to work.

“Now. I have an innerview wif Ernst and Young in April. He sighed. “I really want a job wif dem.”

Levisa looked at his forlorn expression, and realized how hard it must have been for him to swallow his pride, and come to the clinic to ask for her help.

“The good news is, if you’re willing to do the work, that’s half the battle.”

He nodded.

“The bad news is that we need to get you ready soon—it’s only four months away. Henry Higgins had six months to transform Eliza Doolittle. And she lived in his house, practicing twenty-four seven.” Unbidden, an image of Sam practicing his speech exercises while lying in bed with her flashed through Levisa’s mind. She ducked her head down, pretending to look closer at her calendar, and hid her smile. “Can you can meet with me three times a week, an hour each time? And are you willing to work on a computer program two hours a day on your own?”

“I’m ready to work like a dog!” He gave her an enormous smile—then his face fell. “Is it expensive?”

Levisa pounced on the opening. “Not if you agree to be in my study.”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Tell me more.”

Pulling a sheaf of papers out of the stack of folders, she slid them across her desk. Their fingertips touched, sending waves of longing up her arm, and Levisa became flustered. Tongue-tied, she headed for the safe territory of her research spiel. As always, she concluded with, “These are the informed consent forms, including a description of the research project. This study is completely voluntary, has been approved by the Human Subjects Protection Committee, and you can stop at any time. Any questions?”

He transfixed her with a stare. “How old are yew?”

Taken aback, she blushed and stammered, “Tw-twenty-three. Why?”

“Talkin’ about your work, yew sounded older.” He cocked his head and grinned, showing perfect teeth—all except for a dear little crooked one on the bottom row. No expensive braces for him as a kid. “But we’re the same age.”

She felt her pulse kick up a notch and took a deep shuddering breath. “May I ask you something personal?”

He smiled and settled back in the visitor’s chair, long legs stretched out in front. “Fire away.”

“Why do you have an office and voicemail in the accounting department?” She watched him swallow hard and lick his lips, his pink tongue darting in and out.

“I’m workin’ on a big project. And I tutor students who’re havin’ trouble wif accounting.” He tapped his temple. “I told yew, I’m good wif numbers.”

Not a full answer. He was hiding something, of that she was sure. But what?

Claire sailed around the corner just as Sam was leaving the room with Levisa. “Well, hello!” Claire stood with a perfectly manicured hand on her hip, swaying back and forth. She twirled her hair with her other hand, in blatant flirt mode. “I see you found us.”

“Yep.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, brushing Levisa’s leg as he did so.

Claire gave Levisa a sly look, and then turned to Sam. “Did she offer you private lessons?”

Levisa glared at her friend and wished she could kick her in the shin. “Sam will be here three times a week for the next four months.” She had to remain cool and professional in front of Sam, or she’d never hear the end of it from Claire.

“Oh, good!” the blonde replied. “I’m happy to hear that, Hon.”

After Sam left, Levisa yanked Claire into her office. “
Hon
? What’s wrong with you?”

Claire batted her eyes and fluffed her bangs. “Whatever do you mean?”

She felt her face and neck get hot. “The guy is already mortified that he’s been told to ‘get rid’ of his accent, and you do that?”

“I was just speaking his native tongue. Don’t get all bent out of shape.” Claire raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were sweet on the guy, hmm?”

Levisa stepped back and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m grateful to him, that’s all.” A swarm of butterflies flapped into formation in her stomach, spelling out the word: LIAR.