You Made Me Love You Read online

  “And I don’t suppose,” Eli continued, “that after months of dealing with Martin, and then having me practically summon you up here, that I’ve given you any reason to think of me as anything but a scientific prima donna.”

  “Well, the thought did enter my mind.”

  He studied her for a moment. “But you suspended judgment?” he guessed.

  “You had one thing in your favor.”

  “Only one?”

  “For the moment. I got a call last night from Jennifer Conyers.” She let the name register.

  “The student newspaper editor,” he said, his smile warm.

  “Yes. She interviewed you on the phone last week.”

  “Bright girl.”

  “One of the brightest. You were very gracious with her.”

  “She asked great questions.”

  “Maybe.” Liza glanced out the window at the busy avenue. “Still, I’m sure it wasn’t like giving an interview to the New York Times science editor.”

  “I’ll let you in on something. I’ve been interviewed by the New York Times science editor. The experience is highly overrated.”

  She met his gaze again. “The reporter seemed impressed enough with you.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Thanks for reading the article.”

  Liza ground her teeth. “It’s part of my job to keep up with the publicity our faculty receives. You’ve had me up to my eyeballs in old newspaper clippings and videos since March.”

  “And you didn’t like what you saw.”

  She chose to ignore that. “All I’m trying to say is that not everyone of your stature would have been so generous with their time and attention to a high-school student from a school paper.”

  “I enjoyed it.”

  “So did Jennifer. She called me last night and asked me to thank you again.”

  “Duly noted. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “She also wanted me to tell you,” Liza continued, unable to resist baiting him, “that she’d decided to headline the article: KING OF THE JUNGLE IS THE PRIDE OF BREELAND.”

  He groaned and dropped his head back against the seat. “Oh, Lord.”

  “Don’t worry. I talked her out of it.”

  “Thanks for that at least.”

  “I told her to call it THE EGO HAS LANDED.”

  His eyes popped open, and he stared at her for a long second. Then he laughed. The sound did funny things to her insides. This man was danger, but that laugh still took the edge off his presence. It made her hesitate.

  And in that hesitation, she lost the game.

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “Has it been that bad?”

  “I don’t know. Not really. It’s very good for Breeland to have such a high-profile person on our faculty.”

  “But you’d rather it was someone else?” he guessed.

  “I didn’t say that.” She forcibly stopped the rapid retreat of her patience. “I think that you are a brilliant scientist who may find that the educational environment we have here is a little, er, restrictive to your style.”

  He laughed again, blast his eyes. “You think I’m a pompous jerk who won’t be able to communicate with your students.”

  She refused to back down. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do.”

  “Do I have any prayer at all of convincing you that I pontificate in interviews just to cover my insecurities?”

  “Oh, give me a break. You’re not just an egomaniac. You’re nuts.”

  His expression turned suddenly serious. “Then will you at least believe that I’m a concerned father who’s willing to go to great lengths to help his child?”

  Liza hesitated a second longer. “That I’ll buy. You wouldn’t have agreed to come to Breeland, and you certainly wouldn’t have asked me to meet you in New York, if it weren’t true.”

  She felt the tension drain out of him. “And for what it’s worth, I really didn’t ask you here today to disrupt your schedule.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head and leaned forward in the car. They’d turned into a gated parking garage, she noted. “No. I’m desperate, Liza.” His hand reached for hers. “Please help me.”

  2

  He was going to kill Martin Wilkins.

  It was as simple as that.

  The minute he got him alone, he was going to kill him. Martin, Eli’s personal assistant and the manager of his often out-of-control universe, had deliberately allowed him to believe that Liza Kincaid was some prudish dance teacher he could simply intimidate into giving him what he wanted. So he’d commanded her to New York like some eastern potentate summoning a minion, and promptly been caught with his pants down. Figuratively.

  He should have trusted his instincts. He’d seen her dance, after all. And the woman he’d watched moving across a dimly lit stage bore no resemblance to the woman Martin had described.

  Eli’s driver glided to a stop near the sheltered entrance of his apartment building. Eli was out the door before the driver had rounded the car. Charlie shot him a dry look. “You’re never going to get used to this, Doc, are you? I’m supposed to open the door.”

  Eli extended a hand to Liza and helped her out of the car. “No way, Charlie. I’m more than happy to let you worry about the traffic, but I can still open my own doors.”

  “Whatever you say,” Charlie told him. He tipped his hat to Liza. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “It’s Liza,” she said, in the same natural, straightforward way in which she said everything. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  “Do you want to come upstairs, Charlie?” Eli asked. “You want a soda or something before you head home?”

  “No thanks, boss. If you’re done with me for now, I’d like to get going. My kid’s got a soccer game tonight.”

  “Of course. Go. You don’t want to hit the bridge traffic at rush hour.”

  Charlie glanced at Liza. “You’re sure you won’t be needing me later tonight.”

  Liza shook her head. “My hotel is a block and a half down the street. I’ll walk.”

  “I’ll walk with her,” Eli said, before Charlie could interrupt. “And please don’t forget to pick up Grace tomorrow morning at seven-thirty. You know how her grandparents are about schedules.”

  “Not a chance I’d forget, Doc. All right, then, see you in the morning.” Charlie rounded the car again, slid behind the driver’s seat, and eased it toward the exit.

  Liza gave Eli a puzzled look. “Your daughter’s not home?”

  “She’s spending the night with her grandparents. It’s a chance to say good-bye before Grace and I fly down to Georgia with you tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “I thought I would be spending time with her tonight.”

  He’d thought so too, until his in-laws had started putting pressure on Grace. Against his better judgment, Eli had given in to their demands to spend more time with her. He’d consoled himself with the knowledge that he had the entire summer to find out what about the Paschells made his daughter so nervous, and to get her out from under the looming shadow of his ex-wife’s parents. “Her grandparents wanted to say good-bye. I figured we could talk before you met Grace.” He indicated the glass doors to his left. “The elevator’s in there.”

  Liza gave him a final, slightly quelling look—the kind he suspected she gave recalcitrant students, before turning on a sandled foot to stroll toward the elevators. Eli remained several steps behind her to afford himself the best possible view of this woman he’d pinned his hopes on. In the past twenty minutes, he’d learned many things. Not the least of which was that this sexy blonde with her dancer’s legs—the kind fantasies were made of—was as smart as he’d guessed. Another point scored for instincts, and another strike against poor Martin.

  The soft tone of her voice had hooked him. He liked the warmth he heard, the underlying generosity and humor. He’d stolen a few appreciative glances at the way her wildly colored dress hugged her generous curves. She had the kind of figure me
ant for a man’s hands. Her dress, an outrageous combination of red, orange, and blue, was practical, loose-fitting, and sexy as hell.

  She moved with a certain unself-conscious grace that fascinated him. She didn’t seem to know that her braided hair begged to be mussed, her tanned limbs asked for his hands, and her full mouth tempted. Occasionally, she’d toss her thick blond braid over her shoulder, but she had seemed unaware of his scrutiny.

  Most of all, he liked the way her eyes lit when she talked about the school, its history, its summer program, and its students. Liza loved Breeland. So would Grace.

  He slipped into the elevator behind her and hit the button for the penthouse. It embarrassed him somehow, this overt display of success. The car, Charlie, Martin, and now his penthouse apartment—they were concessions to the life he now led. Charlie and Martin allowed him more time for research and, more important, more time for Grace. He’d agreed to the penthouse only after his in-laws had persuaded him that asking Grace to adjust from her mother’s lifestyle to his so soon after her mother’s death would add undue stress to the child’s already overburdened shoulders.

  Still, it made him uneasy. He didn’t like feeling out of place in his own home, and he couldn’t shake the sensation that Liza Kincaid didn’t quite approve of him. It shouldn’t matter, he thought, as he watched the elevator numbers slide by. But it did.

  There was an earthiness to her, a simplicity that beckoned him. He’d spent too long in the brittle artificiality of New York and its media culture. The decision to accept the offer from Breeland, to uproot Grace—especially now, when she still seemed so fragile—hadn’t been easy, but he was certain he was doing the right thing.

  Any doubts he’d still harbored had slipped away the instant he’d watched Liza Kincaid glide across the darkened stage of Breeland’s auditorium.

  Liza didn’t know, of course, that he’d watched her dance. She had no idea that three weeks ago, he’d sat unnoticed among the parents and friends of her students, and watched the final recital. Nor did she know that he’d stayed within the shadows of the large room until Liza alone remained. With only the dull glow from the emergency lights to illuminate the stage, Liza had switched on a portable CD player and seduced him.

  Anna had told him that the dance, always performed within the empty walls of the auditorium, was one of Liza’s personal rituals. She’d done it every year since her return to teach at the academy. In those few moments when she believed no one watched, that there were no critics to answer to, and no audience to please, Liza Morland Kincaid allowed herself to let go. The sight had thoroughly bewitched him—and left him hungering for a clearer glimpse of what caused the passion and the pain he sensed in her.

  A resurgence of that hunger strengthened Eli’s resolve. This vibrant woman, who danced on air and felt such deep emotions, would bring his daughter back to him. She would share that passion with Grace, and Grace would heal. And lately, he’d begun to suspect that perhaps Grace wasn’t the only one who needed a transfusion. The dust in his veins was beginning to choke him. Liza, he somehow knew, with her vitality, could bring him and his daughter back to life. Most people would think he was crazy if he even hinted at the depth of her effect on him. This was the first time he’d even met the woman, but he had learned long ago to trust this sense of connection. The same instinct that had led him to outrageous scientific hypotheses, and eventually to discovery, told him that he needed Liza.

  The elevator finally reached the 47th floor. The well-oiled door slid soundlessly open. Eli hesitated a final time, then walked down the short hall to his apartment, leading Liza into his life. No turning back now, a voice told him.

  She stood in the marble tiled foyer, taking in the opulent environment with a placid expression.

  Eli dropped his keys on the small table near the door. “Home sweet home,” he said, feeling like an ass.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to feel a little out of place at Breeland.”

  Damn, he thought. “I assure you, whatever you’ve worked out for us is fine.”

  “Martin was very specific about your needs,” she said, following him toward the sparsely furnished living room. He’d had several of his personal pieces of furniture and art shipped to Terrance for his apartment there. Only the sterile, decorator–selected furnishings remained.

  “Have a seat,” he suggested.

  She selected the leather wing chair. “We painted your living room to match the color here.”

  He shook his head at that as he dropped onto the sofa across from her. “That’s the one thing in this apartment I actually like. It’s calming. Grace likes the color.”

  “Willow,” Liza said softly.

  “What?”

  “The color. It’s Willow. I had to have it brought in from Atlanta. Sunny’s Hardware in Terrance doesn’t stock it.”

  Eli studied her for a moment, not sure if the teasing glint had returned to her gaze or not. He decided not to risk it. “It’s Martin’s job to make sure I get everything I want. He can be overzealous.”

  She searched his gaze with intelligent green eyes. “Like his boss?”

  His lips twitched. “I feel strongly about things. It makes me good at what I do.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  He sensed the reticence in her. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you, or do you want to make me guess?”

  She blinked. “Are you always so blunt?”

  “Yes. Thank you for not denying that you find me irritating.”

  “I’m not trying to be rude. I didn’t think I was being obvious.”

  “You probably aren’t. I have excellent instincts.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “When did you decide that?”

  He shrugged. “Lots of practice.” He ran a hand through his hair. Lord, he felt weary. “I’d like to know, Liza,” he pressed, “if we’re getting off to a bad start here.”

  She hesitated a second longer, then drew a deep breath. “I’m—concerned. Not irritated. I think Breeland did the right thing when we decided to invite you to participate in our summer program. And I’m pleased that you decided to accept. I’m just not sure that you really understand the realities of our environment.”

  “Realities?”

  “Our students. Anna told me she spoke with you at length about how we select them.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know that talent and aptitude aren’t the only reasons we accept students in the summer program. There are other considerations.”

  “It’s one of the things I found most attractive about the opportunity.”

  She glanced around the apartment. He sensed her disapproval, and tamped down on his irritation. When Liza met his gaze again, he saw the passion in her eyes. “Breeland,” she said, “has a long commitment to using the summer program to build confidence and esteem in girls who might not get many breaks in life.”

  “Girls like you?” he said quietly.

  Her expression didn’t flicker. “I see Anna told you how I came to Breeland.”

  “Your mother arranged for you to spend a summer there. You excelled in the dance program, and Breeland offered you a scholarship. Your mother didn’t come back for you.”

  Liza nodded. “That’s right. That’s one of the reasons I have such a strong passion for the program. I was helped. I like to help others.”

  Satisfaction poured through him. She was everything he’d hoped she would be. “I understand why you’d feel that way.”

  “Do you?” She seemed to be searching his soul for something.

  “Believe it or not, I haven’t completely forgotten my roots.” He indicated the apartment with a sweep of his hand. “My parents didn’t live on Park Avenue, you know. I grew up in a struggling Greek neighborhood in South Queens. The lab at my school—if you want to call it that—consisted of a Mr. Wizard chemistry set and a plastic anatomy skeleton. My mentor was a retired pharmacist who volunteered at the YMCA.”

  “I read
that,” she admitted.

  “So I have a certain commitment to fostering the development of young minds.”

  “That was one of the reasons I first pursued the idea of inviting you to Breeland.”

  “But now?” he prompted.

  She searched his face. “You’re used to a very high standard of academic achievement. I’m not sure how you’re going to adjust to our instructional environment.”

  Eli smiled. Lord, he liked this woman. Like a mother hen, she was diligently wary of a fox. He leaned forward and reached for her hand. Her fingers stiffened, but she didn’t pull away from him. Deliberately he stroked his thumb over the rough texture of her knuckles. “You believe that I can’t?”

  “Did you really fire a lab assistant for filing a late report?”

  His fingers tightened, then released her hand. He leaned back against the sofa. “Yes.”

  She frowned at him. “I see.”

  Eli shook his head. “I doubt it.” Sunlight filtered through the wooden blinds of the large plate-glass windows overlooking Central Park. Particles of dust danced on the broken light beams. He tilted his head to study her in the wedge of light. “That assistant was also part of a previous project I’d directed where he’d consistently failed to document his research. The other three members of the development team had expressed their concern to me that he might not be up to the task. When he told me the report would be late, I asked him to come see me the next day. He sat in my office, nearly in tears, and explained that he couldn’t grasp the complexities of my current research. He was smart, but not very experienced. Pharmaceuticals and biochemistry are extremely high-pressure fields. I arranged for him to work with a friend of mine who conducts product safety research. It’s just as exacting, but not nearly as stressful. And then I released him according to the terms of his contract.”

  Liza blinked. “Oh.”

  “Did you believe I actually hurled a microscope at him?”

  “No. That hardly seems your style.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “Uh uh. I preferred the story where you ripped the hard drive out of his computer with your bare hands, and tossed it—and him—through a third-story window.”