he said, as he sat and made himself comfortable on the overstuffed couch. Might as well enjoy the show for as long as it lasted, he thought.
She was pacing now and pounding her fist into her palm, clearly committed to her cause. “Allerian spores flawlessly mimic human reproductive genes and are essential to my continued experimentation in gene replication. I’ve been working on this project every day for almost ten years and have been using the same batch of spores for the past two years. It’s imperative that I acquire a fresh consignment in order to obtain new funding and continue my studies.”
“Gene replication?”
She stopped midpace. “You know what that is?”
“Well, sure.” He frowned. “Generally. Yeah.”
“Oh, that’s good. That’s wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her breastbone. “Then you understand how important my work is and how vital it is that I find new spores. My dissertation detailing their meiotic patterns and the ability to exploit the resulting haploid cells has already gained international interest. I’m positive that further study will ultimately lead to unlocking the secrets to curing some of the worst diseases known to modern man.”
“Oh, yeah?” He’d lost her at “meiotic patterns” but wasn’t about to mention it.
“Absolutely.” She held up her thumb and forefinger and squeezed them together. “I’m this close to finishing the preliminary studies and I’ve applied for further grant money in order to move to the next level. It’s urgent and important work. But I need fresh, large batches of spores and I need them soon.”
“I see,” he said, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa.
Clearly frustrated by his blasé tone, she stopped her pacing and said quietly, “Look, Mr. Sutherland, I am a scientist, a very good one. And I…I need this job here in order to conduct my studies. Your resort is the main source of employment on the island.”
“It’s the only source of employment, Ms. Farrell, but let’s not nitpick.” Staring out the sliding glass doors, he carefully avoided making eye contact as he returned to his original argument. “So the reason you lied on your résumé was so that I would hire you so that you could live here at my resort for free and study our spores.”
“Well, yes, and—”
“And you thought you’d coast right into the mindless job of waitress in our cocktail bar to cover your costs.”
“I suppose that’s right, but—”
“And yet, you’ve never been a cocktail waitress.”
“Well, no, but—”
“Well, then.” He lifted his shoulders in a move meant to indicate only one conclusion. “At the risk of repeating myself, you’re fired.”
“Wait!” She rushed over and sat on the couch mere inches from him, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid, anxious breathing. Her scent, some exotic blend of spice and…was it orange blossoms?…enveloped him. Up close, he could see a pale smattering of freckles on her shoulders. He had the most bizarre urge to touch them.
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” she said. “I’m not leaving.”
“You don’t have to leave,” he said genially. “Feel free to book a room at the resort and study spores as much as you want. But don’t expect me to subsidize your trip.”
“But …” A heavy frown marred the smooth surface of her forehead and her lower lip was in danger of quivering. She wasn’t going to cry, was she? If she did, Logan swore he would throw her out of here faster than she could say meiotic … whatever. Crying was the ultimate weapon of female manipulation. He’d learned that the hard way.
“I can’t book a room here,” she confessed. “It’s too expensive. The only way I can stay is if you’ll let me work for you.”
He raised one eyebrow. “No.”
“Fine,” she said defiantly, and jumped up from the couch. “I’ll sleep on the beach, but I’m not leaving.”
“Wait just a damn minute,” he said, standing. “Nobody sleeps on my beach.”
She turned. “Your beach?”
“That’s right. I own most of this island and I say who comes and goes. And I don’t want vagrants setting up camp on my beach.”
“I’m not a vagrant,” she muttered as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. Her lower lip stuck out in a pout and as much as he hated the manipulation game, he had to admit he wanted to run his tongue over those pouty lips of hers. He had to give her points for that.
She swallowed nervously and took another deep breath and it seemed to help her regain some inner resolve. Her lips tightened and she faced him head-on. “I’m not leaving, Mr. Sutherland. I need to find those spores. I won’t go home without them.”
He observed her quietly for a long moment. “You don’t look like a research scientist.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do my looks have to do with anything?”
He almost laughed. Her looks had almost everything to do with why he’d allowed her to make her case in the first place. If she didn’t understand that, then maybe she had been hiding out in a stuffy laboratory for the past ten years.
Wait. Ten years? He knew she couldn’t be much older than twenty-five, which meant she’d been doing her so-called research since she was fifteen. If she was telling the truth, that is. Obviously, she wasn’t.
She was a liar, plain and simple.
Before he could comment aloud, she waved her arms and forged ahead. “Fine. I may not look like your notion of a research scientist, but that’s exactly what I am. And I have every intention of staying here until I’ve got everything I need to finish my work.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
He noticed she was barely able to keep from squirming under his sharp gaze. Good.
Then, without warning, she stepped even closer and stared hard at him, eye to eye. Well, eye to chest was more accurate, since he towered over her. But that detail didn’t seem to intimidate her.
“Look, I’m not above begging,” she admitted. “I intend to stay on this island and I’m willing to do anything you want me to do. If you refuse to let me be a cocktail waitress, I’ll clean hotel rooms or wash dishes or…or water your plants. I just ask that my mornings be kept free for the spores. That’s why the cocktail waitress job is ideal, but there must be something else I can do around here. Oh, I can cook! Well, I’m not a great cook, but I can make salads or cut up fruit or …”
Anything he wanted her to do? Did she realize how dangerous that offer was? Was she truly that naive? For a second or two, Logan wondered about her and her wide-eyed innocence, then roughly shook the thought away. He didn’t believe it. Grace Farrell was as manipulative as every other woman he’d ever met. Intriguing, gorgeous,
