Beyond All Dreams (15 page)

“Why did you ask me out here?” she asked. “I gather it wasn't to see an orange orchid or these chestnut trees.”

For the first time since she'd met him, he seemed nervous. He
sat on the far side of the bench, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground.

“The French have an expression called
coup de foudre
,” he finally said. “Are you familiar with the term?”

Lessons in foreign languages were hardly something Aunt Ruth had been willing to fund. “Never heard of it.”

“The literal translation is ‘stroke of lightning,'” he said. “It's the moment when lightning strikes and transforms you. When an indelible impression is made and you want to hold on to it so it lasts forever.” He turned to look at her. “The English are much more straightforward. They call it ‘love at first sight.'”

He looked at her with a blend of caution and hopefulness, as though waiting for her to respond, but what on earth was she supposed to say? She had no idea where this conversation was heading, yet how strange he looked . . . vulnerable and ill at ease as the wind tugged at his hair.

“Love at first sight is an instinctive, compulsive feeling,” he said. “It makes you feel unbelievably alive. Like the world will never be quite right unless you leap across the room and claim the object of your affection. Of course, love at first sight has no basis in the logical world and is likely only a figment of a hopeful imagination. Only poets and irrational fools believe in it.”

“I agree.”

He laughed a little at that. His eyes warmed, and the tension broke as he leaned back against the bench, studying her. “The problem is,” he said slowly, “despite all my efforts to deny it and then ignore it—and listen carefully, because this part involves you—I was struck hard with that bolt of lightning the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

She shot up from the bench, unwilling to believe she'd heard him correctly. Her mouth went dry, and she began pacing around the bench, casting her eyes everywhere but at him.

“This is when I need to look around for hecklers lurking behind the trees,” Anna said, “to see if you've got friends eavesdropping and waiting to burst out into riotous laughter. Come on, where are they?”

“There's no one here but us.” His face flushed, and he sat a little straighter on the bench, rubbing his palms against his thighs as he resumed speaking in a clipped voice. “I keep waiting for the feeling to fade, but it's not going anywhere. I've spent most of my adult life alone. I was like an unlit match, and then suddenly
you
were there and everything flared to life. Nothing's been the same since.”

“Oh, for pity's sake . . .” He had to be teasing her. She kept waiting for that reckless grin to appear and his confession that this was all a jest, but the earnest, hungry look remained on his face.

“This has happened to me before—”

She whirled around to look at him. “It has?”

“Once. Only once before in my entire life have I felt this uncontrollable—” he searched the sky as if looking for the proper word—“this
unquenchable
obsession that knocked me flat.”

“Who was she?” It was none of her business, but she was curious all the same.

“Violet Desjardins. She was an opera singer whose company came through Bangor on tour. I took one look at her and fell hard. We liked the same poets, the same music. We'd escape from the city and spend hours wandering in the woods, doing little but staring at each other in stupid wonder. At the time, it felt like magic. Even now the memory still feels a little magical.”

The longing on his face, the wistfulness . . . Anna didn't know if she'd ever seen that level of pain and joy mingled at the same time. “What happened?” she asked.

He took a deep breath as he snapped back to the present.
“Well, Violet and I had a huge fundamental stumbling block in our path. I was only eighteen, and she was twenty-nine.”

Anna gasped.

“That was my mother's reaction as well,” he said, humor lightening his expression. “Bangor was still very much a small town, and it didn't take long for that juicy bit of gossip to spread like wildfire. My father threatened to cut me out of my share of the tourmaline mine. He was convinced Violet was a gold digger, but she wasn't. Besides, I didn't care about the money. I didn't care about the difference in our ages. She was beautiful, she loved me, and I was quite certain I would love her until my dying breath, so who cared about a few years? I asked her to marry me, and I think it was my proposal that brought her to her senses. She left me two days later.”

He plucked a blade of grass from the ground, rubbing it between his palms. “The people of Bangor treated it like a big joke, although it wasn't a joke to me. There was a real beauty to our relationship. After she told me it was over, I staggered up to my bedroom, locked the door, and sobbed so hard I could barely breathe.” He tossed the blade of grass to the ground and sent her a smile. “You know I'll be forced to have you executed if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“Believe me, I won't be sharing this conversation.”

“Violet was very decent about it when she left, saying I'd thank her someday. She was right, of course. The rush of infatuation eventually faded. I fully expected that to happen with you.”

She stilled. “And?”

“Not yet. I'm still bowled over by you, but I'm working on it. I figure it's bound to get better soon.”

She stifled a laugh. “Are you looking for some kind of cure? Trust me, I'm no prize. You'd learn that about me if you got to know me a little better.”

“That's what I'm banking on.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. She couldn't believe this conversation was actually happening. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable. “So this is why you arranged for me to handle all those research questions? Hoping that the constant exposure would render you immune to my astonishing charm?”

He shook his head. “I needed the research done and knew you would be up for the task. I thought the infatuation would pass quickly, but it hasn't. In fact, it's getting worse.”

“Oh dear.” So she hadn't been imagining the electricity that hummed in the air whenever he was near. She'd been stifling her own instinctive attraction, and now it was going to be impossible to ignore. A squirrel ran across the path in front of them, burrowing through the leaves and hunting for some hidden treasure. It was easier to watch the squirrel's nervous movements than focus on the powerful, charming man sitting only a few feet away, spilling out his innermost feelings.

“Anna,” he began slowly, rising to step closer to her. She backed up until she bumped against the trunk of the tree. “Is there some small chance that my feelings might be reciprocated? I don't believe in love at first sight, and I fully accept that this infatuation is going to fade. But now that I know you better, I think you might be exactly what I've always been looking for. I want more time with you to see if this strike of lightning could turn into something real, something lasting.”

“It can't. It would be a disaster.” She turned to face the trunk of the chestnut tree, deeply furrowed with coarse gray bark. She pressed her fingers into the rough grooves, running her thumb up and down in one of them, picking at the bark—anything rather than to look at Luke Callahan, who was laying his heart at her feet.

“Why? Is there someone else?”

There was no one else, but she'd already resigned herself to living alone. She'd have to quit her job if she ever married. Not that it was inconceivable for her to trade in librarianship for life as a wife and mother, but she could never marry a politician. The expectations of a political wife were beyond what she could handle. Hosting parties, mingling with senators and diplomats, maybe even, heaven help her, making speeches at election campaigns. If Anna had to imagine what the inner rings of Dante's
Inferno
looked like, it would be life as a politician's wife.

Not that Luke Callahan was asking for her hand in marriage, but she'd be a fool to overlook where this path could lead, for there were only two outcomes. It would either be a courtship that ended badly with hurt feelings and the possibility of losing her job for dallying with a member of Congress, or marriage and the ghastly duties as a congressman's wife. Those were the only possibilities, and neither one appealed to her.

“We're too different, Mr. Callahan.”

“Luke.”

“We're too different, Luke. If I were to ever have a serious suitor, he'd be someone like me. Bookish. Private. Ordinary.”

“There's nothing ordinary about you.”

A chunk of bark broke off in her hands. She tossed it aside and began picking at another groove. “I don't believe in love at first sight either.”

“Actually, it wasn't so much the sight of you as the sound of your voice,” Luke said, and Anna remembered leaning close to his ear to whisper that setdown in the Fisheries meeting.

“Love at first insult?” she asked.

He broke into a laugh, but sobered quickly. “I think it really hit me the first time I met you in the map room and saw the way you handled those books as if they were holy relics. I felt
like a piece of my soul recognized you. I don't know any better words for it than that.”

This couldn't be happening. Luke Callahan couldn't possibly have any serious intentions toward her, and anything short of marriage would put her at risk of losing her job. Rumors about the two of them could leave her unemployed, with no income and no way to support her aunt Ruth.

“My feelings aren't going to change,” she said, still facing the tree. “I don't share your interest.”

“Ah.” It was only a single syllable, but the weight of disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. A rustling of fabric behind her signaled his approach. His hand braced on the tree above her head, his voice a whisper. “Are you sure about that? I can be a patient man if you'd like to think about it for a while.”

It was safer to continue living her life exactly as it was. She had a job she loved and an abiding friendship with Neville to help assuage her loneliest days. Still Luke remained, not moving his hand, and the silence became awkward as he waited for her reply.

“I don't need time to think about it,” she said quickly, hoping to squelch the seeds of temptation beginning to take root.

He pushed away from the tree, and finally the tension eased a bit. She risked a glance at him. The corners of his mouth were turned down as he tugged his jacket straight.

“Well, I expect the infatuation will fade soon enough,” Luke said. “I have no intention of withdrawing my research requests, as you've been shockingly efficient. And since absence tends to make the heart grow fonder, I'd like to continue working with you. It's impossible to sustain this level of infatuation for someone you know well. So, feel free to show me your worst. Although why you'd want to pass on a man of my stunning qualities is beyond me.”

“You must be the most arrogant man ever born.”

“See? Already a bit of your appeal is fading. Thank you, O'Brien.” He opened his pocket watch, then snapped it closed. “I am due back at the Capitol. Another scintillating meeting on mollusks.”

He set off at a brisk pace, and she stared at his straight back as he walked away from her. She rubbed her throat and wished she had a lozenge to soothe the ache. She'd done the right thing, of course. If Luke Callahan really understood who she was, he'd be embarrassed to be seen with her. She was a short, ordinary girl who had a voice like sandpaper and the habits of a hermit crab.

She also had a job at the most prestigious library in the country, and it would be foolish to ignore the realities of her position. Sarah Starling had been fired for kissing a congressman in the cloakroom. They would be no kinder to Anna if she was caught kissing a congressman beneath a chestnut tree or anywhere else in the city.

Anna's rejection hurt a lot more than he let on, and as Luke walked home that evening, the crushing weight of it became a physical ache. How could he have misread Anna's signals so badly? She seemed to brighten every time he walked into the map room. That wasn't arrogance; it was a fact. He'd hoped his long days of bachelorhood were finally drawing to a close, but Anna had flicked him away like an insect that dared to scale the high walls she hid behind.

Maybe he was just lonely, but his gloom felt so heavy it was an effort to slog up the four flights of stairs to his hotel room. Which felt dark, barren, and cold. Someday Luke wanted to stride through his front door after a long day at work and be
greeted by a radiant wife. By the laughter of little children as they hurled themselves across the room at him.

At least he had Philip. On evenings like these, Luke wished he'd simply opened his wallet and paid off the debt the boy owed to the hotel. It would have spared Luke a month of lonely evenings in this cramped suite of rooms. Philip wasn't released from bondage in the laundry room until eight o'clock. Five minutes after eight the boy dragged himself into their suite, and Luke pounced.