Beauty And The Brain

“Tell Me,” Rosemary Demanded. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

“Tell Me,” Rosemary Demanded.

“Name some stars for me, Willis.”

“Okay,” he replied. But something in his voice sounded a bit strained. “Like... like Beta Pictoris, for example,” he told her. “Or...or Regulus. Aldebaran. Arcturus.”

The heat inside Rosemary began to churn as he rattled off the unfamiliar words, until it swirled into a seething mass of turmoil, spilling into her heart, her hands, her head. And suddenly she remembered something. She remembered that she had always been completely turned on—yes, by Willis Random, whenever he started talking like a scientist.

Because even at fifteen she had always been utterly aroused by boys who could talk intellectual talk. Mathematical talk. Scientific talk. Boys who could split atoms in their basements after dinner. And there had been only one boy at Endicott Central who could do all that.

Willis Random.

Dear Reader,

Where do you read Silhouette Desire? Sitting in your favorite chair? How about standing in line at the market or swinging in the sunporch hammock? Or do you hold out the entire day, waiting for all your distractions to dissolve around you, only to open a Desire novel once you’re in a relaxing bath or resting against your softest pillow.. ? Wherever you indulge in Silhouette Desire, we know you do so with anticipation, and that’s why we bring you the absolute best in romance fiction.

This month, look forward to talented Jennifer Greene’s A Baby in His In-Box, where a sexy tutor gives March’s MAN OF THE MONTH private lessons on sudden fatherhood And in the second adorable tale of Elizabeth Bevarly’s BLAME IT ON BOB series, Beauty and the Brain, a lady discovers she’s still starry-eyed over her secret high school crush. Next, Susan Crosby takes readers on The Great Wife Search in Bride Candidate #9.

And don’t miss a single kiss delivered by these delectable men: a roguish rancher in Amy J. Fetzer’s The Unlikely Bodyguard; the strong, silent corporate hunk in the latest book in the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, Switched at the Altar, by Metsy Hingle; and Eileen Wilks’s mouthwatering honorable Texas hero in Just a Little Bit Pregnant.

So, no matter where you read, I know what you’ll be reading—all six of March’s irresistible Silhouette Desire love stories!

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire

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Beauty and the Brain

Elizabeth Bevarly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELIZABETH BEVARLY is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. “I really love to travel,” says this self-avowed beach bum. “To me, it’s the best education a person can give to herself.” Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older model forty-two footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a three-year-old son.

For Laurie, Debbie,

Gina and Tina,

my best buds at

Seneca High School.

Thanks for the memories.

Prologue

“I hate him. I despise him. I’m going to kill him.”

Fifteen-year-old Rosemary March glared at the auburnhaired, bespectacled, orthodontically decorated boy on the other side of the school gymnasium and frowned.

“That pizza-faced little twerp,” she said, continuing with her verbal assault. “Just who does he think he is?”

“Calm down, Rosemary,” Kirby Connaught, one of her best friends, told her. “By now, nothing Willis Random does or says to you should surprise you. You guys have been mortal enemies since school started.”

“Yeah,” her other friend, Angie Ellison, agreed. “Just because he called you a ‘simpleminded, slack-brained know-nothing’ in chemistry class today. I mean, he’s called you lots worse things before.”

Rosemary turned her venomous gaze toward her friend in silent warning not to remind her. Angie immediately fell quiet and returned her attention to the delicate gardenia corsage that hugged her wrist.

“Yeah,” Kirby concurred after a noisy slurp of her diet soda that sucked the beverage dry. “You ought to be used to it by now. And he’s going to be your lab partner for the rest of the year, so you also better get used to just ignoring him.”

“Oh, thanks a lot, you two,” Rosemary grumbled. “You’re no help at all. I only wish I could ignore him. But he makes my life miserable. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t make me feel like...like...”

“Like a simpleminded, slack-brained know-nothing?” Angie supplied helpfully.

Rosemary frowned harder. Yeah, she thought. Exactly like that.

The three friends were taking a break from the dancing couples who crowded the floor of the high school gymnasium. The Welcome Back Bob Comet Festival was in full swing, and the gym doors had been thrown open wide to invite in the general public and the balmy September night for the traditional Comet Stomp Dance. Rosemary’s and Angie’s dates had gone in search of refreshment and left the three girls to talk among themselves on the bleachers. Kirby’s date...well, Kirby’s date was sort of nonexistent, Rosemary knew, which was all the more reason for her to remain with her friends.

The Welcome Back Bob Comet Festival was an event that occurred in the small southern Indiana town of Endicott every decade and a half, and, as always, the community had turned out in numbers to celebrate. Comet Bob had actually made his peak appearance in the skies over town the night before, but he would be visible to the naked eye for another few days, and within telescope range for another two weeks. The Comet Festival generally ran for the entirety of Bob’s appearance, for the most part constituting the whole month of September.

The festival belonged to Endicott and took place with such regularity because, for whatever reason, the comet returned to the planet like clockwork during the third week of every fifteenth September. And when it did, it always—always—made its closest pass at the coordinates that were exactly—exactly —directly above Endicott.

Bob’s punctuality and preference for such specific coordinates had frustrated the studies of many a scientist since the comet’s discovery nearly two centuries ago. Every fifteen years, scores of experts in the fields of astronomy, astrophysics and cosmology—and hundreds of amateurs, too—descended on southern Indiana in an effort to explain the unexplainable. And every fifteen years, those experts returned home again with notebooks full of data that defied analysis, and prescriptions for migraines that simply would not go away.

And because no one had been able to explain exactly what caused Bob’s constancy or his affection for Endicott, the comet’s celebrity had grown and grown, and the residents of the little Indiana town had come to claim the comet as their own.

Comet Bob actually had a much more formal name, but virtually no one could pronounce it correctly—no one but Willis Random, Rosemary thought to herself with much irritation. Because Bob was named after an eastern European scientist who had few vowels, and even fewer recognizable consonants, in his name, and who had been dead for more than a hundred years anyway, the general consensus seemed to be, What difference does it make?

Comet Bob was Comet Bob, and in addition to his mystery and celebrity—or perhaps, more accurately, because of it—myth and legend had grown up around his regular visits over the years. Anyone in Endicott who’d been around for more than one appearance of Bob knew full well that he was responsible for creating all kinds of mischief.

Virtually everyone was of the opinion that Bob was responsible for cosmic disturbances that caused the local citizens to behave very strangely whenever he came around. Waitresses confused restaurant orders. People got lost on their way to jobs they had been performing for years. Children cleaned their rooms and finished their homework in a timely fashion. And people who would normally never give each other the time of day fell utterly and irrevocably in love.

And, of course, there were the wishes.

It was widely believed by the townsfolk of Endicott that natives born in the small town in a year of the comet’s appearance were blessed in a way no one else was. Simply put, if someone was born in the year of the comet, and if that someone made a wish the year Bob returned, while the comet was making its pass directly overhead, then that someone’s wish would come true the next time Bob paid a visit.

Rosemary, Kirby and Angie had all been born the last time Bob came around. And the night before the dance, as the three girls had lain in Angie’s backyard while the comet passed directly overhead, each of them had made a wish.

Angie had wished that just once, something or someone exciting would happen to the small southern Indiana town. Which, of course, Rosemary was certain now, blew any chance for the myth of the wishes to come true, because nothing exciting ever happened in Endicott.

Kirby had wished for a forever-after kind of love, the kind normally found only in books and movies. Another longshot, as far as Rosemary was concerned. Not only did Rosemary not believe in that kind of love, but Kirby hadn’t ever even been on a date, let alone had anything even remotely resembling a boyfriend. All she did was go to school and take care of her invalid mother. All the boys in Endicott just thought Kirby was too sweet and too nice for any of them to ever want to take her out for romantic reasons. Not that Kirby hadn’t tried.

And Rosemary... She sighed with much satisfaction now when she recalled her own wish. Rosemary had wished that that pizza-faced little twerp Willis Random would get what was coming to him someday. And that, she thought, was a wish with some potential. Even if she had to be the one administering justice herself, she’d see to it that somehow, some way, someday, Willis would get his.

Oh, yeah, Rosemary thought smugly as she noted again the pizza-faced little twerp standing in the corner of the gym all by himself. Someday—say fifteen years from now—Willis Random was going to pay for the way he had treated her in high school. He’d get his. She knew he would.

After all, she had Bob on her side.

One

He had been hoping Rosemary March would age badly. Even though he knew she was only thirty now, he had been praying that when he saw her again, she would be gray-haired, haggard-looking, stoop-shouldered, wrinkled and flabby. She was, after all, two years older than he was. Unfortunately, from the looks of her, Rosemary had only improved with age.

When Willis Random had rounded her kitchen doorway only seconds before and seen her for the first time in thirteen years, he had halted in his tracks, unable to say a word because his mouth and throat had suddenly gone dry. Common courtesy dictated that he should say something to make her aware of his presence in her home. Their past history together demanded that he feel defensive about it, even though he was here at her mother’s invitation. But once he got a load of Rosemary standing there, he simply could not utter a sound.

Bent at the waist, she leaned lazily forward with her elbows propped on the kitchen counter. Her gaze was fixed on the dark liquid dripping methodically from the coffeemaker, her heavy-lidded eyes indicating she was clearly still half-asleep. As if that hadn’t been enough, Willis noted further with a gasp that got stuck somewhere in his throat, her attire—what little there was of it—upheld her not-quite-awake status.

Flowered cotton bikini panties hugged extremely wellrounded hips, and a cropped white undershirt revealed an expanse of creamy skin most men saw only in glossy centerfolds. She was wearing white kneesocks, too, one having fallen halfway down her calf, the other scrunched down around her ankle. Her hair was a tousle of dark brown, chin-length curls, rumpled from sleep and the fact that she had a fistful bunched in one hand.

She was a vision straight out of a thirteen-year-old boy’s fantasies. And Willis should know. He’d fantasized about Rosemary March a lot when he was thirteen years old. Unfortunately, he’d never been more to her than a pizza-faced little twerp.

She must have somehow sensed his presence, because she glanced idly over at the kitchen doorway, then back at the coffeemaker again. A quick double take brought her attention back to him, and only then did Willis fully appreciate their situation.

He hadn’t anticipated that their first reunion since high school graduation would play out quite like this. She was in her underwear, after all, and he was fully dressed in khaki shorts, a navy blue polo and heavy hiking boots. And although his experience with women wasn’t extensive, Willis felt it was probably pretty safe to assume that most women didn’t take kindly to being caught by surprise in their underthings. Particularly when the catcher wasn’t reduced to his own Skivvies, and especially when the catcher was someone the woman had despised for more than a decade.

His suspicions were fairly well reinforced when Rosemary straightened and opened her mouth wide to emit a bloodchilling scream at the top of her lungs. He waited until she was finished, until she was staring at him silently with wide, terrified eyes, then he cleared his throat indelicately.

“Hi,” he said, pretending he noticed neither her state of dishabille nor her state of distress. “I don’t know if you remember me.” He stuck out his hand in as matter-of-fact a gesture as he could manage and added, “I’m Willis Random. We used to go to school together.”

In response to his reintroduction, Rosemary opened her mouth wide again and let out another, even more piercing, screech of horror.

Willis forced a nervous smile and dropped his hand back to his side. “Ah. I see you do remember me. And I’m flattered, Rosemary. Truly... flattered.”

The second scream brought around Willis’s companion—the mayor of Endicott, Indiana, who also happened to be Rosemary’s mother—and Mrs. March joined him at the kitchen doorway.

“Rosemary, for God’s sake,” her mother said. “Try to be a bit more polite. I know you and Willis never got along in high school, but the least you could do is try to start off on the right foot.” Mrs. March noted her daughter’s attire then and made a soft tsking noise. “And do put some clothes on, darling. You have a guest in your house.”

Then Mrs. March spun around with a quick “This way, Willis—I’ll show you your room,” and Willis and Rosemary were left alone again.

He scrunched up his shoulders awkwardly, then let them fall. “Good to see you again, Rosemary.” As he spun around, he couldn’t resist throwing over his shoulder, “All of you.”

He hurried to catch up with Mrs. March before Rosemary had a chance to respond with a hastily hurled pot of coffee. A wild rush of heat that he hadn’t felt in thirteen years sped through his body, but he recognized all too well. It was the feeling that had always assaulted him whenever he’d had to go toe-to-toe with Rosemary. And that had happened nearly every day when he was in the tenth grade.

The two of them had been lab partners in chemistry for an entire school year. Nine months of hell, Willis recalled now. And, he had to concede, stifling a wistful sigh that threatened, nine months of heaven, too.

He’d been the brainy geek who was skipped a couple of grades, two years younger and six inches shorter than every other guy in his class. Come to think of it, he’d also been shorter than Rosemary, and she’d doubtless outweighed him then. He’d been the proverbial ninety-seven-pound weakling until he’d taken up weight lifting in college. Of course, that second puberty he’d gone through toward the end of his sixteenth year had probably helped a lot, too.

And now he was back in Endicott, armed with five degrees—two of them doctorates—an assignment from MIT, where he currently taught astrophysics, and a high-powered telescope of his own design. He’d come back for the Comet Festival for which his hometown was famous, back for the answers that Bobrzynyckolonycki had refused to give him fifteen years before.

This time, when Willis studied the comet, he would do so with far greater knowledge and insight than he’d had when he was thirteen, the last time Bobrzynyckolonycki had come around. This time, when he collected and analyzed all of his data, it would be with infinitely more patience and attention than a teenage boy had been able to manage. This time, Willis promised himself, he was going to get the truth out of that damned comet, or he was going to die trying.

Thinking back on the vision of Rosemary and her scantily covered flesh, he bit back a groan. He’d always figured she would be the death of him someday. But he’d always assumed it would be her scathing words and utter contempt for him that finally did him in, and not his undying carnal desire for her. All of a sudden, he felt as if he was thirteen years old again.

And that was the last thing Willis needed. Rosemary March had made his life miserable when he was in high school. Alternately he’d hated and adored her, one minute wanting to cut her to the quick, the next minute wanting to cop a feel. She’d tied his pubescent libido in knots, something he’d never been able to understand.

Simply put, Rosemary had been an idiot, completely incapable of understanding even the most elementary scientific equation. How on earth he could have lusted after a girl who knew nothing about science, Willis had never been able to figure out. Oh, sure, she’d had a pretty face and a great body and all that, but she’d had no brain at all. How could he ever have been attracted to her? Even at thirteen, he should have been above that.

The sight of her standing half-undressed with her socks falling down around her ankles erupted in his brain again, and Willis felt himself jumping to life with a lack of control reminiscent of a thirteen-year-old boy. He clamped his teeth together tight and willed his body and libido to behave themselves. Evidently, he was still susceptible to pretty faces and great bodies, regardless of the brains that topped them.

Dammit.

Bobrzynyckolonycki, he reminded himself. The only heavenly body you’re here to study is the comet. Don’t forget that.

“Willis?” he heard Mrs. March call out some ways ahead of him. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mrs. March,” he called back, hurrying his step to catch up with her.

And Rosemary or no Rosemary, I’m not going home until I have the answers I demand.

Rosemary March stood open-mouthed and dumbfounded in her kitchen and tried to tell herself that what she had just seen was not Willis Random, but an hallucination brought on by yet another late night in front of the TV, with no other companion than The Zombies of Mora Tau and a pint of double-chocolate-chunk fudge ice cream.

There was no way she’d believe that the big hunk of manhood lounging in her kitchen doorway moments ago—however startling his appearance had been—could have begun his life as that pizza-faced little twerp who had made Rosemary’s life miserable when she was a teenager. Uh-uh. No way. No how.

The last time she’d seen Willis, he’d been giving his valedictorian speech at graduation. The class had congregated on the football field on an especially moody spring day, and Willis had literally been blown over by a good, stiff wind. Right off the podium, in front of the entire class of ’85, most of whom had hooted with laughter as a result.

The man who had just left her kitchen, on the other hand...

Rosemary shook her head hard in an effort to clear it. Okay, the guy’s glasses coincided with Willis’s myopia, but instead of the Scotch-taped earpiece that had marked the spectacles Willis wore, this guy’s were Ralph Lauren chic. And okay, the blue eyes behind the glasses were the same midnight blue that Willis’s had been. She’d always marveled that such a geek should have such gorgeous eyes. And yes, the man’s deep brown hair had been kissed with reddish gold highlights reminiscent of the auburn, unruly thatch that Willis had never quite been able to tame.

Other than that, there was nothing about the man who had just called himself Willis Random that even remotely resembled the obnoxious little jerk she remembered.

There was only one way to proceed with this thing, she told herself. She was going to have to follow that particular vision—and the other specter that had borne an uncanny resemblance to her own mother—and demand to know just what the hell was going on.

After she got dressed, she amended, glancing down at her attire. And after she’d poured herself a cup of coffee, she added, hearing the coffeemaker wheeze out a last gasp.

Armed with an oversize mug full of black coffee, Rosemary peeked out the kitchen doorway in an effort to discover which way her assailants had gone. Hearing nothing, she took a few silent steps toward the living room, and paused at the staircase. Muffled voices told her that her two visitors were upstairs, but she couldn’t tell which room. So she padded quickly up the hardwood steps, her movements silent thanks to her stocking feet.

When she rounded the stairway landing, she saw that the attic door at the top of the staircase was agape, its collapsible steps extended down to the hallway floor. Her mother’s voice carried through the opening, and Rosemary heard her saying something about the spectacular view.

Hastily, Rosemary ducked into her bedroom and closed the door behind herself. For a moment, all she could do was lean against it, trying to steady her breathing and figure out why her mother was here with a man who claimed to be Willis. True, her mother technically still owned the house that Rosemary called home, even if Janet March wasn’t living here. But Rosemary had come to think of the rambling old English stucco as her own place, having lived there by herself for the last three years.

Originally, it had belonged to her maternal grandmother, who had left it to Rosemary’s mother when she passed away. But Janet March had never expressed an interest in living in the hulking old house. Since the death of Rosemary’s father five years ago, Janet had preferred to live in a condominium in downtown Endicott, explaining that the move would put her closer to her job, and at the heart of all the civic activities her position as mayor demanded she attend.

So her mother had offered use of the big stone-and-stucco to Rosemary if she paid the insurance and taxes, and Rosemary had jumped at the chance to live there. She’d always adored the place, and associated with it nothing but good times and warm feelings. At least, she had until she’d glanced up this morning to find a man claiming to be Willis Random haunting it.

The memory jolted her into action, and she went to her closet to tug her work uniform off its hangers. She set down her coffee long enough to throw on her straight, navy blue skirt and crisp white blouse, embroidered discreetly above the pocket Jet-Set Travels. She was still buttoning up the latter when she ducked out her bedroom door and into the hallway and ran right into Willis Random.