Undying Laughter

“Peace and Destiny?” he said, struggling to contain the snicker.

“Childbirth and LSD.” Destiny sighed.

“No wonder your father is chemically dependent.”

“He’s a drunk,” Destiny corrected. “I love him dearly in spite of it, so you don’t have to worry about being so politically correct.”

“I wasn’t being politically correct,” he asserted as his hand snaked around her waist.

Destiny could feel the warm indentation of his splayed fingers as he guided her out into the midday sun. She swallowed, hoping to quell the spark igniting in the pit of her stomach.

“Chemically dependent isn’t politically correct?” she challenged. “Right.”

“I meant it in the medical sense. If your father was attracted to drugs in his youth, he’s probably an addictive personality. One sort of dependency usu—”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be studying now,” Destiny interjected. “You sound like a textbook, Doctor. Lighten up.”

“A textbook, huh?”

Destiny slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and tried not to fixate on the feel of his thigh brushing hers as they walked slowly down the stone path to the parking area. It was like trying not to take a breath. Every cell in her body seemed to be aware of him on some level. Her mind honed in on every conceivable detail. The lithe movements of his body, the muscled strength of his thighs, the rather cocky assuredness of his swagger. She took in his profile from behind the safety of her glasses. He was certainly attractive, but that didn’t explain her response. Wesley wasn’t the first attractive man she’d encountered. But he is the first intelligent, attractive man I’ve met, her mind reasoned.

He held open the door of his car.

“This is yours?” she asked, cocking her head to one side as she stood next to the Mercedes convertible.

“Not bad transportation for a textbook, is it?”

Destiny snapped her mouth shut and scurried into the car. Why was Wes the one with all the punch lines? And why was she now adding financially stable to attractive and intelligent?

He slid behind the wheel, tugging at the knees of his faded jeans in one fluid motion. Destiny fumbled with the seat belt as he started the engine. She was just regaining her equilibrium, when Wes reached across her lap to open the glove box. His forearm pressed against her legs, rustling the flimsy fabric of her cotton dress.

“What are you doing?”

His answer came in the form of a sudden pop, as the forward edges of the convertible top were released. Wesley didn’t right himself immediately. His hand dropped from the glove box, and his fingers wrapped around the contours of her knee. He was close enough for Destiny to be able to smell the fresh scent of his shampoo. Close enough for her to feel the urge to run her fingers through the thick mass of unruly dark hair falling forward into his eyes. Close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his massive frame. Destiny went perfectly still.

He drew closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath wash over her face. Quietly his eyes searched her face before he asked, “Any further developments from your fan?”

An involuntary shiver doused her budding passions the instant she thought of the creepy notes and flowers.

“Not a word.”

Destiny should have commented when his hand slid from her knee to her waist, then over her arm and her shoulder, until she could feel his palm cup her chin. Where was her sharp wit? Surely she could think of some cute remark that would inspire him to take his hand away. She could, but she didn’t want to.

She knew that for certain when she braved a look at his face. Concern seemed to temper his expression. She saw it in the deep lines beside his eyes and mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Sure,” she responded with false lightness as she pulled back from his touch. “I’m fine. I tried to tell you last night that I’m not letting this fruitcake get to me.”

He frowned, apparently not buying her brave front. “He’s getting to you. You’re too smart to be so nonchalant about a potential threat.”

“Gee,” Destiny began, batting her lashes at him, “nice compliment. Sorta like ‘That dress doesn’t make you look quite so fat.’”

“You know what I meant,” Wesley countered with a frown.

“I know,” she said, softening her expression with a genuine smile. “But you’re wrong about me.”

“Really?”

“I’m not intimidated by this guy.”

“Caution and intimidation aren’t the same thing.”

“I know,” she said, winking in an attempt to lighten his mood. “I’m smart. Remember?”

“Then be smart enough to do whatever’s necessary to find out why you’re being stalked.”

Destiny swatted his hand away and ran her fingers through her hair. “Please stop using the word stalked. And either put on the air-conditioning or throw back the top. I’m going to expire in this heat.”

“Avoidance,” he grumbled as he reached over and pressed something that made a whirring sound.

Blue skies, bright sun and a sweet-smelling breeze filled the car. “I’m not avoiding anything,” she told him as he put the car into Drive.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not.” Destiny turned in the seat, tucking her leg beneath her in the process. Her eyes took in the strong angles of his face. Everything about this man seemed to exude strength.

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “I’m simply not willing to allow some lunatic to dictate my actions.”

“And what happens if this lunatic decides he wants to do more than just admire you from afar? Then what?”

“Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No. I’m trying to get you to understand the potential danger of this situation.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Caring.”

Wesley met her eyes briefly. “Don’t most people care about you?”

“You answered my question with a question. You do that a lot.”

“Sorry.”