LITMIR.BIZ

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If Sullivan thought sex was a natural magnet between the male and female species, how in heaven’s name had he come up with a set of rules no woman in her right mind would buy into?

      “It’s not your credentials I question,” she finally said. “It’s your conclusions.”

      This time his eyebrows arched almost to his hairline, and the pulse in his temple increased.

      Not a good omen for a compromise, April figured. Not when he managed to continue to look sexy as hell, in spite of his anger. She had to remind herself she was the man’s editor and not a potential playmate. That she wasn’t offering herself as a candidate for the mating game.

      She felt compelled to add, “I can’t bring myself to believe you were serious when you wrote these rules, Mr. Sullivan—Lucas.”

      This got his undivided attention. “Serious? Damn right I was serious. Still am! What I was trying to say is that sexual attraction should be resisted. At least initially.”

      April took heart. What was becoming clear was that Sullivan had seldom been questioned, let alone told by anyone that his work was a subject for laughter. She wasn’t sorry she’d been the one to do it. She might have been a little too frank, but at least he was paying attention.

      “Okay, let’s talk about your interpretation of your research,” April said.

      Sullivan still looked annoyed, but he shrugged. “Go ahead. Talk.”

      “Well,” she began, “I’m afraid your interpretation is biased. How many people did you interview during the course of your original study?”

      He squared his jaw. “The figures are in the original study, but there were 176.”

      “And that included both men and women, right?”

      “Naturally,” he replied. “How else could this have been an empirical study?”

      “Of course,” April agreed. Privately, she had a strong feeling the final ratio of male to female volunteers had either been skewed in favor of males or he’d been subconsciously biased in his interpretations of the answers to his questions.

      “How much did you pay the volunteers? The going rate of seven dollars an hour?”

      “No.” He sat back, obviously pleased with himself. “Actually I was very generous. I paid ten.”

      April sighed. “When I was a journalism major at Northwestern, for ten dollars an hour, I would have told you anything I thought you wanted to hear.”

      His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Simply that the subjects you queried were perhaps not being truthful.”

      Lucas leaned across the desk, eye to eye, nose to nose, so closely she could feel the heat of his skin. “No way! My conclusions are based on actual replies to my questions.”

      “Sure, and only because of the way you formed the questions,” April said. “Pardon me for saying so, but I don’t think your study was unbiased. Therefore, any article based on your original study has also to be biased. I’m just saying that we need to take a closer look at your conclusions.”

      Lucas felt his temper rise, a luxury he seldom allowed himself, let alone in a professional setting. Not only at April’s opinion of his research methods, but at himself for allowing his attraction to her to influence his professional approach to the subject of the mating game. “You think so, do you?”

      “Yes, I do. My job as your editor is to make constructive suggestions.”

      “That may be your usual job,” he said, distracted by the way April’s eyes seemed to change from brown to shades of green flecked with gold. “But it doesn’t apply here. I repeat—not when the work in question is based on a scientific study.”

      “Maybe,” April said, “although there’s science and there’s science. However, you should be aware that if your article appears in its present form, it’s bound to cause a great deal of controversy. The kind of feedback you might not like to hear.”

      Determined to overlook April’s challenge to his professionalism, Lucas took a deep breath. “I still stand by my work.”

      “Even if I can persuade you otherwise?”

      “Careful, Ms. Morgan.” A calculating smile came over his face. “You’re treading on thin ice. What would you do if I took you up on your offer?”

      April wondered if he actually realized he’d made a sexual innuendo. If so, there had to be more to Sullivan than met the eye. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should leave this discussion for tomorrow? It’ll give me time to go over your article more carefully.”

      “Yes, of course.” He rose to his feet. “Not too early, please. I’m going to be up late tonight.”

      “Research?”

      “In a manner of speaking,” he said as he turned to leave.

      April wondered about the glint in his eye.

      “By the way,” she said as she made a show of straightening the manuscript pages, “how was your lunch in the executive dining room?”

      Lucas turned back. “Okay. What makes you ask?”

      “Just okay?” April reached into her purse for a tissue. “Not if you had their chocolate soufflé for dessert.”

      “How did you know?”

      Ignoring the urge to wipe the bit of chocolate off his chin, April handed Lucas the tissue. “You have some chocolate on the corner of your chin. If there’s anything I recognize, it’s chocolate soufflé. It happens to be a favorite of mine.”

      Lucas rubbed at his chin with the tissue and, to her surprise, winked. “I’ll have to remember that important detail—and a few other things, as well.”

      April wondered what he meant by “a few other things.” She only knew that the phrase and the way he delivered it caused butterflies to flutter through her midsection.

      “I’ll call you later this afternoon to make an appointment,” she said.

      “Sorry,” Sullivan said, “but I won’t be home to take the call. Let’s just say I’ll try to be here as early as I can tomorrow morning and leave it at that, all right?”

      He would try? Most academics would give a year’s salary to be published in Today’s World, an eclectic magazine with far more readers than any scientific journal. “What can be more important than our discussing your article?”

      “I play in a small band. We’re practicing this afternoon for a performance tonight.”

      “A chamber music quartet?”

      “Uh, not exactly.”

      The reluctance in Sullivan’s voice whetted April’s curiosity. “How, ‘not exactly’?”

      “Actually, it’s a rock band and I play lead guitar.”

      April didn’t believe him, but she didn’t let on. “Uh, where did you say you were performing tonight?”

      “I didn’t, but we’ll be at the Roxy on the north side of town. Why?”

      “Just curious.” It wasn’t easy for April to keep a straight face when laughter at the absurdity of a serious academic playing in a rock band threatened to overcome her, but she managed. She’d already laughed at one of the man’s endeavors; to laugh at another might totally alienate Sullivan, not to mention cost her her job.

      There must have been something in her voice that made him turn back at the door. “You don’t believe me?”

      “I do. It’s just such a surprise,” she said quickly. “You not only teach, you write. How in heaven’s name do you manage to find time to be in a rock band?”

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