Better Deeds Than Words (The WORDS Series) Read online

  I waved my hand. “I didn’t save anything on there. I cut and pasted the text into an email and sent it to myself.”

  “That works.”

  He opened the top drawer and was about to drop his flash drive inside, but instead he pulled out another USB stick almost identical to the first. His face registered first confusion, then panic.

  “Shit. Did you open any folders on this flash drive?” He held out the one he’d suggested I use.

  Oh, hell. Here we go.

  “Sort of,” I said.

  He dropped into the chair, looking like the wind had been knocked out of him.

  “I meant to give you this empty one.” He held up the other stick. “What did you see?” He looked truly panicked.

  Holy shit, what was in those documents that would make him react this way?

  “Nothing. I didn’t open anything. I saw the names of the files.”

  “Fuck, this is exactly why we shouldn’t be doing this.” He dropped his head in his hands. “You honestly didn’t open anything?” he asked, glancing up at me again.

  “I told you I didn’t open the files. I ripped the damn thing out of the drive before I could see anything. Which wasn’t easy, by the way. There I was, innocently trying to save my work under my name, and I kept coming across these damned files already named after me.”

  He frowned and mouthed a few words without sound. Finally he found his voice. “What? No, I’m not talking about those files. I’m talking about the tests, the sample exam questions, all of the stuff from my meetings with Martin.”

  I stared back at him, equally confused. “I didn’t see anything like that. I was a tad distracted by all the Aubrey files.”

  He expelled a gusty breath and put his hand over his heart. He bent forward and breathed deeply several times before sitting back up. “You’re sure you didn’t see anything?”

  “Don’t ask me that again, Daniel. I mean it.”

  He tossed the flash drives in the drawer and slammed it. Then he joined me on the other side of the desk.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, unlocking my crossed my arms and coaxing me into his embrace.

  “Don’t let me anywhere near your computer or your flash drives again until the course is over,” I mumbled into his neck. “That was the dumbest idea ever. What if I had come across something by accident?”

  He relaxed back against the desk, and I stood between his legs, eyes level with his.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn’t. I have too many USB sticks, and I got them mixed up. I’m sorry I accused you. That was uncalled for.”

  “I understand why you had to ask. Although once would have sufficed,” I added. “But now I have to ask—are those files with my name on them for school too? Do you have files on everyone?”

  “I have records of the students in the class, but they’re generic attendance and participation records. The files aren’t labeled for each individual student.”

  “So, what are the ones with my name on them?” I asked.

  “Would it be enough for me to tell you there’s nothing reprehensible in those files? Would that satisfy you?”

  “Not really. Relieve me? A little.”

  “Relieve you? In what way?”

  “Well, it did cross my mind that maybe there was something creepy or stalkerish in there. Like maybe you’ve got access to my personal records or something.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how awful they sounded.

  “Stalkerish? Wow.” His hands loosened around my waist.

  “Okay, that didn’t come out right. But wouldn’t you be weirded out if you were me and you came across a bunch of files on my computer with your name on them?”

  “Since I know what those files are, it’s hard for me to think about that question objectively.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you thought I would invade your privacy by accessing your personal files.”

  “I can’t believe you thought I would open documents that were obviously tests or exam questions,” I retorted.

  He sighed, re-clasping his hands behind my back. “We did it again, didn’t we?”

  “Did what?”

  “Jumped to conclusions, over-reacted, failed to give each other the benefit of the doubt.”

  I took a step back, freeing myself from his linked hands. “It’s a little disconcerting, isn’t it?”

  He wrinkled his nose at me like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. I wandered back to the bookshelf, needing a momentary escape. I scanned the titles of three large hardcover books at the end of one of the shelves: A Clinical Guide to Anxiety in Adults, Managing your Mind, Mood Disorders. Before I could even begin to reflect on the significance of this odd set of books, Daniel was beside me.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you. You must think I don’t trust you at all.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do. I guess I keep hearing my father’s voice—like screwing up is inevitable. Maybe part of me worries he might be right.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt you,” I assured him. “If me being here is messing with your head, I’ll get dressed and go home right now.”

  “Stay. Please?” Daniel leaned over his desk to grab our drinks. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go in the other room.” I followed him into the bedroom, that familiar mixture of anxiety and excitement churning in my stomach again. He put our wine on the dresser and turned to hug me, drawing my face into the crook of his neck. After a few moments he murmured into my hair, “You know what I noticed the other night?”

  “What?”

  “You fit perfectly right here.”

  “I kind of do, don’t I?”

  He let go, and we crossed to the chairs beside the bed. I sat, tucking my feet under me as Daniel flopped into the chair beside me, lost in thought.

  “Well?” I prompted him.

  “Do you want to see those files?”

  I groaned and palmed my forehead. “I feel horrible about what I said. I was out of line.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” He held his hand over the arm of the chair. I reached my hand out, and he laced his fingers tightly with mine.

  “What if I said I didn’t want to see them?” I asked.

  “Then I’d say you are the most exasperating woman I’ve ever known.” He tugged at my hand. “Come here.”

  I sat on his lap, throwing my legs over the side of the chair.

  “Those documents are personal, but I wouldn’t think twice about showing them to you if I knew it would put your mind at rest,” he said. “No secrets, right?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure I did want to see them now. His willingness to share them blew any remaining discomforting feelings out of the water.

  “How about we compromise,” I said. “Why don’t you give me a vague idea of what they are, and we’ll leave it at that?”

  “All right.” He shifted in the seat. “I started one file on the day you signed up for tutorial. It’s called ‘Documentation.’ It describes our conversations and exchanges.”

  “That sounds official.”

  “That’s exactly how it started. I was recording the things I’d said to you and the way I’d behaved when I was with you, especially when we were alone. To be honest, I was covering my ass. I sensed some—interest—from you, shall we say, that Tuesday morning. When you signed up for tutorial?”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  “Well, the blushing and stuttering, not to mention the drool—”

  “Fuck off.” I laughed. “That was the most epically mortifying first impression I’ve ever made.”

  “Not at all. You were charming.”

  I wasn’t sure if should feel insulted by the fact that he’d thought I could potentially threaten his position in the way Nicola had, but I suppose I’d have been equally paranoid if I were in his place. And he hadn’t known me at all.

  “So, when you were doing this so-called documenting—did you write about
your feelings for me?”

  “No, of course not. I was in denial. I wrote about how professional I was being. Keeping you at arm’s length, not allowing myself to be alone with you in a room with the door closed, never calling you by your first name—that sort of thing.”

  “So, tell me, Mr. Grant,” I said, dropping my voice. “Are you still documenting?”

  “No, I’m not, Miss Price. At least not in an official capacity.”

  “When did you stop?”

  “February thirteenth. I wrote one last entry justifying why I’d driven you home after you were sick at the play. Later on, I lay in bed for ages, but I couldn’t sleep so I got up and wrote more, but this was very different.”

  “In what way?”

  We were both whispering now.

  “Well,” he said, trailing his fingers gently along my cheekbone. “I started a new file. It’s called ‘Aubrey Price’ and is hardly something I’d share with a university tribunal.” He laughed softly. “I wrote about how much I wanted to kiss you when we were in the theater that night and how helpless I’d felt when you were sick. How insanely jealous I was of the fact that Matt got to spend time with you and I didn’t. That’s when I understood the hold you had on me.”

  “Really?” I whispered.

  He nodded. “From that point on there was no more documenting. I was trying to come to terms with my feelings, which I knew were completely inappropriate and imprudent,” he said, gazing at me from under his lashes.

  God, he was so sweet. He cradled my face and rubbed his thumb along my cheekbone.

  “I suppose I was joking on Friday when I told you I thought of March thirteenth as our one month anniversary, but that night in February was pivotal in terms of my feelings for you. The usher at Hart House asked me if I wanted her to check on you in the bathroom. She called you my girlfriend. I couldn’t help wishing it was true.”

  “Well, all signs do point to that as our first date,” I confirmed. “There’s no denying it. You’ve got it in writing.”

  “I guess I do.” He smiled. “Do you want to know more?” he asked. “I’ll tell you about the third file if you want, but I’d like to preserve some of my pride.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t need to hear another thing. I do need to get out of this chair, though. My ass is starting to get pins and needles.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, but we need ground rules before we head over there to curl up,” he said, gesturing toward the bed with a bob of his head.

  “Ground rules?”

  “So things don’t get carried away again.”

  “Wow, this sounds serious.”

  “It’s extremely serious,” he said, assuming an expression of mock sternness. “Rule number one. No come-hither lip-biting and raising your eyebrow in that sexy way you have.”

  “In that case, rule number two. No panty-melting dimply smiles and winking in that sexy way you have,” I countered.

  “Panty-melting? I like the sound of that,” he murmured, pushing my hair over my shoulder and kissing my neck, nudging the collar of my PJs aside to caress my shoulder. “Tell me, do these panties match your black bra?”

  I squirmed away from his lips. “Rule number three. No doing any of that shit you just did.”

  He laughed again and helped me up as I tried to wiggle out of the crevice between his leg and the arm of the chair.

  “I guess I’ll have to imagine they match,” he said.

  “Oh, they match, don’t you worry.” I rubbed my tingly butt as I crossed to the bed. Daniel followed me, possibly hoping to help me rub away the tingles, when his phone rang.

  He grinned as he looked at the display. “Hello, Penny. How are things at the homestead?”

  Moving to stand behind me, he wrapped one arm around me and rested his hand on my stomach as he continued his conversation. He swayed me gently as he talked, his side laced with giggles, sounds of surprise, and affectionate expressions, his lovely English lilt getting stronger the longer he spoke.

  “How’s Penny?” I asked when he’d hung up.

  “Good. Worried that Brad’s going to give himself a hernia, moving gigantic pieces of furniture around. And she told me to say hi to you when I spoke to you next. So, hi from Penny,” he said.

  “What was that about going over there to help with something next Sunday?”

  “The former owners painted the kitchen walls sea-foam-green. Penny’s dying. Jer and I are going over to help repaint. Maybe you could come along?”

  “That sounds fun. And speaking of,” I said, dragging him over to the bed, “can we? I mean, are we allowed to cuddle now? Or are there more ground rules?”

  “How about we use our common sense? After you.” He gestured to the bed.

  I threw myself onto the comforter and flapped my arms around as if I was making a snow angel.

  “What are you doing, woman?” he asked, perching his knee on the edge of the mattress.

  “This bed is huge! I love it!” I scooted up toward the throw pillows and flopped against them. “Ah, this is the life.” I beckoned, and he stretched out beside me, taking my hand and resting our entwined fingers on my stomach. He looked down at me, his eyebrows drawn together.

  “What is it, sweet knees?” I asked, rubbing his bare foot with mine.

  “Penny asked if I’d seen you since Friday, and I said I hadn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever lied to her before.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her I was here?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I wanted to keep this between us. Keep it for us.”

  I scanned his face. “That’s one of the most wonderful justifications for a lie I’ve ever heard,” I said. “Although, the truth shall make you free, Daniel.”

  “Oh, don’t start with that. You saw that paperweight?”

  “I did. What’s that line from?”

  “‘The truth shall make you free’? That’s from the Bible. John 8:32. Any guesses who gave me that as a gift?”

  “Your dad?”

  “You’re a quick study, Miss Price. He gave it to me last year for my birthday. After everything that had happened, he said I needed to remain true to myself and, in the end, everything would work out. I think he was trying to be helpful or inspiring. Most of the time, looking at it makes me think too much.”

  “In what way?” I sat up a little.

  “Usually it makes me wonder if he really does think I’m lying about what happened at Oxford. Sometimes I get philosophical, thinking about the definition of truth. There’s a big difference between, ‘what is the truth’ and ‘what is truth.’ You know what I mean?”

  I didn’t have a clue. Maybe if it wasn’t well after ten o’clock on a Sunday night and I wasn’t lying in bed with Daniel, I’d be able to focus on the question.

  “You’re hurting my brain.”

  “You want a sore brain, try writing my PhD paper.”

  “What’s it about?”

  He sighed and folded his hands under his head. “In a nutshell, it’s about Jungian individuation in Shakespeare.”

  “That’s a heavy topic.”

  “It’s fascinating when I’m in a good head space, but crippling when I’m not. I had to walk away from it after the fiasco with Nicola. Then I spent a month re-reading what I’d written before. It was like someone else had written it. It was almost like starting from scratch.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Then I had to prepare it for acceptance here at U of T. Nothing I’d done at Oxford guaranteed I’d get the go-ahead over here.”

  “I hate that girl. When I think of the way her false accusations have affected you, it’s…” I shook my head.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Old wounds.”

  He held me for a few moments, and we lay there in silence. Then I remembered something.

  “Hey, Daniel?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What’s your middle name?”
>
  “Garrison. Same as my dad’s.”

  “That’s a cool name.”

  He smiled up at the ceiling. “What’s yours?”

  “Lynn.”

  “Aubrey Lynn. I like that.”

  “Thanks. Okay, what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

  He shifted slightly to look down at me. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. Remember I told you I was thinking about crazy stuff earlier before I cock-blocked you? This is what I was thinking about. I need to know.”

  “Hang on. I was on the verge of jizzing in my jeans, and you were thinking about middle names and ice cream?”

  I laughed. “I was caught up in the moment, but it was hard to lose myself in the throes of passion when there are so many things I don’t know about you.”

  “Of course. How ridiculous of me. Vanilla. That’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. No scratch that, French vanilla. What’s yours?”

  “Chocolate. I love anything chocolate. When’s your birthday?”

  “June twenty-sixth. You?”

  “December thirteenth. And get this—I was born on a Friday.”

  “Seriously? Then it’s official. I fucking love Friday the thirteenth,” he declared.

  “Yeah, I think maybe I’m won over, too,” I said. “Okay, one last question. I take my coffee with milk and sugar. How do you take it?”

  “Black.”

  “Ew, really?”

  “Yeah, I don’t like it all creamy.”

  I snickered, unable to contain my naughty smile.

  He rolled me onto my back and propped himself up on his elbow again. “Do you have to turn everything into a dirty joke? No wonder Penny likes you so much. You’re cut from the same cloth.”

  “And you adore her, so I’m not about to change now.”

  “Good. I love you exactly the way you are.”

  “Do you mean that?” I asked.

  “Of course. You’re perfect just the—”

  “No, the other part. The love part,” I said, squirming a little.

  “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “It’s sort of a figure of speech, isn’t it? What do you think? Can you see yourself falling in love with me one day?”

  The room was extremely quiet all of a sudden, making my breathing and my pounding heart seem very loud. I looked into his beautiful blue eyes and shrugged self-consciously. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s already happening.” I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.