High Energy, Joy, Dara [books to read this summer .txt] 📗

back against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. He

stared at her with an expression of combined disbelief and amusement. "Did you

think I sprang from the forehead of Galileo fully grown?" he asked dryly.

"Well no, of course not. I just never pictured you with—" He quirked an eyebrow

at her. "All right, so maybe I did think that! So, are they traveling?"

"Yes, my father is on sabbatical; they're in Greece."

"He's a teacher?"

"Professor of Antiquities at Harvard."

Zanita digested this piece of information, fidgeting slightly. Then she suddenly

smiled as something dawned on her.

"Of course." She snapped her fingers. "That's how you ended up with Tyberius

Augustus." The father must be just as much of a kook as the son. Who named their

kid Tyberius Augustus?

"What are your brothers and sisters named—Claudius Aurelius and Hera Athena?"

She giggled.

Tyber frowned at her. "I am an only child, and what's wrong with my name?"

"Nothing; its a beautiful name. Very unconventional—suits you to a tee."

"My mother thought so. She's always said that as soon as Dad suggested it, she

knew it was perfect for me."

This woman was either very much in love with her husband or Zanita was involved

with the Addams Family. Probably both. She cleared her throat. "Is your mother a

professor too?"

Tyber grinned. "Hell, no. She's an artist. She paints trash."

"That bad?"

He laughed. "No, I mean she actually paints trash. You know—flea market stuff;

she uses it in her work. She's really quite good."

Another kook. Yep. The Addams Family.

As if to lend credence to her thoughts, at that moment Blooey bustled into the

foyer, squawking, "Are ye gonna stand there all night diddlin' away with the

lass while me supper goes to the squabs, Captain? "

Probably chastised, Tyber followed behind Zanita into the kitchen, bending down

once to murmur in her ear, "Diddlin'?"

Zanita, who knew exactly what the word meant, just shrugged her shoulders,

thankful that he was behind her and couldn't see her blush.

Catching her expression in the hall mirror they passed, Tyber grinned wickedly.

Blooey was a crusty old tar. He liked that in a man.

The following days seemed to fall into the regular Evans pattern, if anything

having to do with Tyber could be called either regular or a pattern.

Zanita worked on her usual array of articles; Tyber worked on… well, whatever it

was Tyber worked on. One evening he uncharacteristically went back down to his

lab, saying he had an idea he needed to "get down" right away. He was back

upstairs in less than thirty minutes.

Zanita, who had been watching an old movie, looked up in alarm at the sharklike

grin on his face as he began walking—no, stalking—toward her, proclaiming that

he had a sudden uncontrollable urge to teach her quantum mechanics.

She shrieked and fell right in with his plans by bolting up the stairs and into

their bedroom, a pursuing Tyber right on her heels.

It had been an in-depth lesson.

The next night, he corraled her in the parlor. His eyes had a wild gleam.

"You're in a dungeon."

"What?"

"Go with this for a minute, Zanita. You're in a dungeon—"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm working on a computer game and—"

"A computer game? Here, all this time, I thought you were this close to the cure

for the common cold. I can't believe it!" One of the greatest minds of the day,

and he was working on games!

Tyber seemed affronted. "Games are wonderful things, Zanita. They can teach all

sorts of things if presented in an engaging format—reasoning ability, a sense of

accomplishment, not to mention exercise for the imagination."

His eyes twinkled down at her, forcing her to recall the imaginative, engaging

format he used last evening to teach her…

She felt the peaks of her breasts harden with the memory.

"Well, I suppose…"

He knelt before her chair, taking her hands in his. "You're in a dungeon. In

order to escape, you have to negotiate a maze of logic—"

"I'm doomed."

"Hmm. I can see I'm going to have to wait until I can test the prototype on

you."

Zanita waved her hand. "No way. I'm lousy at those kinds of things. I can't even

shoot a straight line; one of those weird ninja things would have my head before

the game even started."

A dimple curved into his cheek. "It's not that kind of game; it's an adventure

game."

"I'd still be lousy."

He rubbed his chin back and forth against her knee, his clear, flashing eyes

engaging hers. "No. You're very good at adventures, baby."

The man could stop a heart from beating.

She mentally shook herself. "Well, no adventures for me right now. I told Hank

I'd get this extra article done for him in time for Halloween which, in case you

don't realize it, is tomorrow. I haven't even started it yet."

"What's it about?" He leaned further over her lap, trying to read her

hieroglyphics upside down.

"You know the old cemetery down by the mill?"

He furrowed his brow. "The one from the seventeen-hundreds with all the

interesting sayings on the gravestones?"

"Yeah. Well, there's this legend that on midnight on All Hallow's Eve a ghostly

carriage rides through the cemetery over the headstones."

"Ye Olde Federal Express?"

She laughed, then dropped her voice to an enticing whisper. "Supposedly it rides

amongst the graves looking for someone or some thing. Rumor has it that two

hundred years ago, on the eve of Halloween, at the stroke of midnight, a

beautiful young woman—"

" Cherchez la femme."

Zanita whacked his shoulder before continuing with the lurid tale, "—goes to an

assignation with her lover. Unfortunately, her husband has found out about the

tryst, gets there before she does, and whacks off the head of her paramour."

"And rightly so, the poor cuckolded fellow." Zanita stuck her tongue out at him.

"Go on, baby, I'm breathless with curiosity."

Zanita ignored his sarcasm, leaning closer to him. "When the lady arrives, who

greets her but—"

"Let me take a wild guess: the headless man about town?"

She nodded. "The woman sees her hunk sans head and instantly dies of fright. The

coachman runs off, and the coach with the dead woman is forever doomed to wander

the graveyard looking for her love, who can't find her either because he has no

head." Zanita made the appropriate scary sound, "Oooo…"

"That is lame."

"Easy for you to say. I don't see you running down to the