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  Absolutely, Positively

  Jayne Ann Krentz

  Copyright © 1996 by Jayne Krentz

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  This book built with easyePublish.com ePublishing Tools

  Cover Design by Writerspace

  For Edna and J. L. Krentz,

  With love and affection

  1

  Harry Stratton Trevelyan allowed himself few certainties in life, but during the past month he had become absolutely, positively sure of one thing. He wanted Molly Abberwick. Tonight he intended to ask her to have an affair with him.

  This was a major decision for Harry. But then, most decisions were major for him.

  The opening sentence of his latest book could have served as his personal motto: Absolute certainty is the greatest of all illusions.

  As a general rule he applied that principle to his work and to his personal life. A man had only one reliable defense against illusions in both arenas, and that defense was caution. Harry made it a habit to be very, very careful.

  Harry’s past as well as his current occupation combined to ensure that he viewed the world with what some people called a marked degree of cynicism. He preferred to call it intelligent skepticism, but the result was the same.

  The good news was that he rarely got conned, scammed, or fleeced.

  The bad news was that a lot of people thought that he was cold-blooded. That, however, did not bother Harry.

  By training and inclination, Harry demanded hard, solid proof in virtually every arena of his life. He had a passion for it. He preferred a logical approach to all things.

  Once in a while, however, his finely tuned brain seemed to skip the usual methodical steps and leaped straight to an insight so shatteringly perceptive that it sometimes scared him. Really scared him. Nevertheless, for the most part, he took satisfaction in exercising his razor-sharp intelligence. He knew that he was much better at thinking than he was at handling relationships.

  Thus far he had moved slowly and carefully toward his goal of beginning an affair with Molly. He did not intend to make the mistake he had made with his ex-fiancée. He would not become involved with another woman in a desperate attempt to seek an answer to the dark questions about himself that he could not, would not put into words.

  He would settle for sex and companionship this time.

  “Will that be all, Harry?”

  Harry glanced at his part-time housekeeper. Ginny Rondell, a plump, pleasant-faced woman in her late forties, hovered on the other side of the long granite counter that separated the kitchen from the living room of the high-rise condominium.

  “Yes, thank you, Ginny,” Harry said. “An excellent meal, by the way.”

  Molly Abberwick, seated on the black sofa facing the wall of windows, smiled warmly at Ginny. “It was fantastic.”

  Ginny’s broad face suffused with pleasure. “Thank you, Ms. Abberwick. The tea is ready, Dr. Trevelyan. Are you sure you don’t want me to serve it?”

  “Thanks, I’ll handle it,” Harry said.

  “Yes, well, I’ll say good night, then.” Ginny came around the edge of the long counter and trundled toward the green-marble tiled hall.

  Harry waited with an unfamiliar sense of gathering impatience as Ginny opened a closet door and removed her purse. He waited while she put on her sweater. At last she let herself out through the front door.

  An acute silence fell on the condominium.

  Alone at last, Harry thought, wryly amused at his own eagerness. He hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time. He could not even recall the last occasion. It had no doubt occurred at some point in his youth. He was thirty-six, but he had been feeling very ancient for the past eight years.

  “I’ll get the tea,” he said as he got to his feet.

  Molly nodded. There was an expectant look in her wide, sea green eyes. Harry hoped the expression boded well for his plans for the evening. He had turned off both phones for the night, an unheard-of course of action. Ginny had been astounded.

  True, he generally switched off the business line in the evenings or when he was engaged in intensive study, but he never threw the switch on the family line when he was at home. He was always available to both sides of his feuding clans.

  Harry got to his feet and walked to the granite counter. He picked up the tray containing the pot of tea and two cups. He had ordered the very expensive Darjeeling after having made it his business to discover Molly’s personal preference. No sugar. No milk. Harry was good with details.

  Covertly, he studied Molly as he carried the tea tray to the glass table in front of the sofa. There was definitely an undercurrent of excitement stirring in her. He could almost feel it lapping at him in tiny waves. His own anticipation surged.

  Molly sat somewhat primly on the sofa, her attention caught by the lights of the Pike Place Market down below and the dark expanse of Elliott Bay. It was summer in the Northwest, and the days seemed to last forever. But it was after ten o’clock, and night had finally arrived. Along with it had come Harry’s opportunity to begin an affair with his client.

  This was not the first time Molly had seen the sights from Harry’s twenty-fifth-floor downtown condo. He worked out of his home, and Molly had come here often enough on business during the past month. But this was the first time she had ever seen the lights at night.

  “You have an incredible view from up here,” she said as he set the tea tray down on the coffee table.

  “I like it.” Harry sat down beside her and reached for the teapot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her smile. He took that to be another good sign.

  Molly had a very expressive face. Harry could have watched her for hours. The angle of her brows reminded him of a bird on the wing. The image was a good metaphor for Molly. A man who wanted to catch her would have to be very fast and very smart. Harry told himself that he was both.

  Tonight Molly was dressed in a businesslike, moss green pantsuit complete with a one-button jacket and softly pleated trousers. She wore a pair of demure, suede pumps. Harry had never before paid much attention to women’s feet, but he found himself captivated by Molly’s. They were perfectly arched with delicate ankles. All in all, a marvel of engineering design, he thought.

  The rest of Molly was well designed, too.

  Having given the matter a great deal of close consideration in recent days, Harry had finally concluded that Molly was slender, but definitely not skinny. She practically radiated health and vitality. He was extremely healthy, himself. He had the reflexes of a cat, and he actually felt turbocharged when Molly was in the vicinity.

  There was an appealing roundness to certain portions of Molly’s anatomy. The jacket of the pantsuit skimmed over high breasts that Harry knew would fit nicely into his hand. The pleats of the trousers flared to encompass full, womanly hips.

  Although he found her figure eminently interesting, it was Molly’s vibrant face that commanded Harry’s most serious attention. She was spectacular, he thought with satisfaction. Not spectacularly beautiful, just spectacular. She was unique. Special. Different.

  Intelligence shimmered in her green eyes. Harry acknowledged that he was a sucker for brains in a woman. There was strength and fortitude and character in the delicate yet determined lines of her nose and high cheekbones. Her honey brown hair had a mind of its own. It exploded around her head in a short, thick, frothy mass. The style emphasized the
tilt of her fey eyes.

  It occurred to Harry that with those eyes, Molly could have made her living as a carnival fortune-teller. It would have been a simple matter for her to convince any likely mark that she could see straight into his past, present, and future.

  The realization sparked a flash of renewed caution in Harry. The last thing he needed was a woman who could see deeply into his soul. That way lay madness.

  For the space of perhaps three heartbeats he seriously questioned the wisdom of getting involved with a woman whose gaze held such a disconcerting degree of perception. He did not do well with women who were inclined to probe his psyche. His disastrous experience with his ex-fiancée had proved that much. On the other hand, he had no patience with bimbos.

  For a few seconds Harry let his future hang in the balance as he contemplated his next move.

  Molly gave him a questioning smile, revealing two slightly crooked front teeth. There was something endearing about those two teeth, Harry thought.

  He took a deep breath and consigned his qualms to hell with a breathtaking recklessness that should have alarmed him. It would be okay this time, he told himself. Molly was a businesswoman, not a psychologist. She would take a rational, levelheaded approach to what he was about to offer. She would not be inclined to dissect him or try to analyze him.

  “I would like to discuss something with you.” Harry poured tea into her cup with calm deliberation.

  “Yes.” Molly gave a little shriek, made a small fist, and pumped it wildly. Her eyes glowed. “Hot damn, I knew it.”

  Harry looked up, startled. “You did?”

  She grinned as she picked up her teacup. “It’s about time, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Enthusiasm was a good thing in a woman, Harry assured himself. “Uh, no. No, I don’t mind. I just hadn’t realized that we were on the same wavelength here.”

  “You know what they say about great minds thinking alike.”

  Harry smiled. “Yes.”

  “I realized when you invited me to dinner tonight that this was a special occasion, not an ordinary business consultation.”

  “Right.”

  “I knew that you had finally made a decision.”

  “I have, as a matter of fact.” He eyed her closely. “I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought.”

  “Naturally. If I’ve learned one thing about you during the past few weeks, it’s that you give everything a great deal of thought. So you finally concluded that Duncan Brockway’s grant proposal is worth funding. About time.”

  Harry blanked for a split second. “Brockway’s proposal?”

  Molly’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “I knew you’d approve that one. I just knew it. It’s so original. So intriguing. And the potential is absolutely unlimited.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “This has nothing to do with Brockway’s grant proposal. I wanted to talk about another matter.”

  The excitement in her eyes dimmed slightly. “You did look it over, didn’t you?”

  “Brockway’s proposal? Yes, I did. It’s no good. We can go into the details later, if you like. But right now I want to discuss something more important.”

  Molly looked honestly baffled. “What’s more important than Duncan Brockway’s grant proposal?”

  Harry set his teacup down with great precision. “Our relationship.”

  “Our what?”

  “I think you heard me.”

  Molly’s cup crashed back into its saucer. “That does it, I’ve had it.”

  Harry stilled. “What’s wrong?”

  “You have the nerve to ask me what’s wrong? After telling me that you’re not going to approve Duncan’s proposal?”

  “Molly, I’m trying to conduct an intelligent conversation here. However, it seems to be falling apart. Now, about our relationship—”

  “Our relationship.” Molly erupted from the sofa with the force of a small volcano. “I’ll tell you about our relationship. It’s a complete, unmitigated disaster.”

  “I wasn’t aware that we even had one yet.”

  “We most certainly do. But it’s ending here. Now. Tonight. I refuse to continue to pay for your services as a consultant, Harry Trevelyan. Thus far, I have not received one damn thing for my money.

  “There seems to be a misunderstanding here.”

  “I’ll say there is.” There was green sheet lightning in Molly’s eyes. “I thought you invited me to dinner tonight to tell me that you’d approved Duncan Brockway’s grant proposal.”

  “Why in hell would I invite you to dinner just to tell you that Brockway’s proposal is a scam?”

  “It’s not a scam.”

  “Yes, it is.” Harry was not accustomed to having his verdicts questioned. He was, after all, a leading authority in his field.

  “According to you, every single one of the one hundred grant proposals that have been submitted to the Abberwick Foundation have been scams.”

  “Not all of them.” Harry preferred accuracy to gross generalizations. “Some were just plain bad science. Look, Molly, I’m trying to discuss something else entirely here.”

  “Our relationship, I believe you said. Well, it’s over, Dr. Trevelyan. This was your last chance. You’re fired.”

  Harry wondered if he had accidentally stepped into a parallel universe. This was not going according to plan.

  He had made his decision regarding Molly with great care and consideration. True, he had wanted her from the start, but he had not allowed himself to be swept away by physical desire. He had worked from a very basic premise. Following the demise of his engagement over a year ago, he had given his future sex life a great deal of serious contemplation. He had concluded that he knew exactly what he needed in a woman. He wanted a relationship with someone who had a lot of interests of her own, someone who would not require constant attention from him.

  He required a woman who would not take mortal offense when he was consumed with his research. A woman who would not care if he locked himself in his office to work on a book or an investigation. A woman who could tolerate the demands of his personal life.

  Most of all he wanted an affair with a woman who would not question his moods or suggest that he get therapy for them.

  Molly Abberwick had appeared to fit the bill. She was twenty-nine years old, a competent, successful entrepreneur. From what Harry could determine, she had virtually raised her younger sister single-handedly after her mother’s death several years earlier. Her father had been a genius, but as was usually the case with the obsessively creative type, he had devoted his time to his inventions, not his children.

  From what Harry could discern, Molly was no fragile flower, but a strong, sturdy plant that could weather the worst storms, perhaps even those that occasionally howled across his own melancholy soul.

  As the proprietor of the Abberwick Tea & Spice Company, Molly had proven her ability to survive and flourish in the tough, competitive world of small business. In addition to running her shop, she was the sole trustee of the Abberwick Foundation, a charitable trust established by her father, the late Jasper Abberwick. Jasper’s inventions were the real source of the wealth in the Abberwick family. It was the business of the trust that had brought Molly to Harry a month ago.

  “You don’t want to fire me,” Harry said.

  “It’s the only thing I can do,” she retorted. “There’s certainly not much point in continuing our association. Nothing is getting done.”

  “What, exactly, did you expect from me?”

  Molly threw up her hands in exasperation. “I thought you would be more helpful. More positive. More excited about the various grant proposals. No offense, but waiting for you to approve one is like watching trees grow.”

  “I don’t do excited. I take a deliberate approach to my work. I thought you understood tha
t. That’s why you hired me in the first place.”

  “You’re deliberate the same way a stone wall is deliberate.” Molly clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace the carpet in front of the windows with long, angry strides. “Our association has been a complete waste of time.”

  Harry watched her, fascinated. Molly’s whole body vibrated with outrage. The volatile emotion should have worried him, but it only seemed to add yet another intriguing dimension to her riveting face.

  Riveting? Harry frowned at the thought.

  “I knew you would probably be difficult.” Molly turned her head to glower furiously at him over her shoulder. “But I didn’t think you would be impossible.”

  Definitely riveting, Harry decided. He could not recall the last time he had been riveted by a woman. Rivet was a word he generally reserved for other areas of interest. A discussion of Leibniz’s claim to the invention of the calculus was riveting. Charles Babbage’s design for an analytical engine was riveting. The ramifications of Boole’s work in symbolic logic were riveting.

  Tonight Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Molly Abberwick had to be added to the list of things that could rivet him. The knowledge made him deeply uneasy even as it fed his hunger for her.

  “Look, I’m sorry that you think I’m difficult,” Harry began.

  “Not difficult. Impossible.”

  He cleared his throat. “Don’t you think that’s an overly personal way to characterize my professional decisions?”

  “Calling Duncan Brockway’s grant proposal fraudulent is an overly personal way to characterize poor Duncan.”

  “Forget Brockway’s proposal. I only did what you pay me to do, Molly.”

  “Is that right? Then you’re overcharging me.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re overreacting.”

  “Overreacting? Overreacting?” Molly reached the granite counter. She whirled around and started back toward the opposite wall. “I’ll admit that I’m fed up. If you want to call that overreacting, fine. But it doesn’t change anything. This relationship of ours is not working out at all the way that I thought it would. What a disappointment. What a waste of time.”