Page 4 of Tomlin

Tomlin paced restlessly back and forth across the small bedroom - across Etta’s bedroom.

What the fuck am I doing?

He should have left the moment she opened the door and he’d discovered that not only was Dr. Morgan a woman, but a tall, graceful woman with a cloud of dark auburn hair that glinted red in the sunlight and big brown eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses. And then their eyes met. He’d only felt that instantaneous attraction - that need - once before. He had been very young at the time and although his reaction then was a pale, distant shadow of what he felt now, it had been enough to destroy his life. For the second time.

But instead of leaving, he’d done something unforgivably stupid - he’d stayed. He told himself it was because he still needed to find out what she had discovered about the morchev, but he knew it was more than that.

And why did I offer to tell her the tales of my people?

It had been an uncharacteristically impulsive decision - one he had also tried to justify by telling himself that it was simply a way to gain her trust. But when he was telling her the tale of King Althorin, the same story that Grethel had told him so many times, he had recognized the urge to share that part of his past with her. A past he hadn’t shared with anyone before.

He could have left - he should have left - after the story was completed. But then she’d offered to let him spend the night with her, a delightful tinge of pink highlighting those high cheekbones as she realized how provocative the question sounded. The fact that he immediately pictured her sprawled across his bed, her cheeks flushed with pleasure rather than embarrassment, should have set off alarm bells. He should have told her - truthfully - that he had no issue riding in the dark. Instead he’d accepted her offer.

He’d immediately tried to rectify the mistake by assuring her that he would camp outside with the horses.

“Nonsense,” she said briskly, even though she was still flushed. “The nights are already growing colder.”

“The temperature won’t bother me.”

“It won’t if you’re in the house,” she agreed, then gave him a quick smile. “If you’re trying to impress me by proving how tough you are, I assure you that it doesn’t make any difference to me. Now, let me see what I can find for our dinner.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” he asked, taking refuge in the familiar comfort of service. “I’m sure I interrupted whatever you were working on earlier…”

He let the question linger, hoping she might reveal some of her work, but she only nodded and cast a longing look towards her lab.

“I do have a few things to finish up. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I enjoy cooking.”

“All right. Just give me an hour, please.”

It had actually been two hours before he decided she needed to eat and knocked on the door to her lab. She gave him a startled look when she opened the door and he ruefully suspected she’d forgotten all about him.

“The meal is ready. Can you take a break?”

“I just…” She laughed. “I suppose I’d better or it will end up being breakfast instead of dinner.”

She preceded him across the hall, then came to a dead stop in the living room.

“What did you do?”

“I tidied up a little. I hope I did not presume too much.”

“A little?” She looked up at him, those big, brown eyes wide with astonishment behind her glasses. “I’ve never seen the place so clean.”

He surveyed the now spotless kitchen, the table neatly laid for dinner, and the carefully arranged documents, all softened by the golden glow of the lamp. It wasn’t any less spartan than when he had first arrived but to his satisfaction, it now seemed warmer and more inviting.

“I am glad you are pleased. Would you care to sit?”

He wanted to put his hand on her back, to escort her to the table, but he didn’t dare. As much as he longed to touch her, he was also afraid of the consequences.

Her eyes darted a little nervously towards the intimate table setting, as if she’d suddenly remembered that he was a stranger in her home, but then she gave him another small smile.

“Yes, thank you.”

Dinner had been… pleasant. He’d managed to deflect most of her questions about him although it had been surprisingly difficult, despite his long years of practice. She had also avoided discussing her work directly, but he’d been more successful in getting her to recount her time as a student and then a young teacher at the university.

“A job for which I was most definitely not suited,” she added dryly.