Table of Contents Previously, on Part 21:
He stopped at the edge of an alleyway. His smile faded, overcome by an intensity she had never seen before. His voice was husky. His eyes practically smoked.
“Yes, I am attracted to you. I’m attracted to your brain. You are one of the smartest, most intuitive women I’ve ever met. I love your spirit, your fire… your spunk. I love how you’re not afraid of anything, although you scare me to death. And yes, Lois, I like your legs.”
For a moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. For just a moment, she wondered if she was going to kiss him. She struggled to control her breathing and slow her racing heart.
“Good,” she heard herself say in a voice too small and shaky to be her own. The pheromone must still be in her system for her to go all gaga over a guy like Kent.
The legs he liked so much felt a little weak as she continued to walk back to work, maintaining a safer distance both physically and conversationally.
And now, Part 23:
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Clark was enjoying himself. It was always fun when Lois got worked up about something. It was even more fun that she was all worked up about him, even if it was because she was living in denial. She argued that her attraction was tiny and got all upset when he suggested she thought he was hot. And when he insinuated that, perhaps, he was only attracted to her on a mental level, she was outraged.
She was talking louder and faster than he had ever heard her talk before as she insisted, “You like my legs!”
Her legs were one of her best features. He remembered the way her legs looked as she danced for him that night at her apartment. Even as he was trying to make his emergency phone call, she was dancing around him. He turned his back to her, trying in vain to focus his attention on the sound of his mother’s voice. But she sidled up behind him, moaning and sighing as she rubbed her leg against his. He shooed her away, but it merely jangled her beads. She gasped in delight. He pivoted carefully, attempting to hang up the phone.
Lois took advantage of his new position. She threw herself into his arms, pulling him close to her by the neck of his shirt.
“I can’t stand it any longer,” she breathed.
The next thing he knew, her lips were atop his. She smelled like heaven in his arms. He lost himself in the taste and the feel of her.
He warred against himself. It wasn’t right to take advantage of her, even though she was volunteering.
Yet, he was lost, unable to stop. The world was only he and Lois—her lips, her tongue, his fingers stroking her hair. His own ragged breathing as he forced himself to push her away. She whimpered a little as she pulled him back.
But he couldn’t. It wasn’t right.
He tore his eyes away from her lips, only to find himself staring at her chest as she struggled for her own breath.
“I know what it is,” Lois decided. She tore him out of his daydream and into the fuzzy land of the present.
“Your breasts?” he suggested, only to kick himself mentally. What a stupid thing to say.
Lois blushed furiously at him. “You like my breasts? I mean, no. Of course, you can like my breasts. No problem, as long as you never mention it again,” she rambled, embarrassed. “But that’s not what I was talking about. I know the reason you didn’t seduce me.”
She couldn’t possibly know. Could she? He had told her only as much as he thought fit to tell her. There was no way she could have deduced the rest.
“It’s your deviated septum.”
“My what?” he asked in confusion. And then he remembered her theories. He had been worried about her health, so he moved his glasses aside to examine the wounds on her knees with his x-ray vision. Lois had mistakenly assumed he was pushing his glasses aside so he could better smell.
“Your deviated septum,” she reiterated. While Lois’s theory was total hogwash, it gave her such relief that Clark couldn’t possibly contradict it.
It didn’t seem possible with everything he had said and done over the past few weeks and months that she still didn’t understand how much he cared for her. While the teasing and banter had been fun, he couldn’t allow her insecurities to continue. He had to reassure her about how he felt.
He glanced around, finding a quiet spot where they could talk without disturbing anyone. A light touch to the elbow stilled Lois’s beating feet that were storming their way back to the office. She glanced up in annoyance at the interruption.
“Yes, I am attracted to you, “Clark stated, hoping to draw a line in the sand. “I am attracted to your brain. You are one of the smartest, most intuitive women I’ve ever met.” That seemed like a safe thing to compliment her on. He gauged her reaction. When she softened, he continued. “I love your spirit, your fire, your spunk.” The ‘love’ word was a big step, but she hadn’t bolted, yet. Perhaps she was finally putting her fear of him aside. “I love how you’re not afraid of anything, although you scare me to death.” A slight smile flickered on her face. But Clark couldn’t let the moment pass without addressing every last concern, no matter how trivial it seemed to him. “And yes, Lois, I like your legs.”
Her face flushed. She tilted her chin ever so delicately. For a heartbeat, Clark saw it coming. He was finally going to be rewarded for his Boy Scout behavior over the last few days. Sober and of her own free will, Lois Lane was going to allow him to kiss her.
He shifted his weight to narrow the gap between them. As he did, Clark saw the veil of confusion and fear descend over her features once more.
“Good,” she choked out and pivoted shakily. She was obviously struggling to compose herself as she resumed course.
Clark stiffened and fell in place at her side. He hung his head, wondering how much ground he had just lost.
~*~
“Hi, Lois,” Jimmy greeted her casually. “Hey, Clark. I was just getting ready to call you on your cell. I just got this over the police scanner and knew you’d be interested.”
He passed some notes to Clark, who briefly skimmed them before filling Lois in. “Miranda, the perfumer who was working with pheromones, was just found dead at a private airstrip.” He turned to Jimmy and asked, “Your source at the station?”
“I’m already ahead of you,” the eager researcher reported. “Rumor has it she was stabbed. Not in any street-fight, either. Single stroke through the heart with a small, cylindrical instrument.”
Clark whistled.
“Didn’t she call that perfume ‘Revenge?’” Lois recalled. “Maybe she sprayed a lover and it backfired. Removed the wrong inhibitions.”
“Jimmy, are any of the feature writers working on this?”
Jimmy shook his head. “You’re miles ahead of them if you spoke with her while she was alive. My guess? Perry’ll let you work this one through.”
Clark couldn’t hide his excitement as he decided, “I’m gonna write up the jazz piece. Then, I think this Miranda needs some serious looking into.”
Lois smiled sadly as her co-worker and purported friend bounded away. He had finally found ambition. Good for him. If only he hadn’t stolen credit from her, she would have wished him well.
~*~
It was fun to be working on the cutting edge of a current event. Clark kept stealing glances toward his favorite researcher, but she barely looked up from her work. The few times he caught her eye she looked away before he could even smile, let alone share a little of his joy with her.
He knew she was working on campaign financing. It was always possible she found the war chests of the front-running senatorial candidates so fascinating she couldn’t spare him a second glance. It was more likely she was still upset about what he had said to her on their walk back.
But how could he regret doing what he had done? Every word had been truth.
How could he regret anything when he was enjoying his work so much? He had been planning to ask Lois to look into Miranda’s background, but Jimmy had beaten him to the punch.
“Thought these might interest you.” Jimmy grinned as he plopped down a packet of information. He leaned against the desk as Clark leafed through it. “I’ve got educational records, employment history, credit reports—remember, those include previous addresses. Don’t ask where the credit reports came from. If it’s stored on a computer, it’s pretty much in there.”
“Thanks.” Clark reached out to shake Jimmy’s hand.
“If you can think of anything else you might need, give me a buzz.”
Clark had just begun to peruse the top quarter-inch of papers when a visitor caught his eye. It wasn’t just that the man’s suit was a cut above normal newsroom-wear or that he walked with a stiff, formal bearing. It was that he carried a crystal vase of white roses and was headed straight toward Lois’s desk.
The gentleman cleared his throat to get her attention.
“Mr. Saint-John, I hadn’t expected you,” Lois said.
Clark squashed his conscience as he eavesdropped. Some conversations were meant to be overheard. Particularly if his friend was about to have her feelings hurt.
“Mr. Luthor sends his regrets that the events of last evening did not go as planned.”
“I bet he regrets a lot,” she retorted with enough ice in her tone to make Clark wonder just what had happened last night.
“He sends this gift as a token of peace, in the hopes that you realize that the interview was an aberration from his customary conduct.”
Clark watched as Lois’s eyes narrowed. Her face was flushed and her heart hammered a rapid cadence. She was livid.
Mr. Saint-John appeared unfazed as he continued. “Perhaps, in light of the unusual nature of your last encounter and the mitigating circumstances that I believe you’re aware of, it would be best for all concerned if any articles you intend to write were delayed until a more suitable interview could be arranged.”
Clark could tell by the white-knuckled way she gripped her pencil that Lois was still seething, but she curtly nodded her agreement.
“Excellent. Bridgett, in Scheduling, will be in touch shortly.”
Clark watched a long while after Saint-John had gone, waiting for Lois to calm down. When it became clear that she wasn’t settling down, he pulled a few loose coins from his pocket and sauntered toward her desk.
“I’m heading to the vending machines. You want to come along and pick something out?” he offered.
Her steady glare put Baby Rage’s feeble attempt at intimidation to shame. In his concern over Luthor’s behavior, Clark had forgotten she was angry with him, as well. The moment stretched in uncomfortable silence.
“Walk with me,” he quietly requested.
She considered it for a beat too long before letting her breath out in an exasperated puff. “Fine,” she snapped. Her chair whined as she scooted it across the floor, storming out of the room in a huff. He followed closely on her heals. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“I overheard your conversation with Saint-John. Are you okay?”
“How could you have heard? You were half an office away,” she gaped in disbelief.
“I heard enough to know that your interview didn’t go as planned.”
“Gifted hearing, gifted breath and gifted smell. If you had blond hair and blue eyes, Hitler would have loved you. You’re a real Superman.”
Clark brought her back to the topic. “I’m sorry, Lois. I should have asked how things went with the interview last night when I first saw you this morning. But running into you on the way back was so unexpected, it caught me off guard.”
She paused. She wasn’t used to men who apologized, although she had met plenty of jerks in her day who needed to—Luthor included.
“So, are you okay?”
Lois sniffed. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle. He served me appetizers, made a pass, quoted seventeenth century French poetry and conked out before the soup was served. No big deal.”
“He made a pass?” Clark worried. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m not made of glass. I hear much worse in the dorm on Saturday night,” she reassured him.
He fidgeted, remembering his own experiences at her dorm last Saturday. It was loud and rude with hints of not only sex, but violence as well. Such a place was probably horrible for Lois to endure. “I imagine all the noise would make studying difficult at your dorm. If you want a quieter environment, you could always hang out at my apartment on the weekends.”
She frowned and sighed noisily. “We’ve been over this before, Kent. I’m not interested in…”
He interrupted quickly,”… since I’m not there on the weekends, you’d have the run of the place.”
“You are so naïve.” She patted his arm patronizingly. “Even if you weren’t there, everyone around the water cooler would assume you were home. The old ‘we-were-only-studying’ excuse has been around for quite awhile.”
“Everyone knows I’m out of town every weekend.”
“Everyone?” Her cynicism was clear. “So why haven’t I heard about it before?”
“Maybe you’re not as in-the-know as you think you are,” he suggested.
“So, assuming you’re not giving me a line of bull right now, where does everyone think you go every weekend?”
“Stargazing. I grab my telescope every Friday night and head to a state park just north of here. There’s nothing like hiking and camping in the wetlands to keep a man grounded.”
She screwed her face up. Clark couldn’t tell if she found his story unconvincing or unappealing.
“You go stargazing, hiking and camping in the wetlands every Friday night? Really?”
With her voice heavy with criticism, she obviously wasn’t asking a legitimate question. She was making fun of him—calling his idea of entertainment disagreeable. Yet there was something about being in the doghouse with Lois that set Clark on edge. When he finally won her over, he didn’t want to have any regrets. It was rash, probably foolhardy, but he impulsively made a decision.
“No,” he admitted.
“Excuse me?” She looked annoyed and confused.
“You asked if I really go stargazing, hiking and camping in the wetlands every Friday night. No, I don’t.”
“Well, then why do you… Where do you…”
Clark grinned. Lois Lane was rarely, if ever, caught flat-footed.
“Where do I go? If I ever decide to tell someone, you’ll be the first to know,” he promised. “But not yet.”
“You don’t really think that’s going to work with me. Do you? I’m an investigative journalist. I’ll investigate. And I’m going to find out exactly what you’re doing. I promise you that.”
“Go ahead and try,” he challenged her. “In the meantime, I’m going to have a spare key made up tonight. I’ll drop it off for you tomorrow. Use it; don’t use it. It’s your choice. But you’re welcome to stay, study… help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.”
Lois had her mouth half-open to turn him down when a gentle voice interrupted. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
It was the cheap blonde Clark had been talking to back on the courthouse steps. One look at his face and Lois’s mind was made up. Her friendship with Clark was way too complicated. One minute he was asking her out, the next he was stealing credit for her work, and in the very next breath he was admitting to being a liar. She sighed. He could have the blonde. She was out of there.
While his attention was diverted, she took the opportunity to slip back down the hallway. She had a lot to think about.
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Author's note:
me sneaks away with Lois. It's safer with her protecting me.
