Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(21)
Well, his ignorance this time wasn’t feigned. He wouldn’t know a sedimentary rock from . . . well, any other rock. Whatever other rock types there were. His parents’ desire to teach science had paled in comparison to their love of languages and history.
Her wide smile shone with just a hint of wickedness, and he shifted in his seat. “It’s a love affair that continues to this day. A dirty one. Literally.”
He took a hasty sip of water. Cleared his throat before speaking. “Okay. Why do you love supplementary rocks so much?”
Her smile never wavering, she dipped her chin at that, as if she were giving him credit. Acknowledging his exemplary work in the Dunce Arts. Good one, Marcus, he could almost hear her say in that husky, warm voice of hers.
Jesus, he was in such trouble.
Olaf came by to refill their water, but Marcus couldn’t tear his gaze from April.
When she leaned forward, her cleavage—
No, he wouldn’t look at her cleavage. He wouldn’t.
“I love sedimentary rocks”—to her credit, she didn’t emphasize the correct word—“because I love the stories they tell. If you study them closely enough, if you’ve trained enough, if you use the right tools, you can look at a particular spot and know whether there was once a lake there. You can know whether that area was part of a fluvial system, if a lahar came through after a volcanic event, if there was a landslide, a mudslide.”
Her hands were tracing pictures in the air as she spoke, miming the movement of water and earth, a graceful visual shorthand for destruction and chaos and creation revealing itself under her scrutiny.
Shit. Even with those telling gestures, he didn’t understand half of what she was saying, but he was so fucking turned on right now. Smart, accomplished, passionate women were his undoing, always, even though he knew—he knew—he’d never be enough for them. Not the fake him, and not the real him, either.
She waited until he met her eyes before continuing. Each word precise. Each word the echo of a siren, and he meant that in every conceivable way.
“You have to dig.” She didn’t look away, and he couldn’t. “You have to look carefully, but there’s a story waiting for you. It wants you to see the signs. It wants to be told.”
Under that clear, calm gaze, he wanted to hide beneath the table once more. Cover his head and protect himself as the ground beneath him swayed and buckled.
Then she picked up her fork and speared another bite of her haricot verts, and he could breathe again. Could ignore for another moment that under his feet, the earth wasn’t actually solid and still. It was moving, continually. And deep, deep below a placid, cool surface, even stone turned molten and fiery and liquid.
“Also, geology is a culmination of various sciences,” she added in a casual aside. “Chemistry, physics, biology all come into play. I liked that too, because lots of different subjects interest me.”
He shouldn’t ask. He definitely wasn’t going to ask.
And yet—
“Why do you say it’s a dirty love affair?” he asked.
There it was.
Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest and exhaled hard through his nose. Shit. He didn’t need yet more reason to want April, not when his gut already tightened with each glimpse of her pale, freckled skin bathed by candlelight. Not when she made a goddamn living spearing through surfaces and discovering what lay underneath, and he wanted to remain undiscovered. At least for the moment.
“Up until now, I’ve spent a good chunk of my workdays handling soil. Looking for contamination at former industrial sites and coordinating whatever cleanup is feasible under the circumstances.” When he opened his eyes again, she was scraping the last bits of polenta from her plate. “The last few weeks, I’ve been dealing with a former pesticide facility, so the ground is contaminated with metals.”
Well, that was a lot less sexy than he’d both anticipated and feared.
Despite her matter-of-fact tone, though, her work sounded . . . dangerous. Technical. Physical, in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
He braced his elbows on the table, fascinated. “What will happen to that land, once the cleanup is done?”
She lifted a round shoulder. “Depending on what the owner of the site decides, it might become anything from a parking lot to a residential area.”
He didn’t understand. He truly didn’t. How was such a transformation even possible? How could something so thoroughly poisoned became a place for a family? For a home?
“But that’s not up to me, or even the consultant who’ll be taking over the site starting next week.” Her pale throat moved as she sipped her water, and he had to swallow hard himself. “Either the owner will devote the enormous amount of time and effort and money necessary to dig up all the contamination and dispose of it elsewhere, or they won’t. Can’t, in many cases.”
He fiddled with the edge of his jacket cuff. “And if they won’t? Or can’t?”
With an arc of her hand, her forearm going from vertical to horizontal, she mimed something being dropped from above. “They’ll tell the consultant to put a cap on the land. Two to five feet of clean soil over the contamination. It’s cheaper. Easier.”
“But?” There was a catch. He understood that, even without a single smidgen of background in geology.