Beauty and the Brain

By Elizabeth Bevarly

BLAME
IT ON
BOB

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

Too bad sexy Rosemary March didn't heed this advicebecause as an adolescent, she'd harbored a secret wish to get even with nerdy, brainy Willis Random. She'd also has other secret wishes involving himones she hoped to realize if she ever got the chance. And suddenly, thirteen years later, there was a chanceall six feet two inches of himknocking at her door.

And as Rosemary stared at the magnificent speciment that Willis had turned into, she swore she was going to have one more crack at him. Prove to the science whiz that hers was a body as worthy of study as any comet's. If it was the last thing she did

BLAME IT ON BOB:The comet passes through only once every fifteen years but it leaves behind a lifetime of love!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781459264793

Elizabeth Bevarly

Elizabeth Bevarly wrote her first novel when she was twelve years old. It was 32 pages long and that was with college rule notebook paper and featured three girls named Liz, Marianne and Cheryl who explored the mysteries of a haunted house. Her friends Marianne and Cheryl proclaimed it "Brilliant! Spellbinding! Kept me up till dinnertime reading!" Those rave reviews only kindled the fire inside her to write more. Since sixth grade, Elizabeth has gone on to complete more than 50 works of contemporary romance. Her novels regularly appear on the USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists, and her last book for Avon, The Thing About Men, was a New York Times Extended List bestseller. She''s been nominated for the prestigious RITA Award, has won the coveted National Readers'' Choice Award, and Romantic Times magazine has seen fit to honor her with two Career Achievement Awards. There are more than seven million copies of her books in print worldwide. She resides in her native Kentucky with her husband and son, not to mention two very troubled cats.

Book preview

Prologue

"I hate him. I despise him. I’m going to kill him."

Fifteen-year-old Rosemary March glared at the auburnhaired, bespectacled, orthodontically decorated boy on the other side of the school gymnasium and frowned.

That pizza-faced little twerp, she said, continuing with her verbal assault. Just who does he think he is?

Calm down, Rosemary, Kirby Connaught, one of her best friends, told her. By now, nothing Willis Random does or says to you should surprise you. You guys have been mortal enemies since school started.

Yeah, her other friend, Angie Ellison, agreed. Just because he called you a ‘simpleminded, slack-brained know-nothing’ in chemistry class today. I mean, he’s called you lots worse things before.

Rosemary turned her venomous gaze toward her friend in silent warning not to remind her. Angie immediately fell quiet and returned her attention to the delicate gardenia corsage that hugged her wrist.

Yeah, Kirby concurred after a noisy slurp of her diet soda that sucked the beverage dry. You ought to be used to it by now. And he’s going to be your lab partner for the rest of the year, so you also better get used to just ignoring him.

Oh, thanks a lot, you two, Rosemary grumbled. "You’re no help at all. I only wish I could ignore him. But he makes my life miserable. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t make me feel like...like..."

Like a simpleminded, slack-brained know-nothing? Angie supplied helpfully.

Rosemary frowned harder. Yeah, she thought. Exactly like that.

The three friends were taking a break from the dancing couples who crowded the floor of the high school gymnasium. The Welcome Back Bob Comet Festival was in full swing, and the gym doors had been thrown open wide to invite in the general public and the balmy September night for the traditional Comet Stomp Dance. Rosemary’s and Angie’s dates had gone in search of refreshment and left the three girls to talk among themselves on the bleachers. Kirby’s date...well, Kirby’s date was sort of nonexistent, Rosemary knew, which was all the more reason for her to remain with her friends.

The Welcome Back Bob Comet Festival was an event that occurred in the small southern Indiana town of Endicott every decade and a half, and, as always, the community had turned out in numbers to celebrate. Comet Bob had actually made his peak appearance in the skies over town the night before, but he would be visible to the naked eye for another few days, and within telescope range for another two weeks. The Comet Festival generally ran for the entirety of Bob’s appearance, for the most part constituting the whole month of September.

The festival belonged to Endicott and took place with such regularity because, for whatever reason, the comet returned to the planet like clockwork during the third week of every fifteenth September. And when it did, it always—always—made its closest pass at the coordinates that were exactly—exactly —directly above Endicott.

Bob’s punctuality and preference for such specific coordinates had frustrated the studies of many a scientist since the comet’s discovery nearly two centuries ago. Every fifteen years, scores of experts in the fields of astronomy, astrophysics and cosmology—and hundreds of amateurs, too—descended on southern Indiana in an effort to explain the unexplainable. And every fifteen years, those experts returned home again with notebooks full of data that defied analysis, and prescriptions for migraines that simply would not go away.

And because no one had been able to explain exactly what caused Bob’s constancy or his affection for Endicott, the comet’s celebrity had grown and grown, and the residents of the little Indiana town had come to claim the comet as their own.

Comet Bob actually had a much more formal name, but virtually no one could pronounce it correctly—no one but Willis Random, Rosemary thought to herself with much irritation. Because Bob was named after an eastern European scientist who had few vowels, and even fewer recognizable consonants, in his name, and who had been dead for more than a hundred years anyway, the general consensus seemed to be, What difference does it make?

Comet Bob was Comet Bob, and in addition to his mystery and celebrity—or perhaps, more accurately, because of it—myth and legend had grown up around his regular visits over the years. Anyone in Endicott who’d been around for more than one appearance of Bob knew full well that he was responsible for creating all kinds of mischief.

Virtually everyone was of the opinion that Bob was responsible for cosmic disturbances that caused the local citizens to behave very strangely whenever he came around. Waitresses confused restaurant orders. People got lost on their way to jobs they had been performing for years. Children cleaned their rooms and finished their homework in a timely fashion. And people who would normally never give each other the time of day fell utterly and irrevocably in love.

And, of course, there were the wishes.

It was widely believed by the townsfolk of Endicott that natives born in the small town in a year of the comet’s appearance were blessed in a way no one else was. Simply put, if someone was born in the year of the comet, and if that someone made a wish the year Bob returned, while the comet was making its pass directly overhead, then that someone’s wish would come true the next time Bob paid a visit.

Rosemary, Kirby and Angie had all been born the last time Bob came around. And the night before the dance, as the three girls had lain in Angie’s backyard while the comet passed directly overhead, each of them had made a wish.

Angie had wished that just once, something or someone exciting would happen to the small southern Indiana town. Which, of course, Rosemary was certain now, blew any chance for the myth of the wishes to come true, because nothing exciting ever happened in Endicott.

Kirby had wished for a forever-after kind of love, the kind normally found only in books and movies. Another longshot, as far as Rosemary was concerned. Not only did Rosemary not believe in that kind of love, but Kirby hadn’t ever even been on a date, let alone had anything even remotely resembling a boyfriend. All she did was go to school and take care of her invalid mother. All the boys in Endicott just thought Kirby was too sweet and too nice for any of them to ever want to take her out for romantic reasons. Not that Kirby hadn’t tried.

And Rosemary... She sighed with much satisfaction now when she recalled her own wish. Rosemary had wished that that pizza-faced little twerp Willis Random would get what was coming to him someday. And that, she thought, was a wish with some potential. Even if she had to be the one administering justice herself, she’d see to it that somehow, some way, someday, Willis would get his.

Oh, yeah, Rosemary thought smugly as she noted again the pizza-faced little twerp standing in the corner of the gym all by himself. Someday—say fifteen years from now—Willis Random was going to pay for the way he had treated her in high school. He’d get his. She knew he would.

After all, she had Bob on her side.

One

He had been hoping Rosemary March would age badly. Even though he knew she was only thirty now, he had been praying that when he saw her again, she would be gray-haired, haggard-looking, stoop-shouldered, wrinkled and flabby. She was, after all, two years older than he was. Unfortunately, from the looks of her, Rosemary had only improved with age.

When Willis Random had rounded her kitchen doorway only seconds before and seen her for the first time in thirteen years, he had halted in his tracks, unable to say a word because his mouth and throat had suddenly gone dry. Common courtesy dictated that he should say something to make her aware of his presence in her home. Their past history together demanded that he feel defensive about it, even though he was here at her mother’s invitation. But once he got a load of Rosemary standing there, he simply could not utter a sound.

Bent at the waist, she leaned lazily forward with her elbows propped on the kitchen counter. Her gaze was fixed on the dark liquid dripping methodically from the coffeemaker, her heavy-lidded eyes indicating she was clearly still half-asleep. As if that hadn’t been enough, Willis noted further with a gasp that got stuck somewhere in his throat, her attire—what little there was of it—upheld her not-quite-awake status.

Flowered cotton bikini panties hugged extremely wellrounded hips, and a cropped white undershirt revealed an expanse of creamy skin most men saw only in glossy centerfolds. She was wearing white kneesocks, too, one having fallen halfway down her calf, the other scrunched down around her ankle. Her hair was a tousle of dark brown, chin-length curls, rumpled from sleep and the fact that she had a fistful bunched in one hand.

She was a vision straight out of a thirteen-year-old boy’s fantasies. And Willis should know. He’d fantasized about Rosemary March a lot when he was thirteen years old. Unfortunately, he’d never been more to her than a pizza-faced little twerp.

She must have somehow sensed his presence, because she glanced idly over at the kitchen doorway, then back at the coffeemaker again. A quick double take brought her attention back to him, and only then did Willis fully appreciate their situation.

He hadn’t anticipated that their first reunion since high school graduation would play out quite like this. She was in her underwear, after all, and he was fully dressed in khaki shorts, a navy blue polo and heavy hiking boots. And although his experience with women wasn’t extensive, Willis felt it was probably pretty safe to assume that most women didn’t take kindly to being caught by surprise in their underthings. Particularly when the catcher wasn’t reduced to his own Skivvies, and especially when the catcher was someone the woman had despised for more than a decade.

His suspicions were fairly well reinforced when Rosemary straightened and opened her mouth wide to emit a bloodchilling scream at the top of her lungs. He waited until she was finished, until she was staring at him silently with wide, terrified eyes, then he cleared his throat indelicately.

Hi, he said, pretending he noticed neither her state of dishabille nor her state of distress. I don’t know if you remember me. He stuck out his hand in as matter-of-fact a gesture as he could manage and added, I’m Willis Random. We used to go to school together.

In response to his reintroduction, Rosemary opened her mouth wide again and let out another, even more piercing, screech of horror.

Willis forced a nervous smile and dropped his hand back to his side. "Ah. I see you do remember me. And I’m flattered, Rosemary. Truly... flattered."

The second scream brought around Willis’s companion—the mayor of Endicott, Indiana, who also happened to be Rosemary’s mother—and Mrs. March joined him at the kitchen doorway.

Rosemary, for God’s sake, her mother said. Try to be a bit more polite. I know you and Willis never got along in high school, but the least you could do is try to start off on the right foot. Mrs. March noted her daughter’s attire then and made a soft tsking noise. And do put some clothes on, darling. You have a guest in your house.

Then Mrs. March spun around with a quick This way, Willis—I’ll show you your room, and Willis and Rosemary were left alone again.

He scrunched up his shoulders awkwardly, then let them fall. Good to see you again, Rosemary. As he spun around, he couldn’t resist throwing over his shoulder, All of you.

He hurried to catch up with Mrs. March before Rosemary had a chance to respond with a hastily hurled pot of coffee. A wild rush of heat that he hadn’t felt in thirteen years sped through his body, but he recognized all too well. It was the feeling that had always assaulted him whenever he’d had to go toe-to-toe with Rosemary. And that had happened nearly every day when he was in the tenth grade.

The two of them had been lab partners in chemistry for an entire school year. Nine months of hell, Willis recalled now. And, he had to concede, stifling a wistful sigh that threatened, nine months of heaven, too.

He’d been the brainy geek who was skipped a couple of grades, two years younger and six inches shorter than every other guy in his class. Come to think of it, he’d also been shorter than Rosemary, and she’d doubtless outweighed him then. He’d been the proverbial ninety-seven-pound weakling until he’d taken up weight lifting in college. Of course, that second puberty he’d gone through toward the end of his sixteenth year had probably helped a lot, too.

And now he was back in Endicott, armed with five degrees—two of them doctorates—an assignment from MIT, where he currently taught astrophysics, and a high-powered telescope of his own design. He’d come back for the Comet Festival for which his hometown was famous, back for the answers that Bobrzynyckolonycki had refused to give him fifteen years before.

This time, when Willis studied the comet, he would do so with far greater knowledge and insight than he’d had when he was thirteen, the last time Bobrzynyckolonycki had come around. This time, when he collected and analyzed all of his data, it would be with infinitely more patience and attention than a teenage boy had been able to manage. This time, Willis promised himself, he was going to get the truth out of that damned comet, or he was going to die trying.

Thinking back on the vision of Rosemary and her scantily covered flesh, he bit back a groan. He’d always figured she would be the death of him someday. But he’d always assumed it would be her scathing words and utter contempt for him that finally did him in, and not his undying carnal desire for her. All of a sudden, he felt as if he was thirteen years old again.

And that was the last thing Willis needed. Rosemary March had made his life miserable when he was in high school. Alternately he’d hated and adored her, one minute wanting to cut her to the quick, the next minute wanting to cop a feel. She’d tied his pubescent libido in knots, something he’d never been able to understand.

Simply put, Rosemary had been an idiot, completely incapable of understanding even the most elementary scientific equation. How on earth he could have lusted after a girl who knew nothing about science, Willis had never been able to figure out. Oh, sure, she’d had a pretty face and a great body and all that, but she’d had no brain at all. How could he ever have been attracted to her? Even at thirteen, he should have been above that.

The sight of her standing half-undressed with her socks falling down around her ankles erupted in his brain again, and Willis felt himself jumping to life with a lack of control reminiscent of a thirteen-year-old boy. He clamped his teeth together tight and willed his body and libido to behave themselves. Evidently, he was still susceptible to pretty faces and great bodies, regardless of the brains that topped them.

Dammit.

Bobrzynyckolonycki, he reminded himself. The only heavenly body you’re here to study is the comet. Don’t forget that.

Willis? he heard Mrs. March call out some ways ahead of him. Are you there?

I’m here, Mrs. March, he called back, hurrying his step to catch up with her.

And Rosemary or no Rosemary, I’m not going home until I have the answers I demand.

Rosemary March stood open-mouthed and dumbfounded in her kitchen and tried to tell herself that what she had just seen was not Willis Random, but an hallucination brought on by yet another late night in front of the TV, with no other companion than The Zombies of Mora Tau and a pint of double-chocolate-chunk fudge ice cream.

There was no way she’d believe that the big hunk of manhood lounging in her kitchen doorway moments ago—however startling his appearance had been—could have begun his life as that pizza-faced little twerp who had made Rosemary’s life miserable when she was a teenager. Uh-uh. No way. No how.

The last time she’d seen Willis, he’d been giving his valedictorian speech at graduation. The class had congregated on the football field on an especially moody spring day, and Willis had literally been blown over by a good, stiff wind. Right off the podium, in front of the entire class of ’85, most of whom had hooted with laughter as a result.

The man who had just left her kitchen, on the other hand...

Rosemary shook her head hard in an effort to clear it. Okay, the guy’s glasses coincided with Willis’s myopia, but instead of the Scotch-taped earpiece that had marked the spectacles Willis wore, this guy’s were Ralph Lauren chic. And okay, the blue eyes behind the glasses were the same midnight blue that Willis’s had been. She’d always marveled that such a geek should have such gorgeous eyes. And yes, the man’s deep brown hair had been kissed with reddish gold highlights reminiscent of the auburn, unruly thatch that Willis had never quite been able to tame.

Other than that, there was nothing about the man who had just called himself Willis Random that even remotely resembled the obnoxious little jerk she remembered.

There was only one way to proceed with this thing,