Even Villains Fall in Love (6 page)

“Yes, Daddy.”

He put the girls to bed, cleaned, and after he
was certain the children were fast asleep, he knocked gently on the
bedroom door.

Tabitha answered it wrapped tight in her
bathrobe, the bright overhead light they rarely used making the
room seem cold and unwelcoming. “What do you want?”

“Can I come in? Can we talk? Please?”

She held the door open. “I don’t see what we
could possibly have to talk about.”

Evan took a deep breath as he stepped into the
bedroom. This was the tricky part. She hadn’t actually accused him
of anything outright, and he didn’t know how much she knew. “I
thought I could explain.” He closed the door gently behind him.

“Explain?” Tabitha snarled. “I put my life on
the line and all the thanks I get is cold pizza and burnt
spaghetti? That’s how you take care of me? Like I’m some stray you
let in from the cold?”

“What? You like pizza. I’ve seen you nibble a
frozen one!” Granted, she’d been seven months pregnant, and it had
probably been the cravings talking, but still.

“I hate pizza,” she said coldly, crossing her
arms.

“Since when?”

“Since now.” She swaggered up to him, arms wide.
“You got a problem with that? You want to fight with me about this?
Maybe tell me what I like to eat a little more? Do you read my mind
or something?”

“No, I...” He fumbled for the right thing to
say. Groveling looked like the only option. “I was mistaken. I
apologize. Do you want me to make something else for you? A
sandwich or some soup?”

“Wow,” she said in a flat voice. “You really
know how to show a girl a good time.”

Evan fell back on the tried-and-true. He gave
her a sexy smile. “I never said I was a cook, baby. But I always
give you a good time when you want one.”

She went rigid, shoulders back, eyes narrowed,
just as he had feared she would. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want
anyone to touch me.”

“I won’t,” he said, holding his hands up in
defeat. “Not without an invitation.” He gave her a smoldering
glance that worked eleven times out of ten. Nothing. “Look,
Tabby-cat, I want to—”

“Don’t call me that. That’s not my name.” She
turned away, rubbing her temples.

“Tabitha, is your head hurting?” Was sudden
aggression a sign of a concussion? He couldn’t remember.

Her hands dropped to her side, fisting as she
pivoted. “There is nothing wrong with me!”

He sucked in a deep breath, pushed his temper
back down, and tried again. “I know I made a mistake.”

“You bet your butt you did.”

“But we have something I don’t want to lose.
We’ve had good times together. We’re happy together.” He smiled at
her. “Think of all the good times.”

The bed creaked as she sat down. “I don’t
remember any of that. All I remember is lies.” She pulled her knees
to her chest and looked at the floor, tears welling in her
eyes.

Evan froze, torn between rushing to her and
respecting her request not to be touched. Cowardice won out. “I’ll
go get my, uh, watch. I left my watch in the living room. I assume
I can still sleep in the bed? The couch is a little short.”

Her lips curled in a sneer. “I couldn’t get paid
to care what you do.”

Ouch.
“Be right back.”
He closed the door gently behind him and ran for the
lab.

“Hert!” He looked around the disaster zone.
Minions were carefully labeling and sorting the remnants of the
Morality Machine, but his minion-and-chief was absent. “Hert?”

“Master?” Hert’s bulbous head appeared from
behind the bulk of the machine’s base.

“Do you have everything for the Morality Machine
sorted out? Can we fix it yet?”

“Not yet, Master, but the continuing tests on
the election machine are going very well. I have some promising
data.” Hert scuttled across the lab to grab his clipboard.

“Not right now. Is the Agree-With-Me Ray
running?”

“No, Master.”

“Turn it on, full blast. Aim it for my
room.”

“Sir?” Hert frowned in puzzlement.

“It might work on Tabitha long enough for me to
fix the Morality Machine. I just need to convince her to give me a
second chance. She fell in love with me once, it can happen
again.”

Hert frowned. “It’s meant to handle simple yes
or no statements, sir. I don’t know if it will have the desired
effect.”

“I don’t want desire. I want her to agree to
forgive me until I get the Morality Machine fixed. Turn it on.” He
grabbed the watch that contained the smallest version of the ray on
the way out of the lab.

The lights were already out in the bedroom and
he tiptoed across the carpet. Evan could feel the faint pulse of
magnetic waves. Tabitha’s scent struck him in the dark—a lush
promise of fantasy fulfillment. He wanted nothing more than to slip
under the sheets, hear her giggle, and feel her naked body wrap
around him. With a strangled groan, he dropped into bed. Tabitha
moved under the covers, the sound of cotton on cotton telling him
she wasn’t naked at all.

He leaned over her in the darkness, put his lips
to her ear, and whispered, “I love you.”

She didn’t answer.

Chapter Nine

I proposed to Tabitha the second time
we met. I had spent the intervening months stalking her, searching
for a weakness, and making sure she didn’t already have a
boyfriend. For the life of me, I could never explain why she
didn’t. I can only assume every other sentient being on the planet
thought themselves unworthy of her attention.

They were right. Superb doesn’t begin
to describe my wife. She is the pinnacle of feminine creation:
intelligent, generous, giving, virtuous, funny, beautiful. I
dreamed of telling her about my day, conquering the world and
laying it at her feet. All I wanted was her by my side, sharing
every moment of my life.

***

Tabitha lay beside him in their bed, resplendent
and peaceful in a pair of faded gray sweats. He brushed a loose
hair from her face, longing to reach those last few inches and kiss
her, hold her, lock her to him so the terrible fear would go away.
But he couldn’t, not until she gave him permission. The look of
disgust she’d given him the night before had cut him too deep.
Somehow, he had to erase that look.

Evan rolled away with a sigh. Nearly a day
without sex. Somewhere in the murky depths of Life-Before-Tabitha
he’d gone weeks without sex, months in some cases. Sometimes he’d
even been too busy to smile at pretty girls, let alone get seduced
by them.

Now he was hot, tight, and hungry in a purely
physical way. Lying next to her without touching might kill him. Or
qualify him for sainthood. Wouldn’t that be awkward? Doctor Charm
canonized by the Pope for not touching his wife.

With a longing look back at her, he headed for
an ice-cold shower. The water managed to freeze his libido, barely.
Evan stepped out of the shower with his teeth chattering and
fumbled for a towel. He pulled the last clean one out from under
the sink and knocked over a set of black and gold T-shirts. A
too-sweet floral scent wafted up. That wasn’t Tabitha’s normal
perfume at all. This was the kind she would gag over when the lady
at the perfume counter attacked.

He cinched the towel around his waist and held
one of the T-shirts up. “Baby? Where’d you get these shirts?” He
walked into the bedroom with the shirt in front of him.

Tabitha opened her blue eyes and screamed.

Evan spun around, looking for something wrong.
“Tabitha? What? What’s wrong, baby?”

She scrambled away from him on the bed. “Get
away from me!”

He froze. “I’m away, I’m away. What’s wrong? I
just wanted to know where you got the T-shirts.”

“Give me that!” she ordered.

He tossed it on the bed and she pulled it close
like a teddy bear, breathing deeply. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

“Sorry. It fell out when I went to get my towel.
I didn’t mean...anything.” How did he get into this mess? “Are you
going to punish me for everything now? ‘Cause if you are, may I
suggest a whip and handcuffs? We’ve never tried that.”

She swept past him with a haughty look, slamming
the door in his face.

“Tabitha, my clothes are in there.”

A minute later, a pair of jeans and stained
white shirt hit the bed.

“Thanks.”

He dressed and waited for her to change.

Tabitha stepped out with her hair pulled back in
a ponytail that he wanted to free her hair from, her new college
T-shirt tight enough to taunt him with everything he wanted to
touch, and soft, faded blue jeans he knew felt as good as they
looked.

Everything about her begged for him to touch, to
worship the body of his goddess. “Tabitha...” It was a prayer.

Her eyes went wide and she froze. “What are you
doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” For a given value of
talk, that was true. He wanted to use his tongue on her. That was
almost the same as talking.

“No, I mean what are you doing here in this
room?”

“Waiting to talk to you,” Evan said slowly,
patiently enunciating each word.

She turned slowly, studying the room. “Why am I
here?”

“Because this is your bedroom?” he guessed as
his patience frayed to one last thread.“Let’s sit and talk, yes?”
The Agree-With-Me Ray was still pumping vibrations through the
floor. It was a yes or no question. All she needed to do was not
fight him.

Tabitha hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m
leaving.”

“Tabitha, no! Don’t go. We can work this
out.”

She grabbed her purse and frowned at him. “I
don’t even know you.”

Evan stared at the closed door, lost.

“Daddy?” Maria walked over and slipped her hand
into his. “Why is Mommy slamming doors?”

The truth was impossible. Evan couldn’t even
articulate the idea. “Um, she was in a rush, sweetie. A big
project.”

He ran a hand through his hair and choked back
tears. Tabitha... He couldn’t... This was a nightmare. Some
horrible dream brought on by too much pizza and stress. He would
wake up, roll over, and his wife would be smiling at him
suggestively. If he closed his eyes, he’d be stretched next to her
beneath the sheets. He’d go exploring, reconquering familiar
terrain just like the first time...

“Daddy?”

He blinked. “I need to get dressed. Get your
sisters up, it’s playgroup day.”

“What about breakfast?”

If he saw the pot of burnt spaghetti, he’d throw
up. If he saw the bottle of wine from their honeymoon, he’d break
it open and drown himself. “We’ll buy donuts.”

“Okay.” Maria ran off, shouting for her sisters
to wake up.

He locked the door and found himself sitting on
the bed hugging Tabitha’s pillow. It smelled like her, a mix of
floral notes and spice and something exotic that was all Tabitha. A
scent he’d know anywhere. He sniffed again. And something else.
Different. A sharp sweetness that turned his stomach.

He held the pillow to his face, trying to name
the elusive scent. The perfume she’d worn last night. A new scent,
but that was no surprise. People liked giving super heroes
presents. She’d probably stopped by a college town for lunch, and
someone had recognized her and given her the perfume along with a
stack of T-shirts. With a sigh, he dropped the pillow.

The sound of the girls chattering in the living
room told him they’d finished getting ready for the Mommy’s Day Out
playgroup. A hundred dollars a head and some nice ladies from the
local churches would watch your kids in a moldy basement for three
hours so you could keep your sanity. Evan really wanted to spend
the three hours forgetting yesterday ever happened. And this
morning. And maybe tomorrow.

He hit his face, trying to slap himself back to
intelligence.

Tabitha was angry. Good. Fine. He knew that
might happen. The Morality Machine was a calculated risk. There had
always been a chance the calibration would fail, or that her basic
chemistry would change. Even he couldn’t build a flawless machine,
although he’d never had a complaint before. Still—Evan took a deep
breath—he could see why she objected. Leaving her aroused for seven
years was a little unfair. He’d always meant to slowly turn the
machine down and lull her into happily married life.

But that carried the risk of losing her. What if
she didn’t like him anymore when the machine turned off? What if he
wasn’t her type? Or she met someone else? Losing her was the one
nightmare he couldn’t face.

And now she was gone.

One of the girls banged on the door. “Daddy!”
Blessing hollered. “I’m hungry! I want a pink one!”

“Hold on,” Evan said. “Let me get my socks.”
Even in the bathroom chilled by his cold shower, her perfume still
lingered. Tabitha’s ring twinkled beside the sink. Evan picked it
up, reverentially running his thumb over the smooth white gold.
Tears blurred the shape of the diamond. He’d bought it for her
before they’d eloped to Australia. She’d been wearing an ocean blue
skirt over a tiny white bikini, the diamond sparkling in the
sunlight. Three carats of flawless marquise cut shining over Byron
Bay as they said their vows. It fit perfectly.

She loved that ring. She’d loved him. For seven
perfect years, she’d loved him.

The ring cut into his clenched fist. It hurt,
but not as much as watching her walk out that door. The look in her
eyes, disappointment and betrayal, hurt most of all.

What sort of idiot burns spaghetti
sauce?
Oh, Tabitha, love. That wasn’t even the
important question. What sort of idiot can’t make his wife love
him?

Somehow he’d known all along she didn’t really
love him. Oh, there had been lust at first. An initial spark of
interest that made everything the Morality Machine did possible.
But he’d known in his heart-of-hearts that a woman like her could
never love a man like him. He could have her body, but he could
never have her admiration. Women like her wanted perfect men. Super
men. Heroes, not villains.