swear, when it comes to creating robotic sensors and actuators St. John is the best on the planet,” an awestruck whisper came from the row in front of her.
“Especially robotics in relationship to autonomous cooperation with humans,” an answering mutter drifted from behind, one equally awestruck.
Interesting. She returned her attention to Justice … and her self-appointed task of looking. She hadn’t a clue what all that meant, but color her impressed if he was considered the best on the entire planet. But at what cost? She studied him more carefully.
His features were harder and more defined than they’d been at eighteen. Okay, nearly eighteen. Seriously, what difference did a few weeks make? His eyes were still that dangerous blaze of tawny gold, just like a jungle cat. His hair stopped a shade shy of ebony, the texture rich and dark. He wore it nearly as long now as he did all those years ago, as though far more weighty matters occupied his mind than something so insignificant as getting a haircut. He’d disdained wearing a suit and settled instead on a black shirt and slacks which seemed to swallow all the light on the stage leaving him shrouded in shadows.
He was Hades escaped from the Underworld and everything feminine within her shivered in response to the threat he posed.
Where had the Justice she remembered gone and who was this creature who’d taken his place? He’d changed in some ineffable way that defied her ability to identify. He’d always possessed a logical nature, governed by exquisite self-control. Before, that control hadn’t been so reserved or icy. There’d been an openness to him that had allowed her to break through his barriers and lose herself in all that made him the remarkable person he’d been. Laughter had come easily to him, delight in their world a natural part of his personality, his attitude as brilliant as the spill of hot, golden sunshine that had encased them that long-ago summer.
Looking at him now, she realized that had all changed. He wasn’t open, but locked up tight. She suspected he rarely laughed. And far from being delighted with the world, he regarded it with a cynical edge that eclipsed that hot, golden sunshine, leaving behind a cold, impenetrable darkness.
What had happened to him? It crushed her to see that he didn’t resemble the character she’d created for her storybooks, the one based on her memories of him. How could she have gotten it so wrong? When she’d imagined what sort of metamorphosis he’d undergo transitioning from youth to adult, she’d never, ever conceived this.
Just then his gaze settled on her and something odd passed between them. Did he recognize her? Did he remember, even after all this time? Not likely, since her appearance had changed so dramatically in the past decade. His eyes gleamed beneath the overhead lights, like tarnished gold, yet lit with the fire of want.
And that’s when Daisy decided. No matter what, before she left here she’d find out what had happened to Justice. She’d take the opportunity, once and for all, to deal with that long-ago past, one she’d never been able to forget. One that she’d used as a measuring stick in every relationship she’d had since their time together. She’d prove to herself that what they’d experienced wasn’t so special since, clearly, he was no longer that amazing person he’d once been.
And then, finally, she’d be able to put him back in the box from which she’d released him … and move on.
He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to deliver a speech he not only didn’t believe in, but one that involved shoveling the most bull he’d ever attempted in his twenty-eight years. He’d been in Miami Beach for less than a day and already he’d reached the conclusion that it was an abysmal waste of his time.
The minute he arrived, he’d checked into his suite, unpacked his bag and then went after the first name on his list. Why waste time, right? Dorothy Salyer stood just a few inches shy of his own six-foot-three-inch frame and seemed quietly attractive. There was no questioning her intelligence. Knowing the requirements Pretorius had incorporated into his program, all the women would be brilliant. But Dorothy—or Dot, as she’d insisted he call her (shudder)—had been even more shy than his uncle and utterly incapable of stringing even a half-dozen words together.
Strike one.
The second woman on the list was neither tall nor attractive and she never shut up, at least not once she found herself in the presence of The. Great. Justice. St. John! She even put the little italic on the John every single frigging time she said his name, which was so often he was tempted to change it then and there. He didn’t know if she hoped to impress with her unending staccato chatter, but she’d definitely succeeded in terrorizing. He barely made it through coffee.
Strike two.
Deciding not to waste any further time, he went after the third woman. She proved to be quite delightful (a pleasant change). Pretty (a plus). Normal (a big plus). Intelligent (of course). He almost offered her the position of apprentice then and there. He probably would have if she hadn’t chosen that moment to mention that she considered herself a city girl at heart, adored the cultural opportunities Chicago provided and couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than the Windy City and—worst of all—she survived on takeout since she couldn’t cook.
Third strike and he was almost ready to call it quits. Or he would have if not for a few salient points.
A. He liked women.
B. He liked sitting and having a quiet, adult conversation with a woman.
C. His uncle, damn him to hell and back, was right. He’d hoarded his knowledge instead of spreading it around. Worse, the level of isolation to which he’d dedicated himself had caused a certain stagnation in his intellectual processes, thus his inability to work.
D. The computer program wasn’t working.
And that damnable E. Nothing had changed since his accident. He still needed … more. Wanted to take a passing shot at normalcy. To have a life. To feel again, even if he wasn’t capable of the sort of depths of emotion romantics ascribed to. To have a family. Children. A legacy.
Which brought him to the woman in the red blouse. For some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She struck some odd note that resonated deep within him, something that tickled a memory, though he couldn’t quite place it. All he knew for certain was that he wanted her with a gut-wrenching desire he hadn’t experienced in ages. Maybe ever. Which begged a single, urgent question.
Why the hell wasn’t she on the list of candidates?
There must be something wrong with her, something the computer defined as unacceptable. Not her looks. Coltishly slender and fine-boned, she epitomized the type of woman he found most appealing. Even better, she was a blonde, the ruler-straight length streaked with just about every permutation of that color. Her features fell somewhere between elegant and fey, except for her mouth, which he could only describe as sultry. So, if it wasn’t her appearance, why had she been eliminated from consideration?
Not smart enough? She couldn’t be lacking in intelligence, not considering her presence at the symposium. Possibly he had set the intellectual standard a shade on the high side. Perhaps he could lower the bar an IQ point or two if she fell outside the parameters he’d predetermined. He ran through the list he’d given Pretorius again. Physically attractive. Big red check. An engineer. She was here, wasn’t she? Double check. That left logical, kind and someone who could handle isolation and wouldn’t make waves.
Maybe the computer had deduced in its inimitable fashion that she wasn’t logical. Well, hell. He’d be willing to settle for reasonable if she didn’t
