realized then that she was a touchy-feely type of woman. Unusual in an engineer, but he could live with it. Live with it? Hell, he could get used to it damn fast. He shrugged. “It’s just one of those things you learn to accept. Sort of like the scars.”
To his utter astonishment, tears pricked her eyes. “Oh, Justice. Scars?” She leaned toward him, speaking in a fierce undertone, her hand tightening on his. “Those don’t matter, either. All they mean is that you’re a survivor.”
Another thought occurred. “We have the option of making love in the dark if you think the scars might have an adverse impact on your libido.”
To his surprise, she burst out laughing. “Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid you’d changed. But you still have that marvelous sense of humor.”
Did she think he was making a joke? He’d been dead serious. “Does that mean you’re not interested in making love?” Maybe he should have led into the subject more gradually. But it seemed a logical progression, one that sandwiched quite neatly between coffee and asking her to be his apprentice/wife. “There’s no rush. We have sixty-one hours and thirty-four minutes.”
She laughed again, a light, carefree sound that arrowed straight to the icy core of him and thawed it ever so slightly. For the first time in years he felt the budding tendrils of hope. Maybe he wasn’t a lost cause. Maybe winter would end. Maybe Daisy could deliver him into the warming arms of spring.
“I’m very interested in making love to you,” she informed him. Her amusement faded, replaced by a bittersweet longing. “It’s been so long, Justice. I wish I’d thought to look for you sooner.”
“You wouldn’t have found me. Pretorius keeps us well hidden.”
“Pretorius?”
“My uncle. He’s a computer expert, which comes in handy since he helps maintain my anonymity.”
“Huh.” She fixed him with her lovely eyes, giving him her full attention and he realized he liked being the center of her universe. He liked it a lot. “I didn’t realize you had any family. At least, you never mentioned anyone.”
The way she spoke suggested they’d shared a certain level of intimacy. His eyes narrowed. Damn that accident. How could he have possibly forgotten someone like her? “How do I know you?”
She smiled. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a hint. My appearance has changed quite a bit since we last met.”
Aw, hell. Why did women always do that to a man? Normally, he was quite observant. But he rarely felt his observational abilities reached the level expected by women in male-female dynamics, particularly those of a romantic nature. “For instance?”
“My hair.”
“Longer? Shorter?” He hazarded a guess, though guessing didn’t come naturally to him.
She shook her head. “Lighter. It was a lot darker before. But I’ve gone back to my natural coloring.”
Relief flowed over him like a comforting blanket. Okay, that explained it. No doubt the computer program disqualified her based on that minor detail. He’d have to speak to Pretorius about tweaking the parameters. Maybe he’d been a shade too rigid in his requirements.
“I could live with dark hair.” Especially if it meant Daisy agreeing to become his apprentice/wife.
She tilted her head to one side, clearly puzzled by his comment. “Could you?”
Perhaps that sounded a trifle odd. Hadn’t Pretorius warned him about inviting a woman for a cup of coffee in one breath and proposing to her in the next? Time to slow things down. After coffee he’d settle for propositioning her. She’d indicated a level of interest in pursuing that angle of their acquaintance, at least he hoped he’d made a correct interpretation of her interest. And if he were strictly honest with himself, if he didn’t get her into bed soon he might give in to the temptation to bite more than just those lush lips of hers. He suspected such an action would be frowned upon given their current venue.
“Did we meet at a previous engineering conference?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not—”
Their waitress appeared at his elbow and offered them a wide smile. “Good afternoon. My name is Anita and I’ll be your waitress.” She stated the obvious considering that she wore a uniform that clearly identified her occupation and her name tag had “Anita” written in bold black lettering. “Would you care for a drink from the bar?”
“I’ll pass,” Daisy said. “Though I’d love some iced tea, extra lemon please.”
A sense of familiarity swept through Justice. Something about the extra lemon. And then it passed. The sensation happened all too frequently since the accident. Sometimes he couldn’t summon the memory no matter how hard he tried. On other occasions—more and more often to his profound relief—the memory exploded into his mind in full vivid color, as though his brain had forged a new pathway through the neural wetware that held that precious information, avoiding the congestion and confusion left behind by his accident. But not this time. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he found himself square in the middle of a mental traffic jam, unable to maneuver his way to the coordinates that contained that particular node of memory.
He accepted the failure with his usual stoicism and switched his attention to the waitress. “Coffee. Black.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks and to take your order.”
The instant Anita left, Justice returned his attention to Daisy, homing in on her with laser-sharp focus. “Are you ready to give me another hint?”
She waved that aside. “I have a better suggestion. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to in the past few years? After all, you are the best in the business when it comes to creating robotic sensors and actuators.”
They were on more familiar ground now. “Yes, I am.”
“No false modesty, I see,” she commented.
The observation made no sense. “What would be the point?”
He’d never met a woman who enjoyed laughing more than this one. He should find it annoying. Instead, it arrowed straight through him, bringing an unexpected surge of desire. “You crack me up, Justice. Still logical to the end.”
He hesitated. “Is there something wrong with being logical?”
Everything about her seemed to soften, even her voice. “No, of course not. So long as you also remember to feel.”
Feel? He didn’t quite know how to respond to that, a rare occurrence and one that threw him off stride. He reached for Rumi, only to realize he’d left the sphere in his room. It also brought home to him how much he’d come to depend on his creation whenever he found himself in a quandary. And Daisy certainly left him in a quandary.
With most engineers, he knew exactly what to expect and how to speak to them. But not with this woman. Even her name seemed wrong, and yet … Right somehow. She had the same appeal as her namesake, a splash of color that brightened even the plainest, most barren landscape. She made him hesitate along his appointed path, encouraged him to pause in order to admire and while away the
