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 quite qualify as full-blooded rational. Kind? She looked kind to him. So, let’s make that a check with a question mark. Perhaps the isolation had caused her to be rejected. He mentally flagged that for future reference. If they put their minds to it, they could find a way around that particular problem. Which left someone who didn’t make waves … A nonissue, really. He was a man, wasn’t he? He’d simply subdue any waves she made.
Justice smiled in satisfaction. It looked like he might have just found his apprentice/wife, and without any help from the computer. Just went to show that his intellect was more than a match for Pretorius’s program. And wouldn’t he take great pleasure in rubbing that fact in the old man’s face.
Daisy remained in her seat and waited while the line snaking toward the stage diminished. It would seem that everyone wanted a piece of Justice St. John and she wondered why. What had he done to inspire such effusiveness and excitement in the engineering world? Maybe she’d better research him when she returned home because, clearly, she was missing some vital information about her former lover.
The last individual reluctantly turned away and headed for the exit and in one lithe movement, Justice leaped from the stage and came straight for her. She wasn’t surprised. She’d known from the first moment their eyes had met that he’d pursue her. For now, she’d let him.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee?” he asked.
She tilted her head to one side. Interesting. No wasted time. No social niceties. “Hello,” she said and held out her hand. “Daisy Marcellus. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
To her amusement that stopped him dead in his tracks and she could practically see the gears turning. “We’ve met before.”
It wasn’t a question so she didn’t bother treating it like one, though part of her felt a stab of disappointment that her name didn’t elicit more of a reaction. Or any reaction whatsoever. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No.”
Ah, that was the Justice she remembered. Blunt and to the point. “Maybe it’ll come to you over coffee.”
He folded his arms across an impressive expanse of chest. “Why don’t you save us both time and refresh my memory?”
“I don’t think I will. It’s more fun this way.”
“Fun.” He said the word as though it left a nasty taste in his mouth.
She stood, startled to realize he’d picked up several inches in height along the way. When she’d known him, he’d been barely over six feet. He’d packed on at least three more inches in the ensuing years. “Yes, fun. As a noun, an amusement or playful activity. Alternately, the source of merriment. As an adjective, to give pleasure or enjoyment. As an intransitive verb, to play or joke.” She grinned. “The mixed blessings of a photographic memory.”
For some reason the admission allowed him to relax and he even managed a smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you for the explanation. I wasn’t familiar with the word.”
“I’m shocked. How about work? Are you familiar with that word?”
He held up a hand before she could launch into a