Nothing Short of Perfect. Day Leclaire

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СКАЧАТЬ shifted, driving him insane by making tiny, circular strokes. He had a sneaking suspicion that if she didn’t stop—and soon—his body would use up its supply of nitric oxide. “I know we’re attracted to each other. We always have been.”

      There it was again. That reminder that they knew each other from another time and place, a memory his accident must have stolen from him. “Have you changed your mind?”

      “About making love to you?” She shook her head. “I just thought maybe we should slow down a little.”

      Yup. That nitric oxide needle was definitely shifting from F for Full to E for Empty. “I’m not sure I can,” he confessed.

      And it was a confession, since he found it difficult to admit to such a thing, and even more stunning to be experiencing what he regarded as a serious failing. Ever since he’d been in charge of his own life, he’d maintained ironclad control of his world and everything in it. Until then, he’d had no choice, no options, all decisions made around and to him regardless of the severity of their impact on him. The day he’d turned eighteen, he’d sworn that his life, how he spent it and who he allowed into it would be his decision and his alone.

      Her eyes darkened, the spring green draped in deep forest shadow. “I can live without tea. How much time did you say we had until your next appointment?”

      “There’s ninety-four seconds left. But I lied about the appointment.”

      “Yes, I know. It’s called a joke,” she said gently. “In this particular use of the word, a noun. Meaning to cause laughter or amusement with one’s words or actions.”

      “I’m not feeling laughter or amusement.”

      “No? What are you feeling?”

      Feeling? He closed his eyes, a rush of adrenaline streaming through him. Heaven help him, she was right. After all this time, he was finally feeling. He struggled to identify the peculiar sensation.

      “Hope,” he whispered in a low, rough voice. “A verb used with or without attachment to an object. The anticipation, belief or trust that something greatly desired may at long last occur.”

      Daisy stared at Justice, her heart threatening to break. Did he have any idea how devastating she found his words? What had happened in those years they’d been apart that had altered him to the point where he’d gone so long without hope? Her hand fisted in his shirt and she tugged, drawing him closer.

      “Take me to your room, Justice.”

      After all, what did it matter if she made love to him now or later? She’d known from the moment he’d swept onstage and their gazes had met and locked that this moment would come. They could sit in the trendy little café and drink coffee or tea until the sun set and stars spilled like fireflies across the velvety carpet of night sky. And it would only delay the inevitable.

      She wanted him. She’d always wanted him. And despite the accident which had robbed him of some portion of his memory, part of him still knew her, still remembered how it had been between them. Because clearly, he wanted her, too. Spinning on her heel, she kept her hand anchored in his shirt and towed him toward the elevators.

      “I gather we’re leaving?” he asked in a dry voice, throwing her own words back at her.

      “Yes. We’re leaving.”

      He shrugged. “Okay. But just so you know, the elevators are in the opposite direction.”

      She didn’t break stride, but simply reversed course. Was that an actual smile she saw flash across his face? “And it didn’t even crack,” she informed him.

      “Excuse me?”

      “Your face when you smiled. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that it didn’t crack.” This time when the smile came it was far broader and lingered longer. The sight filled her with intense satisfaction.

      They arrived at the bank of elevators at the same moment that a set of doors opened, spilling passengers from its gilded innards. Entering the car, they stood in silence during the ride skyward, but Daisy could sense the growing tension between them, the bubble and simmer of it barely held in check, an explosion primed and ready to blow. The doors parted and Justice gestured to the right.

      “Twenty-five-oh-one.”

      She waited by the door while he used his key card, then stepped inside, impressed by the size and beauty of his suite. “Wow.”

      “I like having both space and privacy. Since I was afforded neither during my formative years, I’ve found it holds greater value and appeal now.”

      “That doesn’t surprise me.” Daisy crossed to the expansive living area, one that looked out over a stunning view of the beach and ocean. “Who would have imagined we’d end up where we are now?” she murmured.

      “I did. At least, in regard to my own future endeavors.” His voice came from directly behind. Even though the comment sounded calm and prosaic—well, okay, and a trifle geeky—she could sense the desire seething just beneath the surface. “I had my life all planned.”

      “Yes, I suppose you did. You always were good at planning.”

      “It merely took determination combined with the right doors opening at the right time.”

      She threw him a smile over her shoulder. “Luck, Justice?”

      He shook his head. “I don’t believe in luck. I prefer to think of it as chance colliding with opportunity.”

      She chuckled, turning fully around to face him. “In other words … luck.”

      He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. “Is it luck that you’re here today?”

      “Yes. Absolutely. If I hadn’t seen your name advertised as the keynote speaker for the conference, I wouldn’t be here now.”

      “But you did see it.” He took a step in her direction, just one. But it was enough to kick her heart rate up a notch. “A door opened.”

      “And I decided to step through it.” She spared a glance around. “Literally.”

      “As I said, chance combined with the right doors opening at the right time.”

      She gave a brisk nod and released her breath on a sigh. “So, tell me something, Justice. Now that you have me here, whatever will you do with me?”

      He didn’t answer right away, instead studying her with unnerving intensity. Had his expression always been so grave? He’d been quiet as a teen, studious, focused. But he’d also had the capacity to laugh. Where had that gone and how did she find it again?

      He must have figured out what he intended to do with her because he took a final step in her direction. Hooking his index finger in the deep V of her blouse, he propelled her into his arms. She tumbled, just as she had all those long years ago, captured in an unbreakable hold.

      “I believe I’m going to take off your clothes and make love to you,” he informed her quite seriously.

      And then he kissed her.

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