Nothing Short of Perfect

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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.

Three

Daisy slid her arms around Justice’s neck and clung for all she was worth. She’d never appreciated methodical until this moment. But Justice managed to change her mind.

The first touch of his lips against hers came as an easy, tender caress. It stayed that way for a brief moment, just long enough for her to react. The instant she threw herself into the embrace, the tenor changed, became harder, more insistent. She sighed in delight, opening to him without hesitation or caution. He breached the seam of her lips, his tongue teasing hers, edging her hunger ever higher.

His control was exquisite, his taking decimating her. And then his teeth closed over her lower lip and tugged, threatening to drive her straight over the edge.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he informed her.

It took Daisy a long moment to gather her wits sufficiently to respond to Justice’s comment. “Not a clue. But I’m willing to bet you could tell me to the minute.”

“To the nanosecond.”

He cupped her face and practically inhaled her, his kiss the most thorough she’d ever received, his mouth firm and assured and potent. “Tell me what you want and I’ll spend the rest of the night giving it to you.”

It was all she could do to keep from moaning in response. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He smiled again, more easily this time. “Do you want the lights on or off when I remove your clothes?”

“Oh, yes.”

Now he grinned. “Maybe I’ll leave them off and see you wearing nothing but the sunset.”

It was the most poetic comment he’d made since they’d become reacquainted and a cold place deep inside thawed, melted, warmed her, inside and out. “Then you’d better hurry because it’s almost gone.”

“I don’t hurry. Not when it comes to something as important as this.”

Daisy could only stare at him, helpless, a shaft of raw desire shooting through her. “Oh, Justice. I was so afraid.”

“Afraid?” A frown creased his brow. “Of me?”

“In a way.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug and heard the happy clatter of children’s toys rattling around in her carryall. The sound reassured her as nothing else could have. “Of how you’d be when I met you again. Whether you’d have changed. At first, I thought …”

“That I had?”

“How did you know?”

“It seemed the logical conclusion.”

“Yes. I thought you’d changed.” She swept the strap of her carryall from her shoulder and tossed the bag carelessly to the carpet. Fortunately, the contents stayed put, though they did jangle in protest. “And you have changed. It’s natural, I suppose, since change is inevitable over time.”

“An astute observation.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “And yet, you’re still the same. Underneath all the scientific jargon and aloofness, you’re still the Justice I remember.”

“I assume that’s good?”

“It’s …” For some reason tears pricked her eyes and she hastened to lower them, praying he hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t seem to contain her energy and plucked at one of the buttons on his black shirt. “It’s fantastic,” she admitted in a husky voice.

“Let’s see if we can’t make it even more fantastic.”

Daisy had to admit, one of the qualities she’d always admired about Justice was his intense focus. He didn’t waste further time talking, but applied his superb intelligence to shoving the buttons of her blouse through the corresponding holes. Sliding it from her shoulders, he neatly removed her bra with an experienced flick of his fingers.

What little remained of the setting sun bathed her in soft purpling shadows. His gaze followed the final traces of sunlight, while his hands painted her in heat. He cupped the weight of her breasts and slid his thumbs across the tips. His hands surprised her with their power and strength. They weren’t the soft hands of a pencil pusher, but those of a laborer, callused and hard. Whatever sort of engineering and robotic work he did involved the use of those hands, his efforts strengthening and defining their shape and texture. She moaned at the delicious abrasiveness, her knees threatening to give out beneath her.

“Justice, please.”

“Don’t ask me to rush this. I can’t. I won’t. I want to enjoy every moment.”

Despite his demand, his hands reluctantly slid from her breasts across her quivering abdomen. The sound of the zipper of her slacks being lowered sounded as harsh as their breathing. He skinned the last of her clothing from her body, leaving her cloaked in nudity.

It was Daisy’s turn to return the favor. She didn’t have Justice’s patience, nor his attention to methodical process. She yanked and tugged whatever came to hand, whether trousers or shirt or shoes and socks. While darkness enclosed them in a soft fist, she allowed her hands to be her eyes while she reacquainted herself with every inch of him.

So much had changed. Not only was he taller, but broader. More heavily muscled. Deliciously ridged and toned. She’d love to paint him like this, to capture not only the incredible maleness of him, but that essence of intellect combined with potent masculinity.

Her hand glanced off a ridge that wasn’t muscle, a long slashing tear across smooth skin. “Oh, Justice. You weren’t kidding about the scars, were you?”

He stiffened. “It should be too dark for you to see.”

“Well, yes. But I can feel it.”

“Do you find it offensive? Would you prefer to terminate our lovemaking?”

“Termin—” Daisy smothered a laugh. “Honestly, Justice. You’re so funny. I can always tell when you’re upset. You start talking in Basic Geek.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m …” He released his breath in a long sigh. “I’m emotionally compromised.”

“It would be a little surprising if you weren’t,” she informed him gently. He didn’t reply, but remained still and quiet beneath her tentative touch. Did he think she’d walk away because of a few scars? He didn’t know her very well anymore, but he’d soon learn. “Let me show you how offensive I find your scars.”

Ever so gently, her touch as soft and light as the sweep of butterfly wings, she pressed her lips to the first, tracing it from end to end. She located the next one and kissed that one, as well. And the next, until she’d found each and every one, created a road map of lingering caresses across his body.

“No more.” His harsh voice split the silence, as twisted and tortured as his scars.

He swept her into his arms and carried her through the living area into the bedroom. A single light burned a pathway through the darkness, chasing away the shadows and haloing the bed in a ring of gold. He came down beside her and the warm glow skated over his work-hardened muscles and sank into the crevices lining his face. Pain lingered there, a pain she’d have given anything to ease. And maybe she could.

Daisy reached for him, pulled him into the warmth of her embrace and adjusted her curves to accommodate his lean, graceful form. No question, Justice had become the panther she’d long considered him, sleek and trim, with an edge of tough, masculine danger. His skin rippled beneath her touch, the sweep of warm, taut sinew as appealing to the artist within her as the faint golden hue of his skin tones. His hardness pitted against all that made her yielding and feminine, creating an interesting dichotomy, one she could lose herself in. So why resist?