Sorcerer: A Loveswept Contemporary Classic Romance (15 page)

Well, not technically, Jill thought, her blush deepening. She’d had a brief physical relationship in college with one of her fellow environmentalists. But their few, largely disappointing sexual encounters had left her clueless as to what men wanted physically. She had no idea of what turned men on—except that she didn’t seem to have any of it.

The doorbell rang, bringing all her thoughts, except panic, to a halt.

“Show time!” Marsha chorused, hustling her friend out the bedroom door toward the stairs. “Now, remember, I’ll feed Merlin and lock up here. You just have a fun time.”

Fun?
Jill suspected Daniel had more fun facing the lion’s den. Briefly she considered sending Marsha
to the door with a message that she was sick or dead or something, but there were three very good reasons why she couldn’t do that. One, matchmaker Marsha wouldn’t agree to do it. Second, Ian probably wouldn’t believe that she was really dead—especially when she showed up at the lab the following afternoon for their next episode in the simulator. And the third, the most damning reason of all, was that—despite her anxiety—she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him.

She pulled open the door, smiling up at the place she expected his face to be—and lowered it in surprise when she saw that the man on the other side of the door wasn’t Ian. “Who are you?”

“Rogers, ma’am,” the shorter, considerably wider stranger answered. “I’m Dr. Sinclair’s chauffeur. He’s working on the simulator equations, and asked me to pick you up and drive you to his estate.”

“Chauffeur?” Jill repeated in surprise. Then, as the words sunk in, she added in a strangled gasp,
“Estate?”

“Dammit, the answer’s here somewhere,” Ian muttered as he studied the computer printouts strewn across his home office desk. Rows and rows of hexadecimal numbers littered the pages—machine code—mined whole from the very heart of Einstein’s core. The bits and bytes translated to computer commands—a language as intricate and powerful as any medieval incantation. Change a number here,
and you could talk to a person halfway around the world. Insert a calculation there, and you could fly to the moon. It was the sorcery of science, the spell of predictable magic. And somewhere in this ream of statistical wizardry was the digital key that would unlock the secret to Einstein’s disappearance.

Ian’s intercom buzzed.

“Rogers phoned from the car,” a lyrical voice on the other end of the line informed him. “He just passed the front gate.”

“Fine. I’ll be down soon,” Ian answered vaguely, his attention still focused on the printouts.

“You’ll get downstairs this instant, you heartless bugger. You’re the one who invited the poor lass to this mausoleum, and I’ll not have you let her arrive here without a welcome.”

Ian chuckled at the reprimand. He’d received similar chastisements since he was six years old, and knew they were delivered with more love than anger. “All right, Partridge,” he said, depressing the intercom lever. “I’m coming down now.”

He rose from his desk and stretched his cramped muscles. How long had he been sitting here? An hour? Two? Well, he’d better get used to it—he still had the lion’s share of the data to sift through, most of which was stacked downstairs on the dining room table. There he and Jill could spread them out and study them in detail. Her knowledge of Einstein’s internal matrix would be invaluable.

Is that the only reason you wanted her here?

Of course it was. His dining room was three
times as large as any of the conference cubicles at the office. And while his nineteenth-century ancestor’s baronial banquet table hadn’t been specifically constructed as an oversize work space, it would serve that purpose admirably. He and Ms. Polanski would be able to go over the printouts thoroughly, without any of the annoying distractions of the office. It made perfect, logical sense to invite her to his house.

Just like it made perfect, logical sense to douse yourself in cologne.

He hadn’t
doused.
He’d merely put some on after he’d taken a shower, and changed into some comfortable clothes. And just because those clothes happened to be a black V-neck sweater and a pair of jeans that Partridge had told him “would keep a gel’s attention focused somewhere other than his mind” … well, they were just the first things that came to hand.

And I suppose your razor just came to hand as well. You never shave in the evening, but tonight you
—

“Enough!” he said aloud, as if a verbal reply could silence his nagging conscience. He gathered up the printouts on his desk and left his den, steering his course toward the stairway that led to the main vestibule and steering his mind back to the important matters at hand—locating Einstein and determining what sort of danger was threatening him. These were the quantifiable objectives, not analyzing what feelings he did or did not have for Ms. Jillian Polanski.

He reached the top of the stairway, pausing to
look down on the vestibule. The elegant creation of gold-veined marble and crystal chandeliers was the culmination of Samantha’s considerable decorating talents. It was beautiful, magnificent, breathtaking—and as coldly sterile as the inside of a tomb.

Partridge had nicknamed it the Mausoleum, and had wanted to redecorate as soon as Samantha moved out. Ian, however, had resisted. The decor reminded him of his ex-wife, and the terrible mistake he’d made in marrying her. It reminded him to stick to science and leave the softer emotions to other, less-jaded men. It reminded him that he wasn’t built for romance, even if his simulator had temporarily cast him in the role of a knight in shining armor, and a matinee idol. In the real world he was the solitary Dr. Doom, who lived alone in a house that resembled a mausoleum. And if the doctor occasionally fantasized about a pair of doe-brown eyes, a fierce, determined little chin, and a soft, incredibly kissable mouth, it was just his own rotten lu—

“Ohmigod!” said a startled voice from the vestibule below.

She’s here
, he thought, quickly dampening an unwanted surge of pleasure. He glanced down and saw Jillian step tentatively into the crystal room. She was wrapped in the most god-awful coat he’d ever seen, the engulfing material making her look young and vulnerable—and completely adorable. A soft smile tugged at his stern lips as he watched her wander like a lost sparrow through the glittering wonderland.
I
could replicate this room in a heartbeat in my simulator, but there’s no way on earth I could replicate her.

Downstairs, Jill shivered as a familiar awareness tingled down her spine. It was almost as if Ian … but he wasn’t there.
Good thing, too
, she thought as she glanced around at the incredible room. She’d known from the fact that Ian had a chauffeur that he was wealthy—but not
this
wealthy. She needed a few minutes to get used to the idea. Hell, she needed a few months.

People said money didn’t matter, but she’d spent enough of her life without it to know better. Money made people different. She’d hoped to spend the evening finding out things she and Ian had in common, but the more she learned about the enigmatic scientist, the more glaring their differences became. The only thing that kept her from walking back out the door was the fact that Ian had invited her there. He must see their differences as clearly as she did, but he’d asked her because he wanted to try to build a relationship. What other reason could there be?

“It’s about time you got here,” said an unfamiliar voice on her right.

Jill turned toward the speaker, who was entering the front hall through the living room door. The woman was stoutly built and almost painfully plain, and the severe, high-collared dress she wore did little to improve her appearance. But while her looks were unremarkable, the welcome shining in her honest face was anything but.
This has got to be Partridge.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was running late.”

“Well, you are, and I don’t just mean for dinner,” Partridge said cryptically. She held Jill at arm’s length and gave her a quick but thorough perusal. “Yes, you’ll do. I understood you thought the doctor and I were shacking up together.”

Jill blinked at the light-speed change of subject. “I didn’t mean … that is, I misunderstood …”

“No need to apologize,” Partridge said, patting Jill’s arm comfortingly. “My boy excels at misunderstandings. Couldn’t get the right words out if you tied his tongue to a truck and dragged them out of him. Why, I remember one time when he was just a little shaver he—”

“That will do,” commanded a stern voice from above.

Ian!
Jill looked up, and saw him standing at the top of the gilded staircase, looking like a black king in a glittering white palace. His presence washed over her like a dark wave, stretching and tightening her body in delicious, frightening places. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry as dust.
Just remember that he was the one who invited you here
, she told herself as she watched him start down the stairway.
Under that cool, confident façade he must he feeling just as nervous as I
—

And then she saw the printouts.

“I’m glad you could come on such short notice,” he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve got most of the data from Einstein’s core dump stacked in the dining room. We can start analyzing the figures immediately.”

“You asked me here … to analyze figures?”

“Yes, and we’d better get to it,” he said brusquely, glancing at his watch. “We’re already running late—”

“Oh, for Lord’s sake,” Partridge interrupted. “Can’t you even wait for the lass to take off her coat?”

“There’s no need,” Jill said quietly. “I’d like to keep it on.” She had no intention of revealing the dress she hid beneath it—or the dreams that had just been shattered into dust. Ian had asked her there to look at core dumps, not to romance her. She’d misread his motives so completely, she could have laughed aloud—if her heart hadn’t been breaking.

Well, this is the last time
, she promised herself as she lifted her chin and followed Ian toward the dining room. She’d been fooled by the doctor’s feelings for her before, but she wouldn’t let it happen again. He could stay behind his hard, emotionless façade till doomsday. He could rot in this beautiful, soulless house for all she cared. Once they’d found Einstein, she was going back to her job at Sheffield, where she’d never have to see him again.

And maybe, if she worked very hard at it, she’d forget how much she loved him.

Dinner was a disaster. No matter what they said to each other, it lead to a battle, striking sparks between them like iron on flint. Einstein’s indecipherable data dumps only added to their frustration,
giving them even more excuses to argue. By the end of the meal even “pass the salt” had become a bone of contention.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Ian said as he headed for the living room, hoping the change in location would defuse the tension between them. “I merely said that studies showed that most Americans use too much salt—”

“Great, now you’re trying to dictate my diet,” Jill snapped. “Thanks, Doctor, but I’ve been eating just fine on my own for years. I don’t need you to tell me how.”

“I wasn’t—oh, what’s the use?” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushed to the edge by her argumentative attitude. He’d promised her he’d find Einstein. He’d asked her here to help him—something he thought she’d appreciate. But instead she stood in the opposite corner of the living room, like a fighter about to enter the ring. He’d gone several rounds with her already, and didn’t relish another battle. What in blazes was the matter with her? “I could use a drink,” he stated, turning to the wet bar. “Can I get you one?”

“No, thank you,” she replied with brittle politeness.

“Suit yourself.” He splashed a healthy portion of straight scotch into a glass, foregoing the ice. He hadn’t been this worked up over a female since—hell, he’d
never
been this worked up over a female. He took a long pull of liquor, relishing its clean,
honest bite. Some things, at least, could be depended on. “I wish you would tell me why you’re so upset.”

“Why, so you can log it with the rest of your test data?”

He spun around, biting back a word he hadn’t used since adolescence. “I don’t … I asked you here to help find out what happened to Einstein. I thought that was what you wanted.”

“Of course that’s what I wanted. What else would I want?”

She balled her hands into fists, shivering with barely contained ire. Her anger was a puzzle—and Ian was a master at solving puzzles. He leaned back against the wet bar, studying her for some clue to her inexplicable emotion. But all he saw was fury—desperate, anguished fury—like a bird beating its wings to get out of a trap she has no hope of escaping.

“I’d like to go home now,” she said suddenly.

Ian straightened, startled not so much by her statement, but by his fierce, gut-level reaction to it.
Don’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.
He took another pull on his drink, trying to make sense of his own chaotic feelings. “Of course, you can leave anytime you want to, but—”

“No
buts
about it. I’ve endured this evening for as long as I intend to. I’ve endured
you
, Doctor,” she said, turning toward the door to the vestibule. “I want to go home.”

“Well, you’re not going yet.” Pushed past the limit, he slammed down his glass and crossed the
room in three strides. He took her arm, grasping the material of her horrible raincoat, anchoring her in place. “You’re not leaving until we have this out.”

“Like hell,” she cried, struggling against him. It wasn’t much of a struggle—Ian had ten times her strength, and he was fully prepared to use it. But Jill knew she had to get away. This place was suffocating her.
He
was suffocating her. Desperate, she untied the sash of her coat and slipped out of it, hoping to get past the front door and into the darkness before he could—

“Bloody hell!”

The shock of his voice brought her to a dead halt. She glanced back, and saw him staring at her as if she’d suddenly been stripped stark naked. Oh, God, she thought, slowly turning her gaze downward. The dress. She’d forgotten about the damning dress.