Nothing Short of Perfect. Day Leclaire

he could whisk Daisy away, she spoke up, “He is the best on the planet when it comes to autonomous cooperation with humans.”

      “Very astute observation, young lady.” His attention returned to Justice. “I wonder if you’d have time to discuss an idea I had?”

      Justice knew what would happen if he didn’t get out of here and fast. It was the same thing that happened whenever engineers got together. They’d spend the entire night talking shop. Any other time, he’d have been happy to do just that. But not now. Not this night. Not when he hoped to spend it getting better acquainted with the woman he intended to transition into his apprentice/wife. Already he noticed surrounding ears and eyes perking up, could picture the gears turning, processors humming to life at the thought of an impromptu robotics discussion. Not a chance in hell.

      “I have an appointment in precisely three minutes and forty-two seconds and it will take me exactly three minutes and thirty-three seconds to get there,” he announced in a carrying voice. “If you’ll excuse us?”

      “Say no more.” The man stepped hastily aside, as did the others who’d been in the process of approaching.

      With the path clear, Justice settled his hand in the small of Daisy’s back and ushered her through the crowd choosing a vector that afforded them the most direct route between their current location and the exit. The instant they stepped from the café, Daisy turned to confront him. She planted a hand square in the center of his chest, halting his forward momentum.

      “What’s going on?” she demanded.

      Had he missed a step somewhere? “I thought you understood that part. Has there been a miscommunication?”

      “You could say that. I probably wouldn’t. Say it, I mean. I’d probably say something like, did we get our wires crossed?” She wrinkled her elegant nose. “Although even that sounds entirely too engineeringish.”

      Engineeringish? He folded his arms across his chest. “Would you prefer I be more direct?”

      “No, you’ve been quite direct enough. I thought you invited me for coffee. What changed?”

      He blew out a sigh. “I gather I should have allowed you to finish your iced tea before we proceeded to the next step?”

      “Or maybe even have a single sip?” she teased. Instead of pushing against his chest, her hand lightened, 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