Meltdown (6 page)

The question was rhetorical—a lucky thing since Melanie was in no condition to answer. His hand branded her, the gentle pressure of his fingers burning like five points of hot iron against her skin. A sweet ache stirred within her. Melanie didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

Her soul resonated with the need to take his hand and draw it close around her, pulling her into him. To feel the length of his powerful body against her, taut and strong, as she’d imagined it so many times in her daydreams. Only this wasn’t a daydream. This was real. The Chris beside her wasn’t the erotic lover of her imagination, the man who unlocked her secret passions. This Chris would be more inclined to laugh at her fantasies than to fulfill them. She bit her lip, concentrating on the slight pain, hoping it would be enough to stop her from making a complete fool of herself.

It was—barely. He stepped away, setting the board down on the counter beside her. The contact hadn’t lasted the space of ten breaths, but to Melanie it seemed an eternity. She had just enough of her wits about her to utter a quick “Thanks,” making a beeline for the kitchen door.

Chris got there first, blocking the narrow entrance. “Surely you can do better than that, Miss Rollins.”

She wanted to be angry with him. God, how she wanted to be! But other, more powerful emotions gripped her. The sight of his long, muscular frame leaning against the entryway drove all rational thoughts from her head. The kitchen was the one room in her house that caught the morning light, and that light worked to his advantage, touching his hair with fire. His slight, wicked smile made her think of flashing sabers and doubloons, and the spark of his amber eyes danced across her skin with scorching heat. She swallowed deeply. “Please let me by.”

“Not until you thank me properly for my help. I’m hungry.”

So was she. Hungry for the touch of his hand, the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth. She’d imagined all these things so many times in her daydreams. Sugarcoated dynamite.

But this wasn’t a daydream. This was the real Chris, the corporate Chris, the one whose only interest in her was as Einstein’s inventor. Think logically, an inner voice warned.
The only reason he’s making a pass at you is to make sure you agree to work with him.

An angry blush burned her cheeks. How could she have forgotten the callous playboy of last night’s phone call? He was trying to manipulate her—and succeeding. She had half a mind to tell him she and Einstein didn’t need his kind of help. She would have, too, except for the simple fact that they did.

“Mr. Sheffield, I’d like to make one thing clear. The reason you’re here—the
only
reason—is because you can help Einstein. This is a business arrangement. Strictly business. I know your reputation, and I haven’t got the time, or the inclination, to parry your clever double entendres. You’ll have to satisfy your
appetite
somewhere else.”

For a moment Chris looked at a loss. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“I’m honest.”

“Implying, of course, that I’m not,” he said grimly. “Well, Miss Rollins, I appreciate you laying out the ground rules for me. Believe me, I’ll never trouble you again with—how did you put it?—clever double entendres.” He reached by her and picked up the circuit board from the counter. “I’ll go install this in Einstein’s console. I wouldn’t want to be accused of not holding up my end of our bargain, especially as that’s the only reason I’m here.”

His eyes snapped with anger, making Melanie doubt her scientific conclusions about his behavior. Had she misjudged him? Her rational mind warned that his expression was probably counterfeit, but the woman in her instinctively responded to the accusing anger in his voice. “Chris—”

“Please, I’ve had enough orders for one day. But before I go,
I’d
like to make something clear. When I said I was hungry, I meant
hungry
. Famished. I wanted something to eat. That’s all.”

Melanie colored to the roots of her hair. Of course that was all he meant. Chris was a connoisseur of women. It would never occur to him to romance a plain-Jane inventor like herself. Her emotions hovered uncomfortably between guilt and embarrassment. “I’ll fix some lunch,” she said, hoping he’d recognize a peace offering when he heard one.

If he did, he ignored it. “Thanks all the same,” he said, turning away. “I’ve just lost my appetite.”

They spent the next week working around the clock to replace Einstein’s worn-out parts. Chris contacted every hardware source he knew, working after hours and long into the night, using all his
knowledge and charm to gain the needed parts. He’d never worked so hard in his life, and for so little result.

Melanie’s opinion of him hadn’t changed since day one of their relationship. She thanked him pleasantly enough for his efforts, but she continued to eye him with wary distrust, as if she suspected he was planning to do her computer some secret harm. Chris tried to focus on his ultimate goal—Einstein’s presentation—but Melanie’s unfounded suspicion rubbed like a rough cloth against sensitive skin. He’d always believed that he could find something to like in everyone. But, he thought as he drove his convertible up to Melanie’s house, his all-business business partner was proving to be the exception to that rule.

He pulled his convertible into the driveway of her bungalow, his backseat stuffed with circuit boards and various lengths of shielded wire he’d picked up at a warehouse across the Intracoastal Waterway. Traffic across the bridge to the mainland had been unusually light and he’d arrived at Melanie’s house a half hour early, but he wasn’t surprised to find her car in the driveway. The woman spent every waking minute working on her computer. Dynamite couldn’t have blasted Melanie from her workroom on a weekend.

He collected the bags of hardware and walked to the door, hearing it click open at the sound of his knock. He smiled, remembering how Einstein had insisted he use the “rapper knock” he’d learned from a song on MTV. Sometimes Chris wondered where E had gotten his whimsical personality. He sure hadn’t learned it from his serious-minded creator.

Inside, Chris stumbled over a small, red-wrapped package. He set down his hardware bags and picked it up, noting that it had come from a video-shopping
company. TV shopping, Chris mused. Maybe Melanie had a few human qualities after all.

A voice from the back room drew Chris’s attention. “E, cut that out!”

Chris smiled. Einstein was up to his usual tricks. Stuffing the small package into his jacket pocket, he walked down the hallway to see what was happening. The door to the back room was ajar. Melanie was sitting at the monitor screen with her back to the door, sorting through a tangle of wiring. Apparently Einstein’s digital hearing was better than hers for she gave no indication she’d heard Chris approaching, or even that she knew he was in the house.

Einstein’s monitor flashed. Chris was too far away to read the small lettering, but he was close enough to hear Melanie’s response. “You’re incorrigible. I am not—repeat
not
—going to buy you a new CPU cabinet. There’s nothing wrong with your old one.”

The screen changed. Chris bent closer, making out the words
shiny black detailing
. He started to read more but was distracted by the low, rich sound of laughter. Melanie. Melanie was laughing!

“Detailing? E, you’ve got to stop listening to those Daytona bike-shop commercials. Trust me, the board members aren’t going to like you any better if you show up at their meeting looking like a Harley.”

Chris could feel the gentle smile in her words. This bright, lively woman was as different from the restrained scientist he knew as day from night. Even her voice sounded different—warm and sweet, with just the hint of a lilt. Intrigued, he stepped closer.

Einstein’s monitor turned sulky green.
Bet Chris would get me cabinet.

Bet I would
, Chris thought. Einstein was quite a little con artist. Chris suspected Melanie would fall for E’s line as easily as he would. He was wrong.

“Now look here, E, I don’t want you telling Chris
about this cabinet nonsense. You know how hard he’s working to get you those new parts. He’s been wonderful and we should be grateful for all his help, not bothering him with trivial requests.”

Chris blinked. Wonderful? That surprised him. She’d never seemed the least bit impressed by his efforts. A lukewarm thank-you was the most she’d ever offered. Apparently she’d concealed her appreciation. But why?

Einstein’s monitor again drew Chris’s attention.
Need cabinet, he stated. Look dorky.

Melanie put the coiled wiring aside. “You do not look ‘dorky.’ And even if you did, it wouldn’t make any difference. It’s not what you look like that matters. It’s what’s inside you that counts.”

Circuits and wires?

“No, you goof. It’s your soul. It’s all the hundreds of parts and programs that make you the very special being that you are.”

Like your brain patterns and personality traits make you and Chris special?

“That’s right. Everyone is special in his or her own way. Of course, Chris and I are very different people.”

But still special
, Einstein asserted.
You’re special because so smart. Chris is special because ***?

She answered without hesitation. “Chris is special because he makes other people feel special.”

He’d expected her to say “because he’s a hard worker,” or “because he knows the computer industry.” She might even have said “because he’s Duncan Sheffield’s son.” No surprise there. But she’d seen through his obvious talents to the underlying reason for his success in business. She was right. He liked making people feel special. He liked the warmth in her voice when she’d said it.

Why am I special?

Melanie lifted her hand and brushed her fingers across the screen. “Oh, E, dear E. There are so many things about you that—”

Not asking you. Know you. Asking Chris.

Uh-oh, Chris thought. He doubted Melanie would think so highly of him if she found him eavesdropping on her conversation. He started to inch toward the door.

“Chris? Einstein, Chris isn’t here yet.”

Yes, he is.

“You mean, he’s at the door?”

No. He’s behind you.

“Behind me?” Melanie turned and found Chris standing behind a bank of consoles near the door, looking decidedly sheepish.

He raised his hand in a halfhearted wave. “Hi.”

Melanie didn’t return the salute. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.”

Three point eight minutes
, Einstein supplied helpfully.

“You knew he was here?” she accused the computer. “And you didn’t tell me?”

You didn’t ask.

“He’s right. You didn’t ask.”

Melanie whirled back to face Chris. “You’re in no position to defend anyone. I can’t believe you snuck in here like that. It’s, it’s—”

“Incorrigible?” he said, grinning.

Melanie stopped, realizing for the first time how long Chris had actually been there. And how much he’d heard. A blush crept over her cheeks. She looked down, making a show of gathering up the wiring she’d been working on. “The least you could do is apologize for eavesdropping.”

“I suppose,” Chris agreed, “but then I wouldn’t have heard all those nice things you said about me.”

Melanie shook her head. “You weren’t supposed to hear them.”

“Why?” Chris asked. He walked over to her, settling down beside her chair until his face was level with hers. Her hair was pulled back into its usual tight bun and her glasses hid the smoky darkness of her eyes, but she couldn’t disguise her sensuous, petal-shaped mouth.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Genius, what’s so terrible about appreciating my help? What’s so terrible about
admitting
you appreciate my help?”

“I didn’t say—”

“Yes, you did,” he stated, the gentle force of his words silencing her. Emotions played across her face, emotions at odds with her cautious scientific nature. Her lower lip quivered uncertainly, and he felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her doubts away.

He didn’t get the chance. A burst of music filled the room, shattering the tender moment into oblivion. Rap music. The Rap Master pounded out his words, ironically talking about the joy of kissing his “special lady.” Chris fell back on his heels, uttering an oath of surprise or frustration, maybe both.

Melanie seemed to know exactly what was going on. She jumped out of the chair and threaded her way to the far side of the room. She reached down behind a floor unit and pulled out a radio, cutting off the power with a swift twist of her hand. The rap music faded into silence. The room lights flickered irregularly, but she ignored them. She pulled the plug from the wall and marched back to the console. “That wasn’t very funny, E.”

Too quiet. Morgue city. Wanted to liven things up.

Chris grimaced. If Einstein had waited a few minutes, things might have livened up all by themselves. E needed a serious lesson in timing. He got to his feet, trying not to disturb the clutter of equipment
that surrounded him. His jacket had slipped off one shoulder. He shrugged it on again and felt the weight of the package he’d slipped into his pocket earlier.

“I picked this up on the way in,” he said, handing the red-wrapped bundle to Melanie. “I didn’t know you watched the Shopping Channel.”

“I don’t,” she said tersely. “E does.”

“Einstein? You mean
Einstein
ordered this?”

Melanie nodded sadly. “He has absolutely no self-control when it comes to TV shopping. He’s always buying presents for me. I’ve gone through every one of his software programs looking for the bug, but it’s no use. He’s a shopaholic.”

Bargains! Bargains!
E responded, backing up her words.

Chris didn’t know who was crazier: Melanie for creating a bargain-hungry electronic brain, or himself for believing she’d created a bargain-hungry electronic brain. The technical aspects bewildered him. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions at once. How did he isolate his choices? What criteria determined his selection? How did he reach an independent decision of this magnitude without assistance?