Rescuing Diana

Rescuing Diana
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A Loveswept eBook Edition

Copyright © 1987 by Linda Cajio

Excerpt from
The Redhead and the Preacher
by Sandra Chastain © 1995 by Sandra Chastain.

Excerpt from
Raven and the Cowboy
by Sandra Chastain copyright © 1996 by Sandra Chastain.

Excerpt from
Ride With Me
by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2012 by Ruth Homrighaus.

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Rescuing Diana
was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1987.

Cover photo: © Jurgen Magg/Jupiterimages

eISBN: 978-0-307-79916-6

www.ReadLoveSwept.com

“What’s your latest game?”

“Will you go to the highest bidder?”

Backed up against the buffet table, Diana Windsor forced herself to tune out the almost rude questions the reporters surrounding her were asking. At the moment she owed herself a small celebration. Smiling privately, she toasted the end of her long search with a sip of champagne. The expensive wine had an odd sharpness she knew she’d never acquire a taste for, and the bubbles tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze.

It was worth drinking the stuff, though, Diana thought as she absently adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. She’d just found the perfect face. Now all she had to do was persuade its owner to loan it to her.

“Is your appearance here an indication that Princess Di is on the market for the software companies?” a persistent reporter asked.

Diana wrinkled her nose at the nickname. A
few years ago someone in the press had christened her with it, as she not only had the same first name as the Princess of Wales, but also the royal British family was the House of Windsor. She was well aware that the nickname was a nasty inside joke too. The last person she resembled was the elegantly cool blonde princess. Glancing down at her navy skirt and white blouse, she decided she probably looked just like the out-of-touch hermit everyone in the computer industry thought she was. Should she have bought a new blouse or something for this reception? she wondered as she gazed around the luxurious, three-storied, glass-enclosed room. Everyone was more dressed up than she. It had been a long time since she’d attended a social event in the computer industry. Years ago the correct dress had been T-shirts and jeans, and this morning she had feared she would be overdressed in a skirt and blouse.…

The Face! Diana realized she was forgetting about the man whose face she needed. Rising on tiptoe, she tried to catch a second glimpse of the man, but it was impossible to see over the heads of the reporters, who kept her crowded against the buffet table.

“Darn it!” she muttered under her breath, wishing the pesky journalists would go bother someone else. She just had to have that face to study so she could get it exactly right. The Face was her Sir Morbid.

It really was odd, she thought, that the Face didn’t resemble the type she’d originally been searching for. But the moment she had seen it, something inside her had known this was it. From
her first glimpse of the man standing in a quiet spot by a window, she’d been inexplicably drawn to his craggy, virile features and his crooked smile.

She wondered what kind of man was behind that smile.…

“Excuse me,” she murmured, setting her glass down on the buffet table. She began to gently squeeze her way between a man and a woman who were firing questions at her.

They jostled her back.

As she was pushed into the table, Diana realized two things at the same moment. One was that the reporters wouldn’t allow her to escape without answering their questions. And two was that she was practically sitting on a large platter of shrimp pâté. She knew it had to be the shrimp, since she’d been standing next to the gooey stuff when the reporters had surrounded her. Now she could feel the wet mass beginning to seep through her skirt.

She tried to shove herself away from the table, but the reporters, almost shouting their questions now, had drawn even closer. One more time she attempted to move, but failed again.

Firmly settling onto the shrimp dish, Diana sighed. Something told her she was better off sitting unobtrusively in the hors d’oeuvres and answering a few questions. She certainly wasn’t getting any closer to the Face and its owner by fighting the reporters.

“I’m here,” she finally said to them, “because this is a reception to introduce the Omega computer to the public. Its chief designer, Bill Osmond, is an old friend of mine, and the computer’s extraordinary breakthrough graphics and multitasking
capabilities are a giant step forward in the industry—”

“Are you designing software for the Omega?” one reporter interrupted, and shoved a microphone in her face.

She blinked at the microphone, then began a cautious reply. “Probably—”

The reaction was instant and complete. Shouting to one another, the reporters turned with cattlelike grace and stampeded across the enormous reception room toward a small group of men, one of whom was Bill Osmond.

Diana blinked again, having no idea what she had said to make them so excited. She couldn’t remember having said
anything
, and certainly nothing important. She’d only intended to say that the software companies who bought her programs would probably port them over to the Omega. Oh, well, at least she wouldn’t be bothered by them anymore. Maybe shrimp pâté was an as yet undocumented lucky charm. And now that the reporters had left she could concentrate on the Face and the completion of her latest adventure game.

She grinned, pleased she’d finally be finishing months of concentrated and painstaking work. With each game she had created, she had challenged herself and, she hoped, the future players, by using new and different devices. But this time she’d done something no one had ever done before. She’d added voices that replied to the players’ questions, and even gave hints when necessary. But she’d never been able to “draw” human features very well on the computer, so she’d hit upon the idea of using real faces for the program graphics.
The face for Sir Morbid, her hero, had eluded her, though … until now.

Suddenly she remembered she still hadn’t made contact with the man whose face she wanted to use. Groaning at her worse-than-usual absent-mindedness, she began to look around the crowds of people, trying to spot him again.

“Excuse me,” said a deep, gravelly voice.

Startled, Diana glanced up, then gaped in astonishment as she stared into the Face’s deep brown eyes.

The man stared back at her, his straight, nearly black brows drawn together in a frown. As she’d first noticed, he was not truly handsome, but was extremely virile. His face was lean, rugged. Up close, she could see he was in his thirties. There was a cleft in his chin and his nose had a little bump that marred its straightness, indicating it had once been broken. The smile lines at the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth stood out sharply against his tan. His brown hair, brushed back from his forehead, had red and gold highlights.

As Diana gazed at the Face, a potent sensation sizzled along her nerve endings, accompanied by an awareness she’d never before felt. She found her attention focusing on the man’s faintly musky scent, his tall, hard body under the three-piece beige suit, his fingers gently clasping the wineglass.…

“Do you know you’re sitting in the shrimp pâté?” he asked, jarring her from her mesmerized perusal.

“It keeps the reporters away,” she said, not moving. Now that she’d been reminded of what she was sitting on, she noticed the damp chill spreading
ever farther across her derriere. At the same time she felt a hot blush creeping up her neck. Of all the times to be caught in the shrimp! This really was beyond embarrassment, she thought. She decided the best way to save herself from her ridiculous situation was just to bluster her way through it. Besides, if she left to clean off her skirt, she might lose the man in the interim.

Politely she asked, “Why? Did you want some pâté?”

His face went blank for a moment; then he replied, “Maybe later.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath for courage and leaned closer to him. “Could I ask a favor of you? What I want isn’t difficult, but it will be tiring.”

“You want me to rescue you from the shrimp and carry you off into the ladies room, right?”

She chuckled. He even thought like a knight. “Forget the shrimp. What I need is you. It’s very important to me, and I promise to give you credit when it’s done. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect. I’ve been searching for you all over, and I was getting desperate, but now I’ve found you. I’ll pay, too. After all, it will take up several hours of your time. Just please say yes, because I don’t know what I’ll do if you say no.”

It was his turn to gape in astonishment at her.

“Please,” she repeated, smiling, hoping her rambling speech hadn’t repelled him. “I’ve just got to have your face.”

His face!

Adam Roberts shook his head in bewilderment. Whatever he’d been expecting her to ask of him, it
certainly wasn’t to borrow his face. In fact, he’d had the distinct impression she’d been asking for something entirely different. And that request would have been even more improbable than this one, considering what his brother Dan had told him about Diana Windsor.

According to Dan, who owned a software company, Diana Windsor was a brilliant, much-sought-after, yet hermitlike computer-games designer whom the media had dubbed Princess Di. Computer-software companies competed almost viciously to have a Diana Windsor game, as she had a reputation for producing best sellers. Dan claimed her “Space Pirates” had sold in the millions and was still in the top twenty on software charts after five years. Diana Windsor, it seemed, was the crown jewel of programmers.