by Linda Cajio
She shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t get out as much as I used to. What kind of stuff is he doing?”
“Educational and game programs,” Adam replied, forcing himself to keep his mind on the conversation. He didn’t remember Diana’s mouth looking so provocative on Monday … or the intriguingly stubborn tilt to her chin … or the mysterious depths of her violet eyes. He cleared his throat. “I was Dan’s guest at the reception.”
In the ensuing silence there was a funny look on her face. Adam frowned. It was almost as if she were expecting him to say something more, and he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He’d exhausted his knowledge of his younger brother’s business. Since both of them were busy building their respective companies, they didn’t get a chance to talk very often anymore. When they did, though, Dan usually talked about how business was, not what it was.
Unfortunately, too, Adam hadn’t been exaggerating very much on Monday when he’d said he barely knew where a computer’s “on” switch was. He did know that—but only on his firm’s two computers. His partner had had to teach him how they worked. If the smallest thing went wrong, though he was instantly yelling for help. Without fail, the damn machines always beeped like crazy and acted as if he’d just taken an ax to them. There were times when he wished he had.
When Diana continued to look expectantly at him, he asked, “What am I supposed to do as this Sir Morbid?”
“Not very much,” she said, giving him a wry smile. “I won’t have you jousting with windmills, I promise. The computer just needs your face.”
“The computer needs my face?” he repeated in confusion. It sounded as if he were about to be the computer’s next meal.
“Right.” She pulled a chair in front of the sliding doors. “I have a certain face in mind for each of the characters in my newest game, but I’m lousy at drawing faces freehand on the computer. They all wind up looking like Richard Nixon.”
Adam chuckled.
“So what I want to do is take some pictures that I can sort of enhance.” Straightening, she tapped her finger against her chin for a moment. “Now, where did I put that armor?”
“Armor!” he exclaimed, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.
“You’re a knight of the Oblong Table, so you’ve got to wear some armor, and I can’t draw that any better than I can draw faces. Aha!”
As she walked across the workroom to get Adam’s costume, Diana breathed an inward sigh of relief. She was grateful to put a little distance between them. Ever since he’d walked in the front door, her body had acquired that odd tenseness she’d first felt on Monday, and her stomach had flip-flopped every time she’d looked at him. More and more she was aware of Adam as a man … and of herself as a woman. She decided she’d hidden her reaction to him fairly well. He hadn’t seemed to notice anything wrong with her. But she’d never get through the afternoon if she couldn’t control her emotions. Darn it, she thought. Surely what she knew about him would have killed any attraction to him.
Concentrate on the task at hand, she told herself as she reached a desk on the far side of the workroom. If her disturbing thoughts continued she’d probably do something idiotic, and that would only confirm the unflattering image she was certain Adam had of her. She knelt down and pulled a large costume box from under the desk. On top of the desk was Charlie, the computer that controlled her house’s elaborate burglar-alarm system. It had seemed appropriate for her modern armor to guard its more ancient version.
Flipping the lid off the box, she motioned Adam over. “It’s just the helmet and breastplate. I got it from a costume shop in Berkeley. I hope it fits. It’s only a medium.”
Squatting down on his heels next to her, he touched the glistening metal. “Good Lord, Diana! This is real!”
“Well, it is steel,” she said, suppressing her laughter. “But it’s as thin as paper and very lightweight. You’ll look wonderful, Adam. Go ahead and put it on.”
“Not until you tell me exactly what you’re going to do,” he said sternly.
“For goodness sake! You don’t have to act as if I’m asking you to sack Camelot!” she said indignantly, glaring at him. “I’m only going to take some pictures of you in the armor.”
“No sword fights with a fake dragon?”
“Not even a princess to kiss.”
The change on his rugged features was instant. The suspicion was gone, and in its place was mischievous amusement.
Almost in awe Diana stared at him. It was as if she had unknowingly challenged him in some way, and he was now taking up the gauntlet she’d thrown down. Suddenly he didn’t seem at all the safe, gentle protector of Monday. She sensed that behind the too-innocent grin and the mirthful brown eyes was a relentless hunter stalking his next victim on a very personal level. Part of her wanted to run like hell, but the other part wouldn’t move—not even for an earthquake. Her brain couldn’t cope with the conflicting signals it was receiving, so it shut down. Blank.
“Princesses pop up at the damnedest times, Diana,” he murmured, lifting the armor out of the box. “I should know.”
As his cryptic words broke the spell over her, Diana sank back on her heels in relief and regret that everything was normal again. She didn’t know why she should regret losing those magical seconds, but she did. She firmly told herself to remember his brother and Starlight Software. If she kept gawking at him like a moony teenager, he’d think she was a pushover, for goodness sake! She gave herself a stern lecture to act like the mature woman she ought to be.
Adam rose and held out his free hand to help her up. When she put her hand in his strong grip, an arc of fire shot up her arm. She realized everything wasn’t quite back to normal. Obviously lectures about not letting this man affect her wasn’t quite as expedient as good, old-fashioned no touching.
“I guess we should get started,” she said brusquely, managing to slip her hand from his without awkwardness. “I’ll finish setting up by the doors while you get into the armor.”
Quickly walking away, Diana felt his gaze on her back. A tingling sensation rippled through her, and her nipples began to harden. She found herself wishing she’d worn a bra, and redoubled her efforts to calm her surprisingly traitorous body. Good old-fashioned no touching, with a little distance thrown in besides, wasn’t quite enough, she admitted. But it helped—at least he couldn’t see her nervousness. She hoped.
She turned on the two work lamps she’d set up earlier for backdrop lighting, then placed her rented video-tape camera on its tripod and looked through the tiny viewer. Fumbling with the knobs, she adjusted the camera’s height several times before she was satisfied with the arrangement. As she straightened, a sudden string of curses filled the room.
Surprised, she turned around to find Adam, bent like a contortionist, struggling to hold the front breastplate against his chest with one hand while barely hanging on to the back plate with his other.
“Let me help you,” she said, laughing.
“How the hell did those guys get into these tin cans?” he asked, beginning to hobble toward her.
She grabbed the back breastplate just as he lost his grip on it. Buckling the shoulders together, she asked, “Why didn’t you just slip it over your head?”
“Because it wouldn’t fit!” he said in a choking voice, and tugged at the neckhole. “Loosen the buckles so I can breathe!”
Grinning, Diana readjusted the buckle on each shoulder to its last notch. She giggled at his huge sigh of relief and helped him with the side fastenings. She also resisted the urge to let her hands linger at the task.
“Okay,” she said when the armor was securely on, “go sit on the stool and put on your helmet.”
He gave her a skeptical look before placing the helmet over his head. The fit was better; the helmet completely covered his head and neck. He pushed up the slitted visor and said, “There damn well better be a princess after all this!”
She gave him a nudge in the direction of the stool. “Come
on, it can’t be that bad.”
“Wanna trade places?”
“I don’t have the Sir Morbid look. And besides,” she added, following him to her makeshift studio, “I have to work the camera.”
He sat down. “Why are you—”
His visor suddenly snapped shut. Diana burst into laughter, and he raised the visor and glared at her.
“Where did you get this thing? Guillotines Incorporated?”
“Just keep your nose tucked in and you’ll be okay,” she said, wishing she’d had the film rolling. With a last giggle she put her eye to the viewer, then fiddled with the lens until she had the focus exactly right. Pressing a button, she started the camera, then straightened and casually crossed her arms over her chest.
Adam glanced at the camera. “Before I was so rudely interrupted by my visor,” he said, “I was going to ask why you’re using a video camera and not a regular one.”
“I can transfer a video tape into the computer and freeze-frame what I want,” she explained. “Then I can just paint over the picture and use it as part of the graphics of my game. I can’t do that with a photograph.”
“So all I have to do is sit here and—”
The visor snapped shut again. Diana doubled over with laughter. She hoped he’d been looking directly at the camera when it had happened. The film would be priceless if he had. Sir Morbid couldn’t have done better, she thought.
“—and keep my mouth shut,” Adam finished as he lifted the visor.
He grinned at her, and her stomach did flip-flops again. In that moment Diana realized that in spite of what she knew about him, she liked him just as much now as she had at their first meeting. More. She was still distressed by the potent attraction that continued to draw her to him. Worse, that attraction was growing stronger with each minute she spent in his company.
Adam Roberts, she decided, was becoming as complicated as one of her adventure games. She wasn’t sure she liked that.
She wasn’t sure at all.
Three
“All this knighthood has made me hungry,” Adam said as he pulled off his helmet and wiped the film of sweat from his forehead. “I know the perfect place we can go to for an early dinner. The Tapestry Room.”
Diana hesitated before answering. In spite of the underlying currents constantly pulling inside her, she had managed to be a mature professional during Adam’s filming. She wondered, though, if she should press her luck any further. Surely she had shown him his job of getting her to come to work for Starlight wouldn’t be as easy as her reputation implied.
But Adam had made no move to coerce her into working for his brother. Not a word. She had given him plenty of opportunities, too. She silently admited she was becoming very curious about what enticement he would use. Would it be a Ferrari or a BMW? A condo in Hawaii or one in Mexico? A large chunk of stock or a cut of the profits? Some software companies offered the most amazing things to recruit a programmer or designer. Maybe Adam would come up with something unique and completely new. Whatever he had in mind, this had to be the real purpose of his seemingly casual dinner invitation. It might be interesting to see how much more his methods of persuasion would differ from other companies’. They’d certainly been different so far.
“I’ve never been to the Tapestry Room,” she said, ignoring the little voice in her head that mumbled something about curious cats.
“It’s very medieval, so as Sir Morbid’s creator you’ll feel right at home,” Adam said. His gaze lowered to her T-shirt. He stroked his jaw for a moment, then added, “I’m afraid you’ll have to change, though. The Tapestry Room is casual, but not that casual.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her T-shirt, jeans, and bare feet. “I guess I should.”
“Wear something bulky. It can be cold in there,” he said with a wry grin.
After Diana disappeared, Adam prayed she owned a sweater made by Omar the tentmaker. He’d never survive the rest of the evening if she wore anything that remotely hugged her body. The only things that had saved him from disgrace today were the hot lights and the hotter armor in which he’d been encased. They had constantly distracted him from Diana, and he was grateful for that. All afternoon he’d felt that innocent aura of hers. Most men would have backed away from it, but he acknowledged it was one of the things that drew him to Diana. He’d never met a woman quite like her before. She was a unique blend of naïveté and sexiness, and he found himself continually pulled to her. Yet he’d quickly realized he’d have to take things very slowly with her.
Attempting to turn his thoughts in another direction, he wandered over to the two coin-operated arcade games. The coin slots had been removed, and seeing that one of the games was her famous “Space Pirates,” he pressed the start button. Suddenly a horde of tiny spaceships zoomed across the screen, firing their torpedoes in time to the fast-paced music.
Grinning like a kid, Adam slapped buttons and rammed the joy stick back and forth, trying to shoot the enemy into the great beyond before he was shot. He lost his ships in rapid and devastating succession. Obviously the game called for quick reflexes and quicker strategy, he thought as the screen flashed his miserable score points. It asked him if he wanted to play again.
With a silent “No, thanks,” he turned his back on the machine and walked over to the three computers atop a single table. Diana had said they were her actual working computers, and he wondered why she used three. After all, she was only one person. He caught sight of the stack of computer paper on the edge of the table and began flipping through the print-outs. They were filled with numbers and what looked like gibberish to him. He raised his brows, wondering how anybody could understand it. Yet he knew Diana could.
Amazing, he thought. She didn’t look like a brain trust.
Hearing her steps in the hallway, he let the papers fall back into place and turned around. When she entered the room, he smiled in pleasure. Her sable-brown hair had finally been let loose to caress her shoulders, and while her beige cable-knit sweater wasn’t quite the size of a tent, it did downplay the tantalizing shape of her breasts. Her trousers were nice and, thank heavens, not tight-fitting, unlike her jeans. She looked attractive, but without the obvious sexual allure.
As he gazed at her, he realized there was a lot more to admire about Diana. She was refreshingly straightforward, obviously brilliant at her craft, and comfortable with who and what she was.
Diana Windsor, he decided, was one princess he planned to keep to himself.
“Ready?” he asked, walking over to her.
She nodded. “Sure you don’t want to wear the armor?”
He grinned. “Believe me, the Tapestry Room doesn’t need a Sir Morbid.”
When they entered the Oakland restaurant a short time later, Adam glanced at Diana and smiled. Her eyes were round with wonder as she gazed at the Tapestry Room’s gray stone walls and stained-glass windows. Wall hangings depicted medieval battles and hunting scenes. Shields, lances, broadswords, and other weapons hung from the walls. The flagstone floor was even strewn with rushes in an effort to duplicate a castle’s great room.
“Two full suits of armor,” Diana said almost reverently, pointing to the display standing guard in the restaurant’s entryway.
“Wait until you see the bar,” Adam said. “The bartenders are dressed in chain mail.”
“In a minute. I just want to look more closely at this armor,” she said, and walked over to one of the statues. She stroked the right gauntlet, which clutched a triangular banner of red silk.
Adam smiled at her, then turned to the hostess, who was dressed in a velvet gown and wimple.
“Table for two, please,” he requested, then added, “Could you give us a few minutes, though?”
The hostess looked at Diana and smiled. “No problem, sir.”
The hostess bustled away, and Adam glanced around with a new appreciation at the restaurant’s familiar decor. He’d had more than one meal here since establishing his architecture firm
in Oakland three years before. Grinning, he wondered if he’d unconsciously been in training for the role of Sir Morbid all that time.
“Adam!” Diana suddenly whispered from behind him.
He turned to discover her holding the armor’s left gauntlet in her hand, a look of panic on her face.
“How did that happen?” he whispered back, striding over to her.
“I don’t know!” she replied in a low tone as he took the gauntlet from her. “I just touched it and it came off.”
Trying to fit the metal glove back onto the armored sleeve, he muttered, “You must have twisted it or something.”
“But I didn’t!” she whispered. “Here, let me hold this still for you.”
She grasped the sleeve just above the wrist to steady it. Adam’s jaw dropped in astonishment as the whole sleeve instantly came free in her hands. She stared at the sleeve for a moment, then looked up at him.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I guess you can dress me up, but you can’t take me anywhere,” she said in a small voice.
Fighting laughter, he shook his head. “If all the ladies needed as much rescuing as you, Diana, knighthood never would have gone out of business. Gimme that thing!”
She shoved the sleeve into his hands. He bent down and very gently placed it and the gauntlet on the pedestal base, directly between the statue’s armored feet.
Straightening, he looked at her. “I don’t suppose you want to stay for dinner now, do you?” he asked dryly.
She looked around in embarrassment. “No, not really.”
As they were walking across the parking lot toward his car, she sighed. “Honestly, Adam, I have no idea how that arm came off.”
“I do,” he said as they reached his car. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it. When she was seated in the gray velour seat, he added, “As I said before, it’s a good thing princesses are naturally klutzy. Otherwise we Knights of the Oblong Table would be out of business.”
He shut the door before she could answer. Striding around the car, he thought with amusement that he was giving not just his face, but his whole body to the role of Sir Morbid. He wondered if Diana had always been in such need of rescuing—and who had been rescuing her before him.
