Love On My Mind

by Tracey Livesay

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” She held out a hand. “I’m Chelsea Grant.”

  Her mouth stretched into a bright smile that was a captivating contrast to her brown skin. She was a striking woman, all long limbs, sexy hair, and full, fuckable lips. He stared down at her fine-­boned, outstretched hand before clasping it in his. Sensation shot up his arm.

  “Adam.” He nodded at their joined hands. “You’re supposed to keep your distance. Aren’t you afraid?”

  “You don’t seem dangerous to me.” She dropped his hand and held up her phone. “But in case I’m wrong, I sent a text to my sister telling her where I am, so even if you kill me, you won’t get away with it.”

  His lips twitched. He needed to get back to work, but he acknowledged an inclination to spend a few more minutes in this woman’s company. When was the last time he’d chosen interaction with a woman over work?

  Birgitta. The woman who’d lied to him and cheated on him. Because of his relationship with her, he’d lost his credibility in the technology industry.

  And that was reason enough to send Chelsea Grant on her way.

  He handed her the map. “Do you have any questions about the directions?”

  “Not really. I think I saw the signpost you mentioned. I’ll slow down and take my time.” She laughed. “I hope no one comes up behind me as I’m driving five miles an hour.”

  He shook his head. “Not likely. I’m the last house up here. The Andersons’ is next.”

  “Well, it was good to meet you. It’s nice to know a neighbor in these parts.”

  Another crack split the air and the lights went out.

  “Adam?” Her voice pitched an octave higher.

  A moment later, he heard a click and the lights came back on. His cell phone rang.

  Chelsea inhaled deeply and let it out, a tiny smile on her face. “I better hurry and get to the house before that happens again. And you’d better answer your phone.”

  Adam glanced out the window. Sporadic pockets of light dotted the mountainside. He looked up at the click of her boots scurrying across the floor.

  “Wait! The power went out.”

  She raised her finely arched brows. “I know. I want to get my bags and supplies into the house before it happens again.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You don’t have any power.”

  She looked around. “You do.”

  “I have a generator. My work is important. I can’t be without electricity.” He motioned her over to the window and pointed to the lights. “Those ­people have generators. Not as powerful as mine, but sufficient for them to weather the storm.” He pointed to the black void where the Anderson house was located. “That’s where you’re going. And I know for a fact he never put in a generator.”

  A loud buzzing sound emanated from his workstation and he shifted, focusing on the red-­and-­white letters that scrolled across the large computer monitor that occupied the left side of his desk.

  “What’s going on?” Chelsea asked. Her hands clutched the sleeve of his shirt.

  His heart shifted in his chest. He stared at the convergence created by her touch, then up at her exquisite profile. “It’s an alert from the county. Certain mountain roads are impassable due to fallen trees and mudslides. We’ve had a record amount of rain this week.”

  “Does that affect us?”

  It sure as hell did.

  He pointed to the screen. “The main road they mention where a large tree was downed? That’s our road. It’s one point two miles from here, down the mountain.”

  “It says due to the mudslides, crews can’t get up the mountain,” she said, bending forward to peer at his monitor. “Good thing I brought some supplies with me. Looks like it might be a while before I can drive down into San Mateo.”

  “You don’t have any power and—­”

  “You already said that.” She clasped her hands together and pressed the knuckle of her index finger against her full lips. “Do you have a flashlight I can borrow? There must be candles at the house. I’ll light a few to get me through the evening and in the morning, I can reassess my situation.”

  She had yet to fully comprehend their plight.

  “The alert indicated the obstruction is approximately six miles from the peak of the mountain. My home is situated four point eight miles from the peak. I told you earlier the Anderson house is two miles from here.”

  “I’ll be care—­” Chelsea’s mouth fell open. She rubbed her arms and stared out the window for a long moment. “So I can’t get to the house?”

  The beating of his heart was sluggish. “No.”

  “And I can’t get back down the mountain?” she whispered.

  He didn’t bother to verbalize, just shook his head. His deductive reasoning was exemplary. He knew the only conclusion she could draw. He swallowed, trying to alleviate the ache in the back of his throat.

  She turned her wide, beautiful eyes to him. “It looks like I’ll need to impose upon your hospitality for a little while longer.”

  Chapter Four

  THIS TURNED OUT better than Chelsea had anticipated. She’d planned to settle in for a ­couple of days and then drive to Adam Bennett’s house for a quick introduction. She’d wanted him to see her face and know that she was staying at the Andersons’. She’d pulled a lot of strings to track down the owners and get their permission, believing lodging proximity would give her the means and opportunity to try to gain his trust.

  But the whims of Mother Nature meant she didn’t have to depend on the luxury of circumstance. She’d been unable to see much beyond her windshield, and the farther she’d gone, the worse the weather had gotten. Should she keep straight or turn around? Being unfamiliar with the road, she was afraid to do either. She’d been about to take her chances and head back to San Mateo when she’d spotted this gorgeous house built into the mountain. Turns out, it was occupied by the one man she wanted to see. And thanks to pouring rains, mudslides, and a downed tree, she was destined to be here for a while. She would make the most of the situation.

  Thunder and lightning ripped through the sky, causing her to jump. For a brief moment, bolts of electricity illuminated the beauty of her remote surroundings. She frowned. It had taken over forty-­five minutes to reach his house. What would possess a man to live miles up a mountain in isolation? The celestial light subsided and once again darkness shrouded the sky, turning the floor-­to-­ceiling windows into large mirrors that reflected her image and current accommodations.

  And Adam.

  She whirled around.

  “Here,” he said, his deep voice stilted. He set a thick stack of towels down on the counter. “To dry off. And for your hair. You’re dripping water on the floor.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She rearranged her face into a smile.

  How about some manners? Yes, she’d intruded into his space, but she had no control over the weather or the power outage that stranded her in his house.

  She looked at the towels and winced. They wouldn’t work on her hair. Crap. Annoy him further or risk looking like a Chia Pet? Annoy him? Chia Pet?

  “I hate to bother you, but do you have a cotton T-­shirt I could use?”

  His brows slammed together. “A T-­shirt?”

  “I know. You’d think a towel would work, but using it will turn my hair into a ball of frizz and it’ll be—­”

  She broke off as he disappeared down a hallway on the far side of the room.

  What the hell? Had no one taught him it was the height of rudeness to walk away in the middle of a conversation?

  He returned almost immediately, carrying a white shirt that he handed to her.

  She read the slogan on the front. “ ‘Talk Nerdy To Me’?”

  He shrugged. “A gag gift. It’s a garment I’ve never worn, so you can’t ruin
it.”

  He gave her another thorough once-­over from his dark, intense eyes before heading back to his evil genius workstation on the other side of the large room.

  Wow. It was just water. Did he think her color would rub off on his shirt and damage it? Cursing under her breath, she bent over at the waist and used the shirt to blot the moisture from her curls. She’d known this assignment wouldn’t be easy. She now wondered if it would even be possible.

  Maybe she’d been a bit unfair toward Peter Sonic, the blond PR agent who’d dealt with Adam during his press conference. She’d blamed a lot of Adam’s behavior on poor preparation and lazy management. Now that she was up close and personal with the man, it was possible she’d been hasty in her condemnation.

  Flipping her hair to reach the curls on the other side, she glanced at Adam from beneath her lashes. Holy cow, he was not what she’d been expecting. He stood with his arms braced in a wide V against his desk. The wheat-­colored Henley clung to his broad shoulders, stretched across his wide, muscled back, and fell in folds to rest against a very nice ass covered in dark jeans. She swallowed the sudden moisture that flooded her mouth. If it were anyone else she’d assume he was a disciple of the “casually disheveled” trend, but she was certain Adam Bennett dressed for convenience, not fashion. Convenience or not, his body was . . . wow. The man was sexy as hell. Computer geeks were supposed to be reed thin, not built like elite athletes.

  “Dammit!”

  She jerked away from her musings, flustered to find her gaze still glued to his ass. She refocused farther up his body. One hand rubbed the back of his neck and the other was jammed on his hip. He radiated an intellectual intensity as staggering as the storm that raged outside. It stirred her, made her wonder what it would feel like to be the focus of that concentration. Did he bring that same fervor to every task he performed?

  She shook her head, trying to erase her thoughts like a mental Etch A Sketch.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, responding to the tension in his stance and the anger in his voice.

  “What?” He stared at her over his shoulder, his brow furrowed, his lips parted. She had the feeling he’d dissolved into his work and had forgotten she was there.

  She gestured in his direction. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, I—­” He sighed and pushed his hands through his hair.

  She recognized the motion from the recording of the press conference. His hair was longer now, a little shaggy, and the dark strands slid through his fingers and settled in a thick glossy wave, the ends brushing the collar of his shirt. The action was done absentmindedly, but it had a deliberate effect on her, setting butterflies loose in her belly.

  His cell phone rang again and he answered the call.

  “Hello, Anya . . . Yes, I talked to Mike . . . No, I haven’t completed the interview . . . Because it’s ridiculous . . . Fine, it’s your choice.”

  He tossed the phone on his desk, the expensive device sliding across the smooth surface and crashing onto the wood floor.

  She cringed at the destructive sound even as adrenaline pumped through her at the words from his side of the conversation. He mentioned Mike—­that had to be Mike Black from Computronix—­and an interview.

  Had she picked up a penny? Helped an old lady across the street? Cleared her aura with positive thinking? Chelsea didn’t know what she’d done to warrant this sudden good luck, but she was incredibly thankful.

  “Is that about work?” she asked, trying to disguise her excitement.

  He turned and leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why would you reach that conclusion?”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter whether he answered her question or not . . . and as if she wasn’t distracted by the material stretching over his biceps. “I heard you mention an interview and that’s usually about work, so . . .”

  She trailed off, hoping she hadn’t jumped the gun and ruined the advantage she’d managed to obtain. She needed this to work. She had three weeks. She wouldn’t have time to regain any ground she’d lost.

  He exhaled heavily and looked out the window. The sharp angles of his face stood out against the gray canvas of the thunderstorm.

  “They want me to do an interview for a magazine, but the questions . . . They’re asinine, juvenile, pointless.” The volume of his voice increased with each word. Then his lips twisted and he shook his head. “I’m unsure how to proceed.”

  Those last words were issued haltingly, frustration at admitting a shortcoming staining every syllable. That sudden expression of his vulnerability caused an ache to lodge in the back of her throat and she wrestled with a moment of guilt.

  Maybe she should approach him in a different way. She could send him an email offering her ser­vices or call him and request a meeting. Hell, she could try a little honesty and admit that Computronix hired her and trust that she could get him to understand the importance of the product launch, for him and his company.

  Then she remembered what was at stake. Her partnership depended on a successful launch and her life’s happiness depended on that partnership. Mike Black assured her that Adam wouldn’t get through a presentation with the media, and after watching his last press conference, she knew they’d devour him alive. That wouldn’t be good for him, Computronix, or her.

  Even if she was slightly uncomfortable with the subterfuge, she needed to trust the opinion of the man who’d hired her. Mike Black knew Adam and seemed to believe a ruse was their only option. She’d follow the instructions of the man who had years of history with Adam versus her scant ten minutes. And when it was finally revealed, she was confident he’d understand they’d done what they thought was best.

  Hoping she’d made the right decision, she said, “Maybe I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “I can tell you how to answer the questions.”

  He narrowed his dark eyes. “Why would you assist me?”

  “Because you’re helping me. You’re giving me a dry place to wait out the storm.” She smiled. “And you haven’t murdered me. Please. This is a way I can repay you.”

  She worked hard not to shift from one foot to the other while he stared at her. Why did he make her feel as if he could see straight through her? He didn’t look at her—­he studied her, like she was a frustrating puzzle he couldn’t solve.

  Finally, he nodded once and waved her over to his impressive workstation. She’d never seen anything like it in real life, only on TV or in the movies. His desk was shaped like a horseshoe, surrounded on all three sides with monitors the size of large televisions. Centered on a separate, higher back tier, were three smaller monitors like the ones that typically came with computers. She didn’t see any system units, so she assumed those must be hidden behind the wooden cabinet doors beneath the desk.

  Adam placed his hand on the leather chair and pulled it back. The coasters scraped against the floor. “Have a seat.”

  She did. The buttery soft material hugged her body, while the structure forced her spine to straighten and provided a supportive frame for her lower back.

  She sighed in pleasure. “This is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.”

  “It’s my design. There are days when I spend twenty hours in that chair.”

  “You designed your own chair?”

  “I’m an engineer. I created the prototypes for most of Computronix’s earliest products.”

  His scent enveloped her and she inhaled deeply, her lashes fluttering as she breathed him in. God, he smelled amazing. Clean, fresh, and with an earthiness that recalled the bracing air of the mountains. He leaned across her and his long, elegant fingers flew over the sleek, wireless keyboard, mastery showing in even this simple task.

  When she turned her head, her eyes were level with his ear. Silky strands of dark hair feathered the ridge and drew her a
ttention to the tiny dark mole on its shell. A hidden treasure one could only find if he let them into his personal space.

  He turned toward her. “These are the quest—­” He broke off abruptly.

  Their faces were inches apart.

  The air in the room stilled. Her glance lowered to his mouth. If she leaned forward, about four inches, their lips would touch. Chelsea looked up and her gaze slammed into his. She was surprised to see his eyes weren’t black or brown, but a deep shade of midnight blue. For several blazingly hot seconds they bored into hers, demanding her confidences, holding on to his own, before his thick lashes swept down, both granting her a reprieve and prematurely ending her attempt to see what made him tick. He stood and moved several steps away from her. The air flowed again and she took a deep breath.

  “The questions,” he said, pointing to the screen. His tone was gruff, the words having survived the treacherous journey past his clenched, bearded jaw.

  His obvious agitation gave her the push she needed to get back on track. Her job required her to get close to him, but not that close. In fact, an involvement with this man couldn’t happen at a worse time. She was one project away from being made a partner and then everything she’d ever worked for would be within her grasp. As long as she kept her eyes on that goal—­and off his ass—­it would be a win-­win for everyone.

  She read the questions on the screen. “Celebrity crush? Favorite video game?”

  “It has no bearing on understanding the HPC. Am I supposed to believe that my choice in undergarments will determine whether or not someone will purchase the device? ‘Oh, he wears briefs, the HPC is not for me.’ ” He ended with a shockingly funny falsetto and she laughed.

  He’d mentioned the HPC, and thanks to the file Mike provided she knew what it was. But a typical person who’d stumbled into this situation wouldn’t have the first clue.

  “What’s an HPC?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  Did she sound as fake as she felt?

  He gave her another of those piercing, soul-­searching looks, and again she felt like he could see all of her secrets—­not just the ones related to him and this assignment, but the ones in her life, from her past.