No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,43
to get some dry clothes and some hot chocolate.”
He peered over at her. “Ain’t you ticked?”
She squeezed his fingers. “I’ve been ticked worse.”
“No jive?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “I don’t have t-to go home?”
She shook her head. “Hey, Moses, we all make mistakes. Next time, you’ll remember to wear your life jacket. Okay?”
He snorted. “Won’t be no next time this trip, man. That water’s cold as a witch’s b-butt.”
Lucas chuckled. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Once they’d handed the quaking teenager over to a couple of servants who wrapped him in a towel and were escorting him to a hot bath, Jess turned to Lucas and whispered, “Cat litter?” She found herself breaking into a smile at the craziness of his response earlier to Molly.
He lifted a derisive brow. “You want poetry, get Robert Frost. That look of yours didn’t give me much time to come up with a good lie.”
She gathered the wool blanket that enveloped her more tightly about her shoulders as she and Lucas headed up the back stairs to hot baths of their own. Her smile faded. “How bad was it—I mean, what you lost?”
He exhaled tiredly. “The phone that fell out of my pocket was no great loss. And, I’ve got the Takahashi program here on hard disk. Mainly I lost a damn fine computer and time I can’t afford to lose.”
As they reached the second-floor landing where Lucas’s room was, she took hold of his hand. “Lucas—” she began tentatively, “today, you were truly the Mr. Niceguy I’d hoped for. Thanks.”
He turned on her sharply. His dark eyes narrowed as they stared at her hand holding his. Though he had donned that familiar air of isolation, Jess wasn’t intimidated by it, now. She’d discovered new facets of Lucas Brand. Like the way he could smile at a frightened little girl and ease her fears, or fling a fatherly arm about a quaking boy to warm and comfort him. And most important of all, she’d felt the gentleness of his kiss. Bravely, she smiled in the face of his aloof manner, holding tightly to his fingers. “Maybe Mr. Roxbury knew what he was doing after all,” she whispered.
His eyes flashed a warning, but she was no longer frightened by that look. Suddenly embarrassed by her uncharacteristic boldness, she slid her fingers from his. “I’m—I’m truly grateful,” she offered unsteadily.
“Are you talking about what I did for Molly, or in the water with you?”
She flushed. “Both—I suppose.”
He was wearing his blank computer-screen stare, and she couldn’t begin to guess his thoughts. “Don’t be grateful to me,” he cautioned. “Just because I’m not a beast who makes little girls cry, and because I let you struggle to shore half drowned, doesn’t make me any more your Mr. Niceguy than I was the day we met.” He turned away, summarily dismissing her with his abrupt departure.
She watched him stalk off, sensing that he was angrier with himself than with her. Both of them knew he’d gone farther today than he’d probably ever expected he would toward being what Mr. Roxbury wanted in his substitute Mr. Niceguy.
Lucas’s attitude had mellowed toward the kids, toward the project. Why couldn’t he concede that he owned a heart, and could even use it when called upon? Darn his stubborn hide!
Shaking her head, she trudged on up the stairs to the third floor, weary all the way to the ends of her dripping hair. “Why are you so afraid to care about people, Lucas?” she murmured sadly.
THE KIDS WERE IN THE great room, watching a film the Goodalls had rented for them. Tonight was to be a relaxing evening after a long, active day. Since Lucas’s presence wasn’t required during the screening, he’d retired to his computer room to go over his program in peace.
Whatever the movie was, it must have been funny, because every so often he could hear the young people burst out laughing. He frowned, realizing his mind wasn’t on the scrolling display of figures on the computer screen. With a keystroke, he moved the display back and restarted it, only to be immediately distracted. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered and began the scrolling over again.
The phone rang, and he picked up the receiver. “Brand, here,” he barked.
“This is Fletch. Just got word that Cybertronics has dropped out of the race.”
Lucas was surprised by the news. Cybertronics was one of their strongest competitors for the Takahashi contract. “Did you hear why?” he asked.
“Can’t conquer the cordless glove—uh…” Fletch