Merry and Bright(13)

“Impressive,” he said, staring at her, suddenly understanding exactly what someone was doing snooping in her lab. “And definitely worth stealing.”

“Yes. When the formula is right, just a little bit of this stuff could deliver a critical dose of meds, and if done correctly, virtually eliminate the side effects common with injections. I’m in testing now, the dosing is still inconsistent.”

“But you’re close,” he guessed.

“Yes. I believe I’m nearly there.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Not yet it’s not. At the moment what I’ve got is some fairly fabulous face cream that works better than cosmetic surgery, suitable for acne, anti-aging, and psoriasis, as well as repairing sun-damaged skin. But I’ll get there.”

“Is that why your skin is so amazing?”

Her gaze flew to his, startled. “You think my skin is amazing?”

He slipped his fingers into her hair, letting his thumb trace her jaw. He’d just had her, and yet the simple touch still electrified him to the core. “I do.”

“It’s my lotions, not me.” She clasped her hands and avoided his gaze. “So . . . thanks for tonight.” She grimaced. “I mean, for taking care of me after I fell, not for . . .” Her eyes drifted shut. “You know.”

“For being your Mr. Wrong?”

“Well, yes.” She was still flushed, her shirt a little crooked. She covered her eyes and laughed, and the sound did something low in his belly. “Look,” she said. “I know this is silly but I really do want to thank you. Can I buy you a coffee?”

“Do I have to wait for you to shave your legs?”

“Ha. No, it’s a little late now.”

“I’d love a coffee, and the thanks, but I’ve got to get back to work. We’re working through the night and all of tomorrow so we can be done in time for the holidays.”

“Oh. Right.” She backed up a step. “No problem.” She grabbed her briefcase and purse. “I understand.”

She didn’t, he could tell. She thought he was rejecting her. “Maggie—”

“No, I don’t want to keep you. Don’t work too hard!”

And with that, she quickly rushed toward the elevator, out of sight, but not, most definitely not, out of mind.





5


That night, Maggie was home making chocolate chip cookies and eating most of the dough before she could bake it, still unable to believe she’d had sex in her lab—her lab!—when her phone rang.

It was Scott. “Maggie?” he said, sounding caught off guard. “You’re . . . home?”

“Well, yes. I am. Is there something wrong?”

“No, but . . .” He let out a laugh. “You know what? This is embarrassing. I hit the wrong number, sorry.”

Click.

Maggie looked at the phone. “Okay.” Good to know she wasn’t the only one smart enough to calculate the mass of any object in her head but not socially talented enough to hold a conversation with the opposite sex.

And yet she’d held the attention of a man earlier, hadn’t she? And even though the good-bye had been painfully awkward, everything between the Band-Aids and that awkward good-bye had been . . . perfect. She’d been wearing a stupid grin for hours. And still was. God, orgasms were good.

She should bring him some of these cookies, as that thank you she owed him. It was the right thing to do, the polite thing to do. Thank-you-for-the-perfect-sex cookies.

Still grinning, she put a batch in the oven and ate some more dough, which made her happy, and received two prank calls, which annoyed her. She watched Letterman, which didn’t annoy her, and finally went to bed, still grinning a little bit.

When she got to work the next morning, she’d managed to downgrade the grin to a smile, but as she entered the building, nerves replaced it. How was she going to look Jacob in the eye after getting naked with him? On her worktable. She still had the imprint of a slide on her ass. . . .

But it turned out she’d worried for nothing. While the construction equipment was still blocking most of the hallway, Jacob was nowhere in sight. If he’d worked all night long, he was probably catching a quick nap, or maybe breakfast, so she brought the container of cookies she’d made him into her office, where they proceeded to call her name all morning. By lunch she’d peeked out her door so often for a sight of her Mr. Wrong that two of his workers thought she was stalking them. Annoyed at herself, she ate a few of the cookies.

Just a few.

All afternoon she could hear Jacob’s voice on the Nextels of his workers as they communicated, and every time she did, she felt the urge to eat a few more cookies.

By quitting time she’d consumed a total of seven, leaving only five.

Alice stuck her head in Maggie’s door to wave good-bye and Maggie absentmindedly waved back, sneaking out one more cookie. She was thinking about the last four when Alice called her cell phone.

“Didn’t you just leave?” Maggie asked her.

“I did. I am. Your car has a flat.”

Dammit. She needed new tires. “Okay, I’ll call Triple A, thanks.”

“Call now so you don’t have to wait.”

“I will.” She hung up and looked at the cookies. Stress. Stress made her hungry. Jacob didn’t need four cookies, they were huge. So she took one more while she went back to her computer, and when she looked up again another hour had passed and the construction workers were gone.