would never get married.
She lifted the top and plucked out the device, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “What’s this?”
“The HPC.”
Her eyes widened, giving her an owlish demeanor. “I’m signing secret blood oath documents for something that looks like a Bluetooth headset with a slide antenna attached to its end?”
“Documents?” he asked, placing emphasis on the s . “I gave you one sheet of paper.”
She lowered her gaze briefly, and then smiled. “There you go, being literal again. Don’t change the subject. What is this?”
She wasn’t the first person to comment on his literal-mindedness and she wouldn’t be the last. He’d been told it was one of his more frustrating traits, but since his move back up the mountain, he hadn’t concerned himself with others’ opinions of him. He beckoned to her and she dropped it in the palm of his hand. “This is the prototype for the HPC, or the Holographic Personal Computer.”
“This little thing is your next product?”
“It’s going to change the world. I’ll show you.”
He moved behind her, his eyes level with the curls on the top of her head. Unable to resist, he inhaled deeply and the rich, alluring fragrance ripped through his body, stirring the hair on his arms and on the nape of his neck. This woman affected him in a manner he found disconcerting. It was neither neat nor tidy.
Why? What was it about her? And how did he stop it?
He placed a hand on her shoulder and slid the HPC behind her ear. It sat snugly, similar to a hearing aid. She shivered beneath his fingers.
“This side piece extends,” he said, his voice gruff. He pulled on the stem until it locked into place with a click, the clear tip protruding 3.2 inches beside her left temple.
“Now, with a touch . . .” He pressed the button and the small computer transmitted the home page of a popular social networking site onto the air in front of her.
She jumped, bumping back into him. He grasped her upper arms to steady her.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Indeed,” he said, squeezing her shoulders in response to the reverence decreasing the volume of her voice.
“Is— What— Is that—?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Yes? But . . . where is the computer screen?”
“It doesn’t require one.”
“How is that possible? What is it projected on?”
“The air.”
“The air? How do you—?”
Her hair was fascinating. What harm could come from touching one curl? He succumbed to temptation, watching it stretch from a coil to a spiral before springing back into shape.
He pulled another one. “This conversation will continue more expeditiously if you refrain from repeating my answer to your preceding question before asking the next question.”
She turned her head to the side, attempting to glance at him over her shoulder. The HPC projected the image of the website on to his kitchen cabinets. “How does it work?”
“A broad question. Can you be more specific?”
She planted her hands on her hips, though she didn’t turn to face him. “Seriously?”
“I’m trying to ascertain what you want to know. There are many facets to the HPC and I could talk about them for hours. But what if I start with an area that doesn’t interest you and spend the next twenty minutes discussing the use of lasers to excite oxygen and nitrogen atoms, never broaching the subject you actually want—”
“Ugh!” she groaned in a theatrical manner. “Fine! How do I post my status?”
He blinked. Her frustration with him was clear, yet she recognized his point and altered her initial query. No hysterics, no name-calling, no judgmental pronouncements.
His pulse escalated. Interesting.
“Do you see the small keyboard icon in the bottom right corner?”
She nodded and the image bobbed.
“Move your right hand in that general location and motion as if to grab it.”
She paused and he understood her hesitation. He’d found it odd the first time he’d executed the motion. He
She lifted the top and plucked out the device, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “What’s this?”
“The HPC.”
Her eyes widened, giving her an owlish demeanor. “I’m signing secret blood oath documents for something that looks like a Bluetooth headset with a slide antenna attached to its end?”
“Documents?” he asked, placing emphasis on the s . “I gave you one sheet of paper.”
She lowered her gaze briefly, and then smiled. “There you go, being literal again. Don’t change the subject. What is this?”
She wasn’t the first person to comment on his literal-mindedness and she wouldn’t be the last. He’d been told it was one of his more frustrating traits, but since his move back up the mountain, he hadn’t concerned himself with others’ opinions of him. He beckoned to her and she dropped it in the palm of his hand. “This is the prototype for the HPC, or the Holographic Personal Computer.”
“This little thing is your next product?”
“It’s going to change the world. I’ll show you.”
He moved behind her, his eyes level with the curls on the top of her head. Unable to resist, he inhaled deeply and the rich, alluring fragrance ripped through his body, stirring the hair on his arms and on the nape of his neck. This woman affected him in a manner he found disconcerting. It was neither neat nor tidy.
Why? What was it about her? And how did he stop it?
He placed a hand on her shoulder and slid the HPC behind her ear. It sat snugly, similar to a hearing aid. She shivered beneath his fingers.
“This side piece extends,” he said, his voice gruff. He pulled on the stem until it locked into place with a click, the clear tip protruding 3.2 inches beside her left temple.
“Now, with a touch . . .” He pressed the button and the small computer transmitted the home page of a popular social networking site onto the air in front of her.
She jumped, bumping back into him. He grasped her upper arms to steady her.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Indeed,” he said, squeezing her shoulders in response to the reverence decreasing the volume of her voice.
“Is— What— Is that—?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Yes? But . . . where is the computer screen?”
“It doesn’t require one.”
“How is that possible? What is it projected on?”
“The air.”
“The air? How do you—?”
Her hair was fascinating. What harm could come from touching one curl? He succumbed to temptation, watching it stretch from a coil to a spiral before springing back into shape.
He pulled another one. “This conversation will continue more expeditiously if you refrain from repeating my answer to your preceding question before asking the next question.”
She turned her head to the side, attempting to glance at him over her shoulder. The HPC projected the image of the website on to his kitchen cabinets. “How does it work?”
“A broad question. Can you be more specific?”
She planted her hands on her hips, though she didn’t turn to face him. “Seriously?”
“I’m trying to ascertain what you want to know. There are many facets to the HPC and I could talk about them for hours. But what if I start with an area that doesn’t interest you and spend the next twenty minutes discussing the use of lasers to excite oxygen and nitrogen atoms, never broaching the subject you actually want—”
“Ugh!” she groaned in a theatrical manner. “Fine! How do I post my status?”
He blinked. Her frustration with him was clear, yet she recognized his point and altered her initial query. No hysterics, no name-calling, no judgmental pronouncements.
His pulse escalated. Interesting.
“Do you see the small keyboard icon in the bottom right corner?”
She nodded and the image bobbed.
“Move your right hand in that general location and motion as if to grab it.”
She paused and he understood her hesitation. He’d found it odd the first time he’d executed the motion. He
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