Trust Me

“That’s what you did for fun?”
    “No,” Stark said. “For fun, I worked.”
    “Right. You worked.”
    “I use the physical stuff to clear my mind.”
    “An antidote for stress,” Desdemona said wisely.
    “You could say that.”
    She gave him a mischievous look from beneath her lashes. “Were there a lot of female scientists and engineers at the Rosetta Institute?”
    “Some. Not many. Why?”
    “Would you say you lived a cloistered existence?”
    “Cloistered?” Stark had the feeling that he was being teased, but he wasn’t certain what to do about it. “I’m not tracking here.”
    “Okay, I’ll spell it out.” Desdemona braced her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Did you have any special female friends at the Institute?”
    It dawned on him that she was asking about his past relationships. The not-so-subtle inquiry caught him off guard because he was not accustomed to discussions of this sort.
    “Let me get this straight,” Stark said cautiously. “You want to know if I had an affair with a research physicist or one of the engineers?”
    Desdemona made an odd little gasping sound.
    “What’s wrong?” Stark demanded.
    “Nothing,” Desdemona got out in a choked voice. She grabbed a napkin and hurriedly covered her mouth. “Nothing at all.” She shook her head wildly. Her eyes watered.
    “Are you laughing at me?” He reached across the table to slap her lightly between the shoulders.
    “Sorry.” Desdemona flinched beneath the blow, and then she steadied herself. “It just struck me as funny.”
    “My past love life? It never seemed very amusing to me.”
    “Not your love life. Your response to my question. Do you always take personal questions so literally?”
    “Literal is the only way I know how to be,” he warned her.
    “I suppose it comes with the territory, doesn’t it?” She composed herself, but her eyes still danced. “I’ve heard that you scientific types are very literal-minded.”
    “Most of us are, I guess.”
    “I assume it’s a product of all the emphasis on critical and analytical thinking that you get in the course of your education.”
    Stark considered the matter for a few seconds. “No, it comes naturally. People who think in literal ways gravitate toward engineering and the sciences because those disciplines suit the way they think.”
    “A sort of chicken-and-egg scenario?” Desdemona chuckled. “Maybe we Wainwrights tend toward the theater arts because we think in arty ways.”
    “You seem to be something of an exception in your family. The only one with a head for business, your cousin Henry said. The only one who can’t act.”
    “Don’t be fooled. I’m not a good actress, but I’m a first-class Wainwright.” She grew thoughtful. “We really are different, you and I, Stark.”
    “I know.”
    “That should probably worry you.”
    “Yes.” He got to his feet. “But for some reason it doesn’t. Good night, Desdemona.”
    She studied him with a mysterious, unreadable gaze. “You’re going?”
    “It’s late.” He walked around the glass brick counter and came to a halt in front of her. Without a word he bent his head and brushed his mouth lightly across hers. “Be sure to throw the dead bolt on your door after I leave.”
    “I will.”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “All right.” She hesitated. “I enjoyed this evening, even if it was just business.”
    “It wasn’t just business.”
    Her eyes glowed. “I’m glad.”
    “My secretary tells me I’m on the hook for a charity ball next week. Apparently Pamela committed me and a couple of thousand dollars of my money to some kind of fundraiser for the arts. I was going to skip it but Maud and McCallum inform me that I ought to go. Want to come with me?”
    She smiled. “So that we can fish for new business together?”
    “I thought it worked out tonight,” he said stiffly.
    “It did,” she assured him quickly. “And I’d love to attend the charity ball with you.”
    He relaxed. “Thanks. I’ll get back to you on the details.”
    “You do that. Sorry about the scene with Tony.”
    “Forget it.” It took an enormous effort of will to turn and walk toward the door but Stark managed to do it. He had made a plan before he left the house this evening, and he intended to stick to it come hell or high water.
    One thing he possessed in abundance was willpower, he reflected. He was a past master at techniques of deferred