Sorcerer

by Ruth Owen

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Ruth Owen boots up a sexy tale of an emotionally guarded computer whiz and the princess who makes virtual reality come to vivid life.
 
To save Einstein, her company’s breakthrough artificial intelligence, Jillian Polanski would do anything . . . even venture into a computer-generated fantasy with the last person she’d like to team up with in this reality. Jillian knows firsthand that Dr. Ian Sinclair’s frosty exterior complements a heart of pure steel. But dress the scientist in shining armor and the ice in his veins shows serious signs of melting. Is the heat between them real, or is it just her imagination?
 
Ian Sinclair has learned the hard way not to trust anything that can’t be documented, dissected, and double-checked. So why does he enjoy the sight of a woman who keeps causing glitches in his efficiently streamlined life? Entering a synthetic world is risky enough without Jillian there to distract him. But inside their simulated sanctuary, with Jillian playing the part of a too-tempting damsel in distress, Ian starts to give in to a different kind of magic: desire.
 
Includes a special message from the editor, as well as excerpts from these Loveswept titles: Mistletoe and Magic, Claimed, and After the Kiss.

Release date: November 11, 2013

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 236

Sample

PROLOGUE
 
The computer room was eerily silent. No diodes clicked, no disk packs whirled, no printers pounded out their endless streams of data. The floor-to-ceiling bank of monitor screens lining the front wall were either blank or showed fractured sputters of indecipherable light patterns. Gradually even those patterns weakened and disappeared, leaving nothing but blackness behind. Computer technicians sat at their keyboards, looking up at the rows and rows of empty screens in bleak dismay. Seventy-two hours ago they’d lost communication with one of the system’s programs, and the deterioration had continued at a slow but frighteningly steady pace. If the disintegration continued, the entire system would be rendered useless in less than a week.
 
If any of the other experimental prototype computer systems at Sheffield Industries had failed so completely, the project would have been scrapped immediately without a second thought. But this was no ordinary computer system. This was a prototype artificial intelligence computer, a computer whose reasoning functions emulated the human mind. He was more than just a machine. His wit, heart, and notorious addiction to TV shopping had endeared him to every one of the technicians. His name was Einstein, and he was irreverent, irrepressible, and irresistible.
 
And, at the moment, he was very, very sick.
 
Two men, one blond and one dark, stood apart from the others. The blond man had his hands clasped behind him, as if fighting for control. “We’ve tried everything,” he said, his tight words betraying both his exhaustion and despair. “We’ve attempted to stimulate his processing a dozen different ways, but his vital signs continue to deteriorate. It’s as if he’s—well, if he were human, I’d say he’d fallen into a coma.”
 
“But he’s not human,” the dark man stated, his voice edged with the accent of his native England. He jotted a quick series of numbers on his hand-held computer pad, his lean, handsome face frowning with academic concentration. “I understand there’s another prototype. My advice is to curtail this experiment, and concentrate on the one which still functions.”
 
“I can’t just curtail Einstein,” Chris Sheffield cried. “My wife created him. He’s practically a member of the family. PINK, the other prototype, and Einstein are more than just experimental computers, Sinclair. They’re—” He paused, struggling for a word that eluded his sleep-deprived mind. “I suppose you could call them our friends.”
 
Dr. Sinclair arched a dark brow in faint surprise, but kept any verbal comments to himself. He turned back to the computer monitors, scanning the bank of inactive screens with a thorough, almost mechanical precision. “Mr. Sheffield, I’m sorry about your, uh, friend, but I don’t see any hope for this system. I’ve worked with decaying neural nets before, and once the external communications linkages have been severed, there’s virtually no way to reestablish them.”
 
“Yes, but what about reestablishing the linkages internally?” Chris pulled the doctor aside, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know about the ground-breaking work you’ve been doing in the field of virtual reality. Your company’s partnership with Sheffield Industries has put us light-years ahead of the competition, and I understand you’ve used your VR simulator to model everything from the inside of an atom to the surface of a star. But I doubt you’ve ever tackled something as immense—and as important—as what I’m about to ask you to do.”
 
Chris nodded toward the towering bank of monitors. “Einstein’s consciousness is trapped somewhere inside this system. I want you to use your simulator to model his interior matrix, so we can go in and find him. Can you do it?”
 
Sinclair had never attempted using his simulator to replicate anything that sophisticated. He ran his hand through his dark hair, thinking about the scope, the complexity, the challenge. Suddenly he felt the fire within him, the passionate intensity that gripped him whenever he started a new and intriguing project. He started jotting down specifications, realizing that he hadn’t been this excited about anything in months, not since—
 
His hand slowed its frantic pace. Good Lord, man, you can’t still be thinking about her. Other technicians have left your company for greener pastures. She’s no different from them, no different at all.…
 
“Sinclair?”
 
The doctor looked up from his notepad, and saw Sheffield staring at him with concern. “I asked if you thought you could do it?”
 
“Of course I can do it,” Sinclair answered angrily, though the emotion was directed wholly at himself. “I’ll get Hedges and Parker to model the environment. They’re the cybertechs who created the Mars expedition simulation for NASA last month. But I’ll need a cybernaut partner. I’ll contact my usual associate, Dr. Miller.”
 
“Kyle Miller?” Chris asked. “The one who got married last Saturday?”
 
Damn! Sinclair had forgotten about Miller’s wedding. He’d meant to attend, but had been so busy working on the simulator, it had completely slipped his mind. He bent his head and rubbed his sore eyes, thinking that this sort of forgetfulness was happening too much lately. Partridge had warned him that if he didn’t take some time off soon, he’d—
 
“We have another volunteer,” Chris said.
 
Sinclair looked up sharply. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. I need someone who understands the risks they’re undertaking when they enter the simulator.”
 
“This person has worked as a liaison between our two companies before and also has experience with Einstein.”
 
Over a dozen of Sinclair’s employees had worked as liaisons with Sheffield Industries—efficient, reliable communication was one of the things that had made their joint venture so successful. A man who was familiar with the procedures—and the dangers—of the neurocyber link was exactly the kind of partner Sinclair needed. “Very well. I’ll talk to him.”
 
“Her,” Chris corrected. “The volunteer is a woman. She worked for you up until a few months ago, when she accepted a programmer-tech position at Sheffield. I don’t know if you remember her, but her name is—”
 
“Jillian Polanski.”
 
“Yes, that’s her,” Chris said slowly, puzzled by the other man’s less than enthusiastic tone. “You gave her excellent references. But you don’t seem happy she’s agreed to help.”
 
“I’m not. Entering the simulator is a dangerous undertaking, and Ms. Polanski is very … inexperienced.”
 
“Inexperienced or not, she’s the best—no, the only—choice we’ve got,” Chris said, glancing back at the inactive computer display. As he spoke, another one of the console indicator lights winked out. “We haven’t got much time.”
 
No, we don’t. Sinclair knew that Sheffield had been dead accurate on his time predictions. If they didn’t go into the computer matrix soon, the prototype—Einstein—would decay past saving. But to enter the matrix the doctor needed the simulator, and to use the simulator he needed a cybernaut partner. Logically he knew that they were lucky that a qualified candidate had volunteered. Extremely lucky.
 
But he didn’t feel lucky. He turned his face away from Sheffield, his impassive mask slipping to reveal an unexpected vulnerability underneath. Bloody hell, why did it have to be Jillie?