Claiming His Love-Child. Sandra Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ was enjoying the knowledge that she was at war with herself.

      Was she going to “yes” the honored guest to death, or tell him she thought he was an asshole?

      “Hey,” he said, pushing a little harder, “you’re female, you’re Hispanic…Life’s going to be good to you, Ms. Perez.”

      That did it. To his delight, what won was the truth.

      “I am a lawyer, like you, or I will be once I pass the bar. And I am an American, also like you. If life is good to me, it’ll be because I’ve worked hard.” Ice clung to each syllable. “But that’s something you wouldn’t understand, Mr. O’Connell, since you never had to do a day of it in your entire, born-with-a-silver-spoon life.”

      Whoa. The mask hadn’t just slipped, it had fallen off. There was real, honest-to-God, fire-breathing life inside his well-mannered, gorgeous gofer.

      She sat back, breathing hard. He sat forward, smiling.

      “Nice,” he said. “Very nice.”

      “I’ll phone Professor Hutchins. He’ll arrange for someone else to drive you around for the rest of the time you’re here.”

      “Did you hear me, Ms. Perez? That was a great performance.”

      “It was the truth.”

      “Sorry. Wrong choice of words. Mine was the performance. Yours was the real thing. Honest. Emotional. Wouldn’t do in a courtroom, letting it all hang out like that, but a really good lawyer should have at least a couple of convictions he or she won’t compromise on.”

      She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

      “I told you. Integrity, Ms. Perez. And fire in the belly. You have both. For a while, I wasn’t sure you did.”

      He picked up his glass of iced coffee and took a long sip. God, he loved the look on her face. Anger. Confusion. Any other place, any other time he’d have used that old cliché, told her she was even more lovely when she was angry, but this wasn’t a date, this was what passed for a business meeting in the woolly wilds of academic jurisprudence.

      Besides, she’d probably slug him if he said something so trite.

      “I don’t…What do you mean, you were performing?”

      “Monroe versus Allen, Ms. Perez. One of my first big corporate cases—or didn’t your research on me go back that far?”

      She opened her mouth, shut it again. He could almost see her mind whirring away, sorting facts out of a mental file.

      “Mr. O’Connell.” She took a breath. “Was this some kind of test?”

      Cullen grinned. “You could call it that, yeah, and before you pick up that glass and toss the contents at me, how about considering that you’ve just had a taste of what you may someday face in the real world? You want to blow up when stuff like that’s tossed at you, do it here. Out there, you’ll be more effective if you keep what burns inside you. Discretion is always the better part of valor. Opposing attorneys, good ones, search for the weak spot. If they can find it, they use it.” He smiled and raised his glass of iced coffee toward her. “Am I forgiven, Ms. Perez?”

      She’d hesitated. Then she’d picked up her glass and touched it to his. “It’s Marissa,” she’d said, and for the first time, she’d flashed a real smile.

      Cullen got to his feet, slid open the terrace door and went back into the coolness of the living room.

      The rest of the afternoon had passed quickly. They’d talked about law, about law school, about everything under the sun except what happened each time they accidentally touched each other. She’d dropped him at his hotel at five, come back for him at six, driven him to the dinner at which he’d made a speech he figured had gone over well because there’d been smiles, laughter, applause and even rapt concentration.

      All he’d been able to concentrate on was Marissa, seated, as a matter of courtesy, at a table near the dais. No black suit and clunky shoes tonight. She’d worn a long silk gown in a shade of pale rose that made her eyes look like platinum stars; her hair was loose and drawn softly back from her face.

      The dress was demure. She wore no makeup that he could see. And yet she was the sexiest woman imaginable, perhaps because she wasn’t only beautiful and desirable but because he knew what a fine mind was at work behind that lovely face.

      Even though he figured it might kill him, he did the right thing.

      He never so much as touched her elbow or her hand during the after-dinner reception and when she drove him back to his hotel for the last time, he sat squarely on his side of the car and kept his eyes on the road instead of on the curve of her thigh visible under the clinging silk of her gown.

      “Thank you for everything,” he said politely, once they reached the parking lot.

      “You’re welcome,” she said, just as politely, and then, so quickly it still stunned him, everything changed.

      To this day, he didn’t know what had happened, only that what began as a simple handshake changed into a fevered meeting of mouths and bodies.

      “Don’t go,” he’d whispered, and Marissa had trembled in his arms as she opened her mouth to the searing heat of his.

      They’d gone to his room through the back entrance of the hotel because they couldn’t stop touching each other and when he undressed her, when he took her to bed…

      “Oh man,” Cullen muttered, and he stripped off his shorts and headed for the shower again.

      THIS time, after he toweled off, he shaved, put on a pair of khakis and a black T-shirt and reached for the telephone.

      He needed a change of scene. That was a no-brainer. It was a little late to make weekend escape plans—the roads would still be crowded—but he knew all the back ways to reach the airport at Nantucket. Yeah. Maybe the best choice was the closest choice.

      His cottage, and his boat.

      Cullen punched in the number of the couple who took care of the cottage. The woman answered; he asked how she was, how her husband was, how the weather was…and then he heard himself tell her he’d just phoned to touch bases and no, he wouldn’t be coming out for the weekend and he hoped they’d have terrific weather and enjoy the three days, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

      He hit the disconnect button, ran his hand over his face. Okay. Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood for a weekend of sailing. Well, what was he in the mood for? Something other than rattling around here, that was for sure.

      Who to call next? Keir, to ask what time the barbecue was on? His mother, to tell her he’d be home after all? Or should he head for one of those other parties, maybe that one in Malibu? That was a better idea. His family would take one look at him, ask questions he couldn’t answer.

      Hell.

      Cullen grabbed his address book. He’d call the redhead he’d dated a couple of times the past month. She was pretty and lots of fun, and if he hadn’t called her in a week or two, it was because he was busy.

      He СКАЧАТЬ