Diamond Girl. Diana Palmer

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Two

      She wore the frontier outfit deliberately Friday morning just to irritate Regan, because she knew he didn’t like it. If he thought he was going to dominate her like he dominated everything and everybody else around him, he had another think coming.

      She hung up her light coat and turned on her computer, grumbling steadily. Since Denny was out of the office—she didn’t want to think about where—she’d have to get the mail only for Regan. But he’d want it yesterday, so she headed for the door and in her haste almost collided with Regan, who was coming through it.

      He lifted a bushy eyebrow at the quick rush of color that tinted her high cheekbones.

      “Do you do it deliberately?” he asked her, unblinking, unsmiling, blocking her path with his cowhide attaché case.

      “Do what...deliberately?” she asked.

      “Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”

      It was the first time she’d ever raised her hand to a man in her life. But she took a swing at him with all her frustration and wounded pride behind it.

      He caught her wrist before she connected, jerking her back into the office and booting the door closed with his foot. Without breaking stride, ignoring her faint struggles, he half dragged her into his own office and slammed the door behind them.

      She felt the clasp of his fingers with a sense of wonder at the new, unfamiliar sensations his touch was causing. She’d never tingled like that. Perhaps it was temper, but then why was her breathing so shallow? She disliked the surge of emotion, and her eyes narrowed angrily as she glared up at him.

      He dropped the attaché case on the floor and caught her other wrist as well, just holding her there in front of him until she stopped struggling and stood still, panting with smothered rage.

      When he saw that she was through swinging, he dropped her wrists and glared down his formidable nose at her.

      “If you ever lift your hand to me again, it’ll be the last time,” he warned in his courtroom voice, deep and cold.

      Her lower lip trembled briefly with the suppressed hatred that filled her stiff body. “If you ever insult me like that again, it’ll be the last time, too, counselor,” she tossed back, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll walk out the door, and you can find some stacked blonde with knee-deep cleavage to replace me, and see if she can type your contracts and your briefs and your petitions in between polishing her nails!”

      “Calm down, Kenna,” he said after a minute. “Sit down, honey.”

      He pushed her gently down into a big leather armchair and perched himself on the edge of the huge polished wood desk. He gave her time to gather herself together, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep draw.

      “Don’t call me honey,” she bit off.

      “Denny does. So do half the attorneys who walk in that door. Why not me?”

      “Because...” She stared up at him, her lips parting as she tried to picture Regan ever saying the word and meaning it, with his dark eyes blazing with passion. Her own thoughts embarrassed her and she caught a deep breath, looking at his black leather shoes instead. “Oh, never mind.”

      “He’s getting involved with Margo,” he said quietly. “And I don’t just mean involved in bed. It looks as if he’s thinking about marriage, and I don’t want him married to her.”

      She felt sick all over again as he confirmed what Denny had already admitted. Denny, married! The thought was more than she could bear.

      “Stop looking like the heroine of a Victorian melodrama, for God’s sake.” He spoke so sharply that she sat straight up. “He isn’t married yet!”

      “How are you going to stop him?” she asked miserably.

      “I’m not. You are.”

      She blinked. “Excuse me, I’m always dim before I’ve had my morning coffee and my supply of razor blades.”

      His mouth tugged up, a rare show of amusement that made her feel strange when she saw it. “You’re going to save him from Margo.”

      She cocked her head and studied him blatantly. “You don’t look like the fairy godmother to me, Mr. Internationally Famous Trial Lawyer. And I don’t have a pumpkin to my name. And if you’ll take a good, long look at me several things will immediately occur to you. The first is that I’m drab,” she admitted painfully, “the second is that I have no looks to speak of and the third is that I’ve been here almost two years and the most intimate thing your brother has ever said to me is, ‘Kenna, how about a cup of coffee?’”

      He didn’t laugh. He took another draw from the cigarette, and his eyes were busy, bold and slow as they took her apart from the face down.

      “Taking inventory?” she muttered.

      “In a manner of speaking.” His eyes fell on the too-ruffled blouse. “Do you wear a bra?”

      She caught her breath at the sheer impudence of the question.

      “And do, please, try not to faint while you’re thinking up an answer, Cinders,” he said with a mocking smile. “I’m trying to find out if you’re naturally flat-chested, or if you simply overlook the fact that breasts need support to be noticed.”

      Her face was bloodred and she stood up. “Mr. Cole...”

      “My housekeeper calls me that.” He caught her shoulder and jerked her against him, bending her arm back so that she was helpless. “Tell me, or I’ll find out for myself,” he threatened, and his free hand came up to hover over her blouse.

      “Oh, for God’s sake!” she squeaked. “All right, I don’t wear one!”

      He let her go, watching with amusement as she hid behind the chair and then gaped at him over it.

      “Are you crazy?” she burst out.

      “No, but you sure as hell are repressed,” he replied. “Twenty-five, isn’t it?”

      “We aren’t all wildly permissive,” she said, choking.

      “I begin to get the picture.” СКАЧАТЬ