Harden. Diana Palmer

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      “Stop that,” Harden said unexpectedly, his pale blue eyes flashing at her when he saw the expression on her face. “Agonizing over it isn’t going to change one damned thing.” He tossed his hotel key on the coffee table and motioned her into a chair. “I keep a pot of coffee on. Would you like a cup?”

      “Yes, please,” she said with resignation. She slumped down into the chair, feeling as if all the life had drained out of her. “I can get it,” she added quickly, starting to rise.

      He frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring coffee,” he said shortly.

      “Sorry,” she said with a shy smile. “I’m used to waiting on Tim.”

      He searched her eyes. “Had you trained, did he?” he asked.

      She gasped.

      He turned. “Black, or do you like something in it?”

      “I…I like it black,” she stammered.

      “Good. There’s no cream.”

      She’d never been in a hotel penthouse before. It was beautiful. It overlooked the lake and the beachfront, and she didn’t like thinking about what it must have cost. She got to her feet and walked a little unsteadily to the patio door that overlooked Chicago at night. She wanted to go outside and get a breath of air, but she couldn’t get the sliding door to work.

      “Oh, for God’s sake, not again!” came a curt, angry deep voice from behind her. Lean, strong hands caught her waist from behind, lifting and turning her effortlessly before he frog-marched her back to her chair and sat her down in it. “Now stay put,” he said shortly. “I am not having any more leaping episodes tonight, do you understand me?”

      She swallowed. He was very tall, and extremely intimidating. She’d always managed to manipulate Tim when he had bad moods, but this man didn’t look as if he was controllable any way at all. “Yes,” she said through tight lips. “But I wasn’t going to jump. I just wanted to see the view—”

      He cut her off. “Here. Drink this. It won’t sober you up, but it might lighten your mood a bit.”

      He pushed a cup and saucer toward her. The smell of strong coffee drifted up into her nostrils as she lifted the cup.

      “Careful,” he said. “Don’t spill it on that pretty dress.”

      “It’s old,” she replied with a sad smile. “My clothes have to last years. Tim was furious that I wasted money on this one, but I wanted just one nice dress.”

      He sat down across from her and leaned back, crossing his long legs before he lit a cigarette and dragged an ashtray closer. “If you don’t like the smoke, I’ll turn the air-conditioning up,” he offered.

      “I don’t mind it,” she replied. “I used to smoke, but Tim made me quit. He didn’t like it.”

      Harden was getting a picture of the late Tim that he didn’t like. He blew out a cloud of smoke, his eyes raking her face, absorbing the fragility in it. “What kind of secretary are you?”

      “Legal,” she said. “I work for a firm of attorneys. It’s a good job. I’m a paralegal now. I took night courses to learn it. I do a lot of legwork and researching along with typing up briefs and such. It gives me some freedom, because I’m not chained to a desk all day.”

      “The man you were with tonight…”

      “Sam?” She laughed. “It isn’t like that. Sam is my brother.”

      His eyebrows arched. “Your brother takes you on drinking sprees?”

      “Sam is a doctor, and he hardly drinks at all. He and Joan—my sister-in-law—have been letting me stay with them since…since the accident. But tonight I was going home. I’d just come from an office party. I certainly didn’t feel like a party, but I got dragged in because everyone thought a few drinks might make me feel better. They did. But one of my coworkers thought I was feeling too much better so she called Sam to come and get me. Then I wanted to come here and try a piña colada and Sam humored me because I threatened to make a scene.” She smiled. “Sam is very straitlaced. He’s a surgeon.”

      “You don’t favor each other.”

      She laughed, and it was like silvery bells all over again. “He looks like our father. I look like our mother’s mother. There are just the two of us. Our parents were middle-aged when they married and had us. They died within six months of each other when Sam was still in medical school. He’s ten years older than I am, you see. He practically raised me.”

      “His wife didn’t mind?”

      “Oh, no,” she said, remembering Joan’s kindness and maternal instincts. “They can’t have children of their own. Joan always said I was more like her daughter than her sister-in-law. She’s been very good to me.”

      He couldn’t imagine anybody not being good to her. She wasn’t like the women he’d known in the past. This one seemed to have a heart. And despite her widowed status, there was something very innocent about her, almost naive.

      “You said your husband was a reporter,” he said when he’d finished his coffee.

      She nodded. “He did sports. Football, mostly.” She smiled apologetically. “I hate football.”

      He chuckled faintly and took another draw from his cigarette. “So do I.”

      Her eyes widened. “Really? I thought all men loved it.”

      He shook his head. “I like baseball.”

      “I don’t mind that,” she agreed. “At least I understand the rules.” She sipped her coffee and studied him over the rim of the cup. “What do you do, Mr. Tremayne?”

      “Harden,” he corrected. “I buy and sell cattle. My brothers and I own a ranch down in Jacobsville, Texas.”

      “How many brothers do you have?”

      “Three.” The question made him uncomfortable. They weren’t really his brothers, they were his half brothers, but he didn’t want to get into specifics like that. Not now. He turned his wrist and glanced at his thin gold watch. “It’s midnight. We’d better call it a day. There’s a spare bedroom through there,” he indicated with a careless hand. “And a lock on the door, if it makes you feel more secure.”

      She shook her head, her gentle eyes searching his hard face. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said quietly. “You’ve been very kind. I hope that someday, someone is kind to you when you need help.”

      His pale eyes narrowed, glittered. “I’m not likely to need it, and I don’t want thanks. Go to bed, Cinderella.”

      She stood up, feeling lost. “Good night, then.”

      He only nodded, busy crushing out his cigarette. “Oh. By СКАЧАТЬ