CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP

by Sharon Mignerey

  She moaned, moving her mouth over his, taking as much from him as he took from her. A spark ignited and blazed into flowing heat that erased all thought. Nothing was more important than being in his arms, than feeding the fire with the slow bond of tongue caressing tongue.

  Cole shuddered, passion flaring into timeless need. He loved kissing Brenna. That he already knew. What he hadn't expected was this yearning—so deep he wanted to nurture as well as possess. The feeling was new, unlike the aroused pulsing of his body. Other women had desired him, but not one had trembled within his arms or whimpered softly with her own need.

  He knew what it was to enjoy a woman, but he wanted to cherish Brenna. He was accustomed to wanting the unique softness of a woman, but he needed Brenna with an intensity that bordered on pain. He understood desire, but what he felt for Brenna made desire seem superficial and one-dimensional.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. Her breath was as shallow as his own.

  She sighed and trailed a line of feathery kisses along his jaw. She pressed her nose against his skin, and inhaled deeply, her pleasure in him heightening his own need to painful intensity. She sighed again, then smiled contentedly.

  Her smile hit him in the gut. No touch, not even her kiss, had ever been as erotic to him as her drinking in his scent, then smiling as though nothing could be better.

  Cole pressed his mouth against her cheek, caressing each plane of her face before claiming her mouth again. He wanted to feel the hot satin of her skin, wanted to see her lying beneath him with the gold chain around her neck and his body the only things touching her.

  He didn't want to remember Teddy, who might interrupt at any moment. He didn't want to remember Michael and Jane, who might return at any time. He didn't want to face the long drive home and yet another restless night as he considered all the ways to fit Brenna's supple body against his.

  None of those intrusive thoughts kept him from seeking her mouth in one last deep kiss before gently … slowly … pulling her arms from around his neck. "No more. You're killing me."

  She smiled, her glance sultry, her eyes sparkling with sudden devilment. He loved that look on her.

  "What a sweet way to die." The tip of her tongue touched her own lips, swollen from kisses—the ones he had taken and the ones she had given.

  He laughed. "You'd tempt a saint." He brushed his lips across hers, keeping the kiss chaste in spite of his need and her invitation. "And I'm no saint."

  He stood up, pulling her with him. He glanced around the room in search of a diversion. Any diversion. Even that last bedtime story Teddy had wanted. Several board games on the bookcase next to the stereo, including his favorite, caught his eyes.

  "How about a game of Scrabble?" he asked.

  The question shattered Brenna's euphoria.

  Why not chess? she wondered. Or backgammon? Or even Monopoly, whose cards she had memorized long ago. Of all the games sitting on the shelf, why Scrabble?

  The sudden acceleration of her heat had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with panic. She might be able to set fire to his body, and her own, but she couldn't share anything else—not really. Not like she wanted to.

  "How about backgammon?" she asking, hearing the tone of desperation in her voice.

  "I'm better at Scrabble."

  God, no. Not tonight.

  When then? After this has gone on long enough to hurt him? Hurt you?

  She was already long past that point, she realized, her heat sinking at the thought. Managing a smile had never been more difficult. "All the more reason to play backgammon."

  "You don't want to play Scrabble," he said, his eyes full of devilment as he dropped a kiss on her mouth, "because you're scared of me. And you have reason to be."

  Scared of him? She sure was. She folded her clammy hands and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  "Know why?" he asked.

  Mutely, she shook her head, hating the idea the moment had come. He'd use the Scrabble game to tell her, gently of course, because that was the kind of man he was, that he had been privy to her inability to read from the beginning.

  "I'm the champion triple-word scorer," he announced with a grin. "My sister won't play with me anymore. Or my mom. So, it's time to pick on somebody new."

  "Me?"

  He winked. "You."

  "Count me out," she said. Relief flowed through her. "If we're going to play games where one person has a decided advantage, it ought to be me." She lifted her chin and gave him what she hoped was a teasing smile. "After all, it is my house, and—"

  "Your marbles, so to speak?" He took the backgammon game off the shelf. "You'll have to teach me." He set the case on the coffee table and opened it. "It's been years since I played."

  "It's easy as falling off a log," she said, sinking to the floor and sitting down Indian style. Easy, she thought. Unlike lots of other things—teaching myself to read, for instance. "Do you want the dark stones or the light ones?"

  Cole chose the dark ones, and Brenna showed him how to line them up and explained the strategy for moving around the board. He caught on quickly, liking, as she did, the combination of luck, skill and aggressive playing the game required. She won the first game, barely. He won the next two, and by the time they reached a fourth game, Brenna was determined she wasn't going to lose another one to him.

  The luck of the dice wasn't with her, though, and after Cole tossed his third set of doubles, sixes no less, she threw her hands into the air with a sound of disgust.

  "I like this game," he said, leaning across the table to give her a searching kiss, then casually put three of her stones on the bar. As he was ready to begin bearing off his stones, she had no doubt that's where she'd remain for the rest of the game.

  "This really isn't fair," she complained, resting her chin on her hand. "I teach you my favorite game and you take unfair advantage of me."

  Cole slanted her a wicked grin and followed it with yet another kiss. "Do I?" He returned to cherish her mouth once more. "Is this your favorite?" He tossed the dice again as entitled by his last doubles. The numbers that fell gave him more than enough to finish the game. "Or this?" This time when he returned to her, he brushed her nose first, then claimed her mouth with sensual abandon that made her tremble.

  "You're driving me crazy, woman," he whispered against her mouth. "I keep thinking I can stop, and I keep being wrong."

  "That's the way it is for me, too," she admitted with a husky sigh.

  "One more game?" he asked.

  She grinned. "But of course. I'm not going to let you whip me again. I may be down, but I'm not out. Not by a long shot."

  "I never meant to whip you in the first place," Cole replied, referring not to the game of backgammon, but to the lawsuit. He hoped she'd hear what he was really saying. Not once since the first night had they discussed the lawsuit.

  "Ha," she responded, aligning the stones on the playing board. "You took after me with greed in your heart and malice in your soul."

  Her tone was light, but their implied truth twisted through Cole. He knew she was still talking about the game that lay on the table between them. Inexplicably, for him the outcome of the lawsuit was there, as well.

  "I never meant for you to be hurt."

  At first Brenna thought he was uttering a little-boy apology in the vein she was teasing him. Something in his voice, though, made her raise her head. He watched her with such intensity that she touched his cheek with her finger tips.

  "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

  He placed his hand over hers, pressing it against his cheek. Then, he turned his head and kissed her palm. "The lawsuit cost you so much—not just in terms of money. I'd change the outcome if I could."

  Brenna couldn't take her eyes away from him. She had already figured out that he carried almost as many regrets about the lawsuit as she did.

  "You don't have anything to feel guilty about," she assured him. "I got exactly what I had coming."


  He shook his head.

  "My stup—"

  Abruptly she closed her mouth. Don't rush this, she told herself. He's given you the perfect opportunity to explain why the lawsuit happened. All of it. "My actions got me into the mess." She went on. "I don't have anyone to blame but myself. If you hadn't represented Harvey, someone else would have. I know you did what you could that last day when I came to your office." She bent her head, then looked at him. "Cole, when did you leave the law firm?"

  "Several months ago."

  "When?" she insisted. "It was right after the lawsuit, wasn't it?"

  "Yes." He didn't have one regret about the way that had turned out, and he didn't want her to, either. "By the time I was finished representing Harvey Bates, the handwriting was on the wall. If I hadn't left then, it would have been soon. It just happened to be then."

  She gripped his hand. "I'd hate knowing your standing up to Harvey had anything to do with—"

  "Harvey Bates," he interrupted, "got way more from you than he deserved, way more than was reasonable under any circumstance. And John Miller could have done a lot to minimize the damage." Cole's anger with both men was nearly as great now, months later, has it had been at the time.

  She smiled sadly. "John Miller proved that old saying. You get what you pay for."

  "That's a damn poor excuse—"

  "I wasn't about to complicate my life even further by having a huge debt to him when I knew I'd owe Harvey money no matter what happened."

  Cole shook his head. "He did the worst job of defending your case I've ever seen. You have grounds to sue, Brenna."

  "With what? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm flat broke. Suing someone takes money I don't have." And besides, she thought, in the end I'd have what I have now. Nothing.

  "I know." Cole brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. "Bates was always convinced you had money. My investigation never indicated you had a cent, but he kept telling me you could get it."

  Brenna's face lost all animation, a return of the mask she'd worn when he first met her.

  "Brenna?"

  "It's funny," she said finally, "how things come back to haunt you. I always wondered why Harvey wouldn't accept payments."

  "He thinks your father is wealthy."

  "He is. I don't know how Harvey knows that. But it does explain a lot."

  "Would your dad loan you—"

  "I won't ask him. Not now, not ever," she said, her voice low, fierce. "Not in this life!"

  "Brenna—" He gripped her hand, remembering her history with her father too late. In her shoes, he would have felt the same way. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  "You didn't." She swallowed, dropping her head a moment.

  "I'm sorry." Cole was sorry that she didn't have the kind of relationship with her father he had with his. Sorry that her father hadn't been able to accept her for what she was rather than what he wanted her to be. Sorry that after all this time, she still hurt. Sorry most of all that he, too, had hurt her.

  "I don't blame you. I don't." She squeezed his hand.

  "You should."

  "And how would that change anything?"

  He gazed at her, more drawn to her now than he'd ever been. A hundred different images of her flooded his mind. Brenna at work, doing a job that fulfilled a fraction of her potential. Without complaint. Brenna with Teddy, sharing her humor and affection. Without reservation. Brenna with him, trusting in spite of all the reasons she had to be wary of him. Without condition.

  "I'd give my right arm to make things easier for you," he said. "You're a unique woman, Brenna James. You don't blame others, even when you have cause. And you don't shirk from anything. I admire that."

  "I'm not like that," she whispered. "If you knew—"

  "I've never see seen anyone work harder. A couple of weeks ago you told me how many customers you needed to get your own apartment again. Now, you're nearly there. And I'm happy for you."

  He cupped the side of her face and leaned closer. "I love watching you explain things like playing backgammon to me. You're so clear, every step built one onto another. And I love watching you read to the kids at the library. Your face is so expressive, so alive." He paused, swallowed, and when he began talking again, his voice was barely audible. "I'm half in love with you."

  Tears appeared in her eyes.

  "Shh," he said. "We'll take it as slow as you need, Brenna. But, someday, fair lady, I'm going to understand what's really going on with you." His lips touched hers softly. "Someday," he whispered again, before taking her mouth in a deep hungry kiss.

  Someday … she'd have the courage to tell him.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  The following morning, Cole let himself into the office, automatically flipping on lights and heading for the back room where Myra kept a coffee maker. He had just poured in the water when he heard the front door open and close.

  He went back to the front of the office. Zach MacKenzie stood leaning against the doorway, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed. His shirt and sports coat were disheveled. His tie hung out of a pocket, and his slacks appeared slept in. Zach looked as though he hadn't shaved in a couple of days.

  Ten feet away from Zach, the reek of old alcohol hit Cold. His concern vanished under a wave of awful disbelief. "Zach?"

  He opened his eyes. "We've gotta talk."

  "You've been drinking," Cole said, unable to keep his irritation out of his voice. Zach wasn't the first of his clients to lie to him, and he likely wouldn't be the last. But damn, Cole had been so sure Zach had been straight with him about his drinking.

  Zach lifted a hand toward Cole. "If I want a lecture, I can go see my mother."

  "With everything that is at stake, how could—"

  "Don't start on me, Counselor." Zach pushed himself away from the wall and headed toward Cole's office. "What I could really use is a friend."

  "You came to the wrong place, pal. I'm your lawyer." This was not the time for Cole to admit it, but the truth was he would have liked being friends with Zach. "You told me you were on the wagon."

  "And now I'm off. If you're determined to lecture me, you could at least offer me a cup of coffee first."

  "Coffee?"

  Zach turned around and gave him a bleary smile, full of regret and apology. "Yeah. Black and strong as a fickle woman's heart."

  "With or without a bourbon chaser?" Cole retorted.

  Zach raised an eyebrow. "I probably deserve that. But don't tempt me. You wouldn't like the answer."

  Cole stared at his client who sat down and dropped his head into his hands as though he didn't have the energy to continue holding it up.

  "Aspirin to go with that coffee," Zach added. "I've got a bitch of a headache."

  Cole headed for the back room, feeling the onset of his own headache. His client—who swore he hadn't gotten drunk since before admitting himself to rehab last year—was sitting in his office. Hung-over.

  The coffee maker stopped dripping, and Cole poured two cups of coffee. Black and strong, as ordered.

  In frustration, Cole slammed his hand down on the counter. "Stupid, stupid son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath.

  "Made so by the alcohol, Cole," said Myra, suddenly appearing at the doorway.

  Cole jumped and whirled around to face his secretary.

  She offered him a faint smile of apology. "Sorry. I thought you heard me come in. You look about ready to strangle someone," she murmured, picking up cups from the counter.

  "Damn straight."

  "Losing your temper won't do either one of you any good. Why don't you take five minutes. Walk around the block or something until you're—"

  "Calmer?"

  She nodded.

  Cole stared at her a moment, remembering that he'd asked her to help him keep his temper in check when she came to work for him. He valued her astute assessment of people, but just now he wasn't all that pleased that she had so accurately read h
im. Cole nodded, and leaned against the counter folding his arms across his chest. A moment later, he heard Myra talking to Zach.

  Pouring another cup of coffee, Cole drank it slowly. After his watch ticked away another four minutes, he returned to his office, carrying the half-empty pot.

  Myra sat in the chair next to Zach, and Cole had no doubt that she had been successful in her favorite-aunt routine to temporarily defuse the situation. When Cole appeared in the doorway, she patted Zach's hand and stood up. Cole briefly met her eyes, saw a warning in them, and refilled Zach's coffee cup. Myra took the pot from him and left the office, softly closing the door behind her.

  Rummaging around in his desk drawer, Cole found the bottle of aspirin, which he handed to Zach.

  Zach opened the childproof cap with more finesse than Cole expected, and poured a couple of tablets into his palm. He swallowed them with a long drink of the hot coffee.

  Cole sat down behind the desk and watched his client, dread sinking into his stomach like the lead weight on a fishing line.

  "My dad doesn't believe me."

  "Another news flash. So what?" Not believing children seemed to be a common failing of fathers everywhere.

  "He told me that I'd made my choices, and that I'd just have to live with them. As if I didn't know that." He took a deep breath. "He told me … that he'd been figuring for years that I'd kill somebody." He met Cole's gaze head-on. "And I did. There's no sugar-coating it."

  "That's the kind of talk that could get you convicted. We have to go into court—"

  "This isn't about court. This is about…" Zach lifted a hand in frustration. "There's legal. And then, there's right. You know?"

  Cole chose to ignore that. "So what drove you to drink last night?"

  Zach pulled a ring out of the pocket of his sports coat. He skittered it across the top of the desk, a two-carat diamond flashing. The ring twirled briefly like a top, then fell over.

  "Pamela agrees with my father that I'm a no-good worthless bastard." Zach looked up, his eyes old, tired. "I didn't lie about that night."

  Cole sensed a "but" coming, and he had a bad feeling about where this was going.