Nothing in his life, however, had prepared him to deal efficiently with softer feelings. So he made it a rule to avoid them.
Oh, he had soft feelings. He wasn’t a cold-blooded monster. He felt tenderness; he could be gentle, softhearted, sympathetic. But early on, he’d seen the danger of being susceptible to those emotions. He’d refused to allow himself the luxury of caring too much.
Distance, that was what he needed, distance. And how the hell was he supposed to find that, given the circumstances?
He supposed he could let West take over guard duty. That alternative was so revolting that he rejected it immediately. He didn’t have to ask himself why.
Alexandra came in a few minutes later to find him still staring at her drawing. She waved the wrapped and taped package. “I need to get Mikey in the mail. Any suggestions?”
Before he could answer, the telephone rang.
“Oh, God, no.” Alexandra looked at him in alarm.
Chapter 8
“Hello,” Alexandra answered tentatively. Instantly she relaxed and gave Luke a rueful smile. “It’s West. He wants to speak to you.”
Luke was still holding her drawing. He propped it against the bookshelf and took the telephone. “West? What’s up?”
“We have been summoned to appear in Bolton’s inner sanctum after lunch.”
Luke had been expecting the summons, but not straightaway. He was surprised Henderson had not given himself more time to think. But then look at the knee-jerk reaction he’d had to their visit. West had been right when he’d observed that Henderson had screwed up once, now twice. Maybe he would screw up again.
Suddenly, he was distracted by a glance at Alexandra. The alarm had faded from her eyes, but she was grasping her elbows in an unconsciously self-protective gesture. The sight of her anxiety made his blood boil. No woman, no one, should be frightened every time the telephone rang. “Ah, hell,” he said hotly.
West misunderstood his response. “I endorse that sentiment completely. Henderson didn’t waste any time. How soon can you get here?”
“Hang on a minute.” He put down the phone and went to check the peephole in the front door. As he passed, he gave Alexandra’s arm a reassuring squeeze.
The police car was still parked outside. He came back to tell West, “I’ll be there as soon as the traffic will allow.”
He hung up, grabbed his coat and shrugged into it. “I have to go to the office. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told her as he tightened the knot of his tie. “The police are still parked outside.” He smoothed his collar. “Zarcone promised he would make sure I was here before they left. Don’t forget—”
“‘Lock the door and don’t go outside.’” She repeated his words from this morning. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, Luke.”
That was better, thought Luke. He’d rather see her feisty than afraid, any day. He grinned, took the package she was holding and dropped a tender kiss on her lips. “Thanks for the drawing. I’ll send Mike Roy on his way for you. Regular or express mail?”
The taste of the brief kiss lingered long after he left the complex, long after he drove from the side streets onto the interstate, which would take him downtown. When he was halfway to the office, he remembered his vow to put distance between them.
* * *
Luke arrived at the tall building in the heart of downtown and took the elevator to the twenty-seventh floor, the top of four floors occupied by the firm, and the floor on which the senior partners’ offices were located. Where the other three floors were usually active, bustling and, on occasion, frenetic, the twenty-seventh was dignified, tranquil and eternally hushed. The telephones bells were muffled, the secretaries murmured instead of talked and no one’s pace was more than sedate, no matter who the client happened to be.
Bolton’s secretary informed Luke that he was forty-seven minutes early. A hanging offense, she implied with haughty-but-proper look.
“I’ll be in my office,” Luke said, not at all intimidated. The delay would give him time to get files together to work on at home.
Forty-five minutes later, West appeared in the doorway to Luke’s office. “Ready for the firing squad?” he asked.
“Almost,” said Luke. He indicated the files on his desk. “These are the cases you may get calls about. I’m taking these others back to the condo. I should be able to get some work done there.”
“If you can accomplish that, you are a better man than I,” West said with a grin.
Luke scowled but didn’t take the bait.
* * *
“I don’t give a good damn if the client turns out to be a murderer, a lawyer doesn’t threaten to betray confidentiality!”
Instead of offering them a chair, Bolton had kept them standing side by side in front of his desk like errant schoolboys. At the word murderer Luke felt West shift uneasily.
The senior partner was wound up. His face was alarmingly red and a vein in his temple throbbed visibly. His heated diatribe had been going on for nearly ten minutes.
For a flash, Luke was tempted to tell the pompous old windbag where he could shove this job, but he was afraid the shock would precipitate a stroke. That he could entertain such a notion astonished him. What would it do to a man with high blood pressure?
Bolton continued, “If Mr. Henderson wants to move his business to the moon, you will do the paperwork, do you understand? And you will not presume to tell him when he can or cannot leave town. And you certainly will not tell anyone else what his plans are.”
West opened his mouth. “Sir, that wasn’t—”
“Quiet! Besides being a close friend of mine, Henderson’s annual fees to this firm are more than enough to hire four lawyers to take your places. I hope that is clear enough for you.”
“Yes, sir,” said West stonily. “Except for formal appointments, we will make every effort to stay out of Mr. Henderson’s way.”
“No, you won’t do that, either, Mr. Chadwick,” Bolton said sarcastically. “Henderson will be an honored guest at my retirement dinner, sitting at my own table. You are to fall all over yourselves, lick the damned floor in front of his feet if you have to, but alleviate any ill feelings this man has toward you. Do you understand?”
Luke’s emotions were as tight as an overblown balloon, ready to explode at any moment. Every muscle, every nerve was stretched to the limit. That was it. All he could take. The image of himself, on his knees in front of a bastard like Henderson, who would menace women and children and do God-knows-what-else, threatened his sanity, not to mention his self-respect. He opened his mouth, fully intending to resign on the spot.
But Bolton suddenly turned on the charm for which he was famous. “Boys, boys,” he said expansively. “You know how this business works. We may not like or even approve of some of our clients, but under the Constitution, even the most heinous criminals are guaranteed representation. I am assuming that your loyalty to the firm, which has launched both of you into vastly superior positions to the majority of your classmates, is absolute. When you’ve been around as long as I have...”
At that, Luke tuned him out. He agreed with the philosophy of the Constitution, but he had always had a certain difficulty representing people he didn’t value or respect.
However, Bolton had inadvertently introduced another subject that deserved some further thought. Loyalty.
His loyalty to the firm had been absolute. He’d designated his goals when he was sixteen years old. His name on the letterhead of this company had helped him reach those goals. He enjoyed the advantages, the prestige, the prosperity.
But he had given the members of the firm their money’s worth, too. He’d brought with him a good mind and a willingness to work. Sixteen, eighteen hours a day for nearly ten years—a large chunk out of his life.
Yes, they’d definitely gotten their money’s worth. He mustn’t lose sight of that fact.
* * *
Luke arrived, loaded down with files and books. He was much
later than he’d planned to be, but Zarcone was true to his word; the car had remained until he got home.
Alexandra let him in. She was still dressed in the jeans and pink T-shirt. She seemed relieved to see him. Or was she just restless at being confined? “You can work in the dining room if you like,” she offered.
He disposed of his burden carefully on her shining dining room table and straightened. “Thanks, this will be fine. You’re sure I won’t be in your way?”
“David and I usually eat in the kitchen. The table in there is large enough for two.”
“Something smells terrific,” he said.
And feels damned peculiar, he added to himself. A stiffness had risen between them that had not been there when he’d kissed her goodbye. He dipped his chin and studied her face. “You had another call,” he guessed. He knew from her expression that his hunch was right.
“Yes, I did. This time the caller didn’t whisper. He spoke right up.”
“The devil he did! What did he say?”
“Same thing he said at the Road Atlanta. That I should keep my mouth shut when the police come around if I wanted to keep my son safe.” Her tone was bitter but her eyes, when she looked up at him, were vulnerable again.
“Alexandra, they don’t know where David is. And there’s no way for them to find out,” he said firmly, forcefully. “Please don’t torture yourself.” He grasped her arm, intending to bring her closer, but she resisted, her hand flat on his chest.
“There’s more. He says that I shouldn’t count on my friends, the two lawyers, for protection.”
Shock sent chills through him. “What?” he barked sharply.
That Henderson, or his proxy, would do something so shameless and blatant spooked the hell out of him. Nobody else knew he and West were involved. The man was deliberately taunting them.
He combed his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. Had he and West increased the danger to Alexandra and David? His first thought was to get in touch with West right away. Then Zarcone.
“I called Zarcone.”
With the words, her resistance seemed to fade, while his increased. Nevertheless, as if with a will of its own, his hand closed around her shoulder and he pulled her close. She felt so good relaxing against him; she fitted precisely into that spot under his arm.
Would Zarcone suspect that he and West were holding out on him? He squeezed her upper arm absently. “I’m glad you called him right away. What did he say?”
She lowered her thick, sun-tipped lashes for a moment, then raised them and tilted her head back to rest on his shoulder. “He said that he’d look into it,” she said softly.
Her skin took on a flushed rosiness that looked like a warm ripe peach. Her fragrance, a mixture of a floral bouquet with something spicy thrown in, went straight to his head.
Luke was torn in two directions, so much so he thought he’d lose his mind.
In one direction was Alexandra, warm and receptive and sexy as hell and heaven combined, standing hip to hip with him. If he handled this right, they could become a great deal closer before the night was over. The brush of their clothing was like a provocative whisper. The heat from her soft hand on his chest tantalized him. He had to battle the urge to cover her hand with his, to guide it downward until her fingers warmed his sex. There might never be another chance as promising as this one.
He closed his eyes, then opened them again, feeling something akin to pain. On the other hand, he had to stay focused on the danger that faced her and David. “What does Zarcone mean by ‘looking into it’?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t even care. I’m so tired, I can hardly think straight. Why don’t we have an early supper? I’ve been cooking this afternoon—comfort food.”
Luke’s own mind was trying to function with frustrating speed, switching back and forth between two propositions, like a spectator at a tennis match who’s never quite sure where the ball is.
But he was distracted by her description. “Comfort food?”
“Comfort food, soul food, whatever. Corn bread, turnip greens, black-eyed peas, country ham. Maybe it will take my mind off the call.”
Luke scratched his ear. Was it his imagination or was her soft drawl drawn out even more? He knew the pitch was lower because shivers had traveled up his spine as she named the dishes. He’d never eaten turnip greens or black-eyed peas, and country ham was too salty for his taste. But if she wanted comfort food—her fingers had worked their way under his tie and between the buttons of his shirt. She had no idea what she was doing to him.
Did she?
He shook his head to clear it.
Fool that he was to relinquish this opportunity, he had to get hold of West. They needed to hash out this situation and come up with a workable plan. They were dealing with a cunning man. They had to be more cunning, more creative and clever, more resourceful.
It took an overabundance of arrogance for Henderson to reveal himself by calling Alexandra.
Or was it Henderson?
He turned her face so he could look into her eyes. It was almost his downfall, but he watched for a reaction as he asked, “Sweetheart, did you recognize the voice?”
Luke didn’t seem to notice the endearment, but Alexandra did. She noticed and she cherished the idea that it had come out so...impulsively. “Zarcone said that, from my description—the voice was weird—it could have been computer-modified.”
“We’re going to put a recorder on your phone,” Luke said decisively.
Suddenly, her pleasant mood was gone. Luke was absorbed by the phone calls and Zarcone and everything but her. She did not blame him; she should have been fixed on the danger, too. But his informal presence in her home raised her level of awareness more than she had expected. She had a difficult time keeping her eyes off this easygoing, laid-back Luke.
“It’s already been done,” she told him, suddenly weary of it all. “One more blow to freedom, liberty and independence.”
“Don’t.” He laid his hand atop her head. “You’ll get your freedom back, Alexandra. Don’t think of this as a permanent affliction. I’ll be out of your way before you know it.”
“Yes, I recognize that.” She gave him a bland smile before she extricated herself from his arms and headed for the kitchen.
After dinner he helped her with the dishes. “I like comfort food,” he said. He dried and held up her iron skillet, which, she had informed him, could never be put in the dishwasher. “Where does this go?”
“Under the cabinet beside the stove,” she instructed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She wiped the counter, folded the towel and put it away. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She poured them each a cup.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said when they had moved, with their coffee, into the living room. She sat curled in a corner of the sofa, facing him. “I’ve asked West to come over here. We have to work some on contracts.” He avoided looking at her when he gave the false excuse. He hated lying to her but he couldn’t tell her the truth, dammit.
He had called West earlier while she was finishing the preparations for the comfort food. He smiled at the name. West agreed they had to talk.
“No, I don’t mind at all.” But she was disappointed, Alexandra admitted to herself. She had looked forward to sitting down after dinner, talking, getting to know this man who was occupying more and more of her thoughts. More than was wise. She leaned forward to set her cup on the coffee table and rose to her feet.
“Don’t go.” Luke snagged her hand; he tugged her closer. To her surprise, she let herself be tugged. She knelt with one knee on the sofa cushion, the other foot on the floor.
Luke curled his hands around her waist and looked at her. At his eye level, soft pink cotton molded her upper body, her sleek midriff and—oh, God—her high, firm breasts. “You’re so pretty, so pretty,” he murmured unsteadily.
She held herself still, did not protest as he slid
his hands up her sides. He bracketed her breasts and gently lifted as he squeezed them together forming a strip of tantalizing cleavage above the scoop neckline of her shirt. As he watched, her nipples hardened.
She laid her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. Her breathing became rapid. “Don’t...look at me like that, like you can see through my clothes,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can’t bear it, Luke.”
He looked up then, into her green eyes, afraid that he had done something to disgust her. But her pupils were dilated slightly, her mouth was moist where she’d bitten her lips and her eyelids had lowered under the weight of desire.
She was as hot as he was.
He felt a primitive surge of emotion flood through him, leaving him hard and desperate. He wanted to lay her down on the sofa right now. He wanted to strip off her shirt, her jeans. He wanted to explore, to caress, to kiss, every inch of her beautiful body. He wanted—oh, how he wanted to bury himself deep inside her.
How had this gotten so out of hand at such a breakneck speed? One minute he’d grabbed her hand, intending to say, “Stay, don’t leave. Stay and talk.”
And the next minute, passion had flamed to demanding life.
He reached up to slide his fingers around the back of her neck. He pulled her down until their lips were millimeters apart. The skin at her nape was warm and smooth. He moved his thumb and felt her shiver. “Kiss me,” he demanded.
She caught her breath at his challenge. Then she parted her lips and closed the space between them.
When he felt the touch of her lips, Luke kept a tight rein on his reaction. He knew instinctively that he was the first man in four years. He didn’t want to scare her away; he wanted her to feel comfortable with him. But after a taste of her innate sensuality, he found that keeping a leash on the erotic craving that ate through him was damn near impossible.
Her tongue was sweet, so sweet, as she probed his mouth. When she slid her fingers into his hair and sucked his lower lip, he groaned, his heart pounding like a runaway train, and crushed her to him. His own tongue joined hers in the undulating dance of passion. His hands moved restlessly, hungrily, all over her back, across her shoulders, down to cup her rounded bottom.
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