Andrea sighed. "Is this about what happened when we were kids?"
Dena shifted closer still, forcing the smaller woman to back up into a display table. "You slept with my boyfriend, Andrea."
"We were kids! Don't you think it's time to move on—"
"It wasn't enough that you had everything I could only dream of having. The money. The house. The clothes. It wasn't enough that you had every boy in school drooling over you. You could've had anyone you wanted, but you had to take the one guy I loved. We were going to be married."
An ugly blush mottled Andrea's cheeks. "Just to set the record straight—and I'm only saying this so we can get it out in the open and get past it—Gabe wasn't acting like someone contemplating marriage. When he asked me out I questioned why he wasn't taking you, and he said something to the effect that you were out of the equation. Which I took to mean you two were no longer seeing each other."
Dena found it depressingly easy to imagine eighteen-year-old Gabe asking Andrea to that law-firm affair, saying those things. Don't worry about Dena.
She's out of the equation. So sure of himself. So arrogant.
She took a slow, deep breath. It was a long time ago, she told herself. He means nothing to you now.
Andrea placed a sisterly hand on Dena's arm. In a just-between-us-gals tone she said, "Believe me, I didn't go to that country-club reception thinking that was going to happen. But even back then, Gabe could be very, well, persuasive. I'm sure you know what I mean."
Dena did indeed know what she meant. She herself had managed to resist his seductive "persuasiveness" and insisted they wait until the senior prom to consummate their relationship. After she'd learned what had happened between him and Andrea, she was glad she hadn't succumbed to him.
Andrea, however, had succumbed on that long-ago night on the golf course, and probably not for the last time. Her offhand reference to "even back then" prompted Dena to mentally fill in the part left unsaid: Even back then, just as now, Gabe Moreau was an accomplished seducer.
People were beginning to drift out to their cars. As Dena prepared to join them, she said to Andrea, "Some people may consider 'ethical lawyer' to be a contradiction in terms, but let me assure you, I require some degree of honor in anybody I do business with. You and your partner aren't even in the running."
* * *
5
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Gabe leaned back from the worktable and rubbed his burning eyes. He'd been going over files on the Beckman case for nearly three hours and he could no longer concentrate on the words before him. He hadn't wanted to miss the winery-and-antiques trip that morning, but once he'd decided to stay out here for the whole week, he'd had no choice but to drive to the office in Manhattan and pick up work that couldn't wait until next Monday. On his way back he'd made a detour to Greenwich, Connecticut, to stuff a week's worth of clothes into a suitcase.
He'd arrived at the restaurant late and found that Andrea, familiar with his preferences, had already ordered lunch for him. She'd saved a place next to herself at the long banquette table that had been set up for their group. Dena had sat at the opposite end from them. Every time he'd tried to catch her eye she'd coldly ignored him. He wouldn't have thought she'd still be miffed after their chat on the beach, but he could think of no other explanation for her hostility.
You don't know me, she'd said. You never did.
Was it true? Gabe wondered. Had he been so self-absorbed in high school, so wrapped up in his own needs and goals, that he hadn't bothered to really get to know the girl he'd been in love with—the girl he'd expected to spend the rest of his life with?
I'm not the same stupid kid, he wanted to tell her.
An irresistible aroma drifted through the open windows facing the backyard—beef brisket being slowly smoked over glowing chunks of hickory in a cylindrical water smoker. Ham had massaged a spicy dry rub into the ten-pound slab of meat last night. He'd started smoking it that morning while everyone else had been on the winery excursion, basting it with a tangy, tomato-based "mop" that included a healthy portion of Kentucky bourbon. The brisket had been slow-cooking for six hours so far; according to Ham's earlier prediction, it would need another two to three hours.
The room Gabe was using wasn't a bedroom at all, but Ham's workshop, a spacious, free-standing room set off the back deck and accessed through a breezeway. Gabe had had to clear power tools and scraps of lumber off the scarred plywood-and-sawhorse worktable in order to spread out his files.
Sunlight poured in through overhead skylights and multipaned windows on three sides, highlighting every bump and nick in the white plaster walls and worn plank flooring. A smaller storage room abutted the fourth wall. Metal shelving units stood along the perimeter of the room, filled with tools, cans of paint, gardening supplies, and jars of nails, screws and small hardware.
Ham and Reba shared a comfortable master suite on the first floor of the house. The male guests had gallantly offered the ladies use of the three second-floor bedrooms, though Frank had grumbled about having to bunk down on the convertible sofa bed in the living room. Scott had cheerfully claimed the finished basement rec room with its futon, which left the workshop for Gabe. He didn't mind. A roll-away cot had been placed in one corner, and there was a bathroom off the utility room across the breezeway. What more did he need?
Okay, he knew what more he needed, or at least desperately wanted, but there wasn't much chance of that happening this week. Besides, the two of them would never fit on that dinky cot.
The Beckman case. Concentrate on the damn Beckman case, he commanded himself, and flipped open a folder with enough force to cause the whole thing to fly off the worktable and onto the floor, scattering papers.
With a muttered curse, Gabe abandoned the steel folding chair and squatted on the floor to scoop up the pages. He heard the door open, heard brisk footfalls crossing the room, but the table was in the way and all he could make out was bare feminine legs ending in high-heeled clear plastic sandals with big white and yellow daisies centered over the insteps.
He emerged from behind the table. Dena screamed and clutched her heart.
"I have that effect on women," he said.
"What—what are you doing here?"
Dropping the folder on the table, he spread his arms wide. "Be it ever so humble."
"You're staying here?" Her gaze took in the cluttered workroom, lingering on the little bed, its sheets and blanket in a jumble.
"Where did you think I was sleeping the last two nights?" he asked, knowing if she answered "Andrea's room," he'd blow a gasket.
"Well, I didn't really know, but I figured it was somewhere in the house. Not the shed."
"Workshop."
"Whatever." After a moment she added, "It was nice of you guys to give up the bedrooms. I really didn't know you were stuck out here."
Gabe leaned a hip on the table. "I kind of like it—the seclusion. I could've bunked in the family room, but this offers more privacy."
Dena must have changed clothes after her swim. She now wore a snug moss-green brocade vest that might have actually looked prim if there'd been anything under it, and a very short, hip-hugging, white skirt belted with a clear plastic, daisy-studded belt that matched her shoes. Her navel peeked out the notched bottom of the vest, but it was her legs that grabbed his attention and held it, those gorgeous smooth, suntanned legs that went on and on. And on and on and on.
She glanced at the work spread out on the table. "Is this what you went back for this morning?"
"Yep."
"You forgot to bring it out on Saturday?" She looked skeptical.
A better lie came to him. "Something urgent came up. I got word about it yesterday, so I had to go back for the paperwork."
"They couldn't courier it out here?"
I had to pick up clothes, too. "They never would've sent everything I needed, and I'd have lost even more time."
Dena strolled around the room, perusing the contents of Ham's wo
rkshop, those silly, sexy shoes clicking on the wooden floor. "You're a partner now, Gabe. High muck-a-muck. You have to learn to delegate."
"Speaking of which—who's minding the store at Xanadu? The summer months must be your busy season."
"I have managers at all my locations—good people—and an assistant who's been with me practically from the beginning. I'm in touch every day by phone and fax, and it's not like I'm on the other side of the world. All the resorts are in or close to the New York metropolitan area. I can get to any of them within a couple of hours."
"Have you thought of expanding out of the region?"
For some reason, this comment drew a frosty stare. "I have no desire to discuss my business plans with you."
Gabe scowled. "Just a friendly question."
She regarded him with disdain. "Andrea already treated me to the hard sell, and I'll tell you what I told her. It's not happening. I'm happy with Gilliam, Shapiro."
Oh hell. "Dena, I wasn't trying to… Do you think I'd make a play for your business after not seeing you for fifteen years, after what happened between us? Come on."
Dena stood under a skylight; the brilliant sunshine turned her hair to gleaming platinum. She crossed her arms under her full breasts, nudging even more cleavage into the vest's V-neckline. "Please, Gabe. I know you and Andrea discussed it. Don't treat me like a fool."
A sound rumbled up his throat, something between a sigh and a growl. "Yes, we discussed it, because Andrea was insistent on approaching you. She has tunnel vision when it comes to developing new business for the firm. I told her it was … inappropriate for either one of us to go after you. I assumed that would be the end of it."
Dena studied him as if gauging his sincerity.
"I'm genuinely sorry," Gabe said. "You shouldn't have had to put up with that." Recalling how artfully she'd handled Andrea yesterday, and Frank and Dave on Saturday, he added, "Can I assume you made her sorry she asked?"
A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. "I think it's safe to say she's scratched Xanadu off her list of prospective clients."
Gabe bit his lower lip, stifling his mirth. He shouldn't take satisfaction in his partner's defeat. After all, his principal mandate at Moreau Pittman was to bring in new business. Against his will, his imagination drew a picture of Dena in all her self-righteous glory cutting Andrea down to size. The chuckle burst from him, and he said, "I wish I could've witnessed that."
She met his gaze, and in that instant they seemed to be on the same wavelength. It's still there, he thought. The bond they'd shared—once robust, nourished by their love and trust, now buried under the weight of his betrayal and their years apart. Withered from neglect, but not dead.
Dena blinked and it was gone, like a phone connection cut off. "Ham sent me for some more hickory wood." She looked around. "He said there was a storage room through here?"
"This way." Gabe crossed to the windowless wall and opened the door. As he entered the small, dark space and groped for a light switch, he sensed Dena behind him, detected the heat of her body. The hickory smoke hadn't penetrated here, and Gabe's nostrils flared, drinking in the provocative scent that was hers alone.
"I think I see a pull-cord," she said, jostling against him in the close confines of the storage room.
Gabe's breath snagged as she wriggled past him. How many times had he lain awake, recalling the feel of Dena pressing her lush body against him in the back seat of his Camaro? It had the same effect on him now as it had had then. He discreetly shifted away, swearing silently, willing his erection to subside.
Dena pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling, revealing a bare bulb and filling the little room with harsh light. Perhaps it was his imagination, but her color looked a little high, and she avoided his eyes. Was it possible she'd experienced a few sleepless nights herself?
"Hickory … hickory … hickory…" she chanted, peering at the contents of the plank shelves perched on metal brackets lining both long walls. "Hickory dickory dock." A wide array of household items occupied the shelves, from bags of rock salt to cases of soda to a little-used milk-glass punch bowl set.
"Here it is." Gabe lifted a yellow plastic bucket filled with small chunks of wood. "I can only assume this is hickory."
"Great." Dena moved to take the bucket from him, but he carried it himself, gesturing for her to precede him out of the storage room.
"I'd better get this to Ham," Dena said. "It's got to soak before he can—"
"Wait a second," Gabe said, as his heartbeat revved up a notch. He set the bucket on the floor and crossed to his suitcase, where he'd deposited a small paper sack. "I stopped at this little antiques place on the way out here and, well … when I saw this, I thought of you." He handed her the bag and she accepted it gingerly. He'd seen people contemplate containers of live bait with more enthusiasm.
"You bought me something?"
"Open it." He crossed his arms, then immediately uncrossed them and leaned a sweaty palm on the worktable. "It's nothing. Just a little … it's really nothing."
"Oh!" Her face lit in a delighted smile as she pulled the tiny porcelain figurine from the bag. "It's a pug! A black one!"
Black pugs—the kind Dena raised—were much less common than brown. "I don't suppose you still have Mildred and Horace. They'd be, what? A hundred fifty in dog years by now?"
Dena turned the figurine around, admiring it from all angles. "Those two rascals are long gone, but I kept one of their descendants, Hermione. She's pregnant, and living it up this week at the Xanadu resort in Garden City. This looks just like her!"
Gabe breathed a relieved sigh. "I'm glad you like it."
Dena's smile faded. Resignedly she tucked the pug back in the sack, crimped the top closed and held it out to him.
An oppressive weight pulled at Gabe's insides. "Dena, I bought it for you."
"I can't accept this, Gabe."
"It doesn't mean anything. I mean…" He scrubbed at the back of his neck. "It's just a stupid little statue. Take it."
"I just can't … I won't accept anything from you, Gabe, not even this." She thrust it toward him more forcefully. "I'm sorry."
Woodenly he took the bag from her and set it on the table. "No, I'm sorry. I never intended to put you on the spot."
She looked away, hugging herself, and Gabe saw her chin wobble.
"Dena, love, don't…" He found himself enfolding her in his arms, a reflexive gesture devoid of guile. She stiffened for an instant, then relaxed and let him hold her.
Gabe pressed her head to his shoulder, his fingers sliding over her scalp. He felt every shuddering breath as she fought to contain the tears.
"Dena…" he whispered, holding her tighter. She'd grown into a strong, independent woman. But even the strongest people needed someone to lean on once in a while, needed someone else to be strong for a change. Gabe wondered how long it had been since Dena had had someone to lean on. "Go ahead, cry if you want."
She shook her head.
"It's just us," he murmured, stroking the fragrant silk of her hair, nuzzling it. "No one else will see." Her watery voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. "I don't know why I feel like crying. It's so stupid. There's no reason for it."
He rubbed her back in slow circles. "How about because I'm a clueless oaf who only manages to make things worse? There's a reason for you."
"You didn't… It's not…" She let out a long, shaky sigh. "It's complicated. The whole thing's so damn complicated."
That was good news, as far as Gabe was concerned. "Complicated" meant she had conflicting emotions regarding him. It wasn't much, but he'd take it.
Still holding her close, Gabe pressed a lingering kiss to her hair. He tipped her face up. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes glistened. The pupils were pinpoints in the sunlight slanting from overhead, the surrounding irises startlingly green.
"I'm going to kiss you," he whispered, and felt her breathing quicken, watched those conflicting emotions chase one another across h
er face.
As he lowered his head she started to say something, but then his mouth touched hers and he inhaled her soft gasp. He'd never forgotten this, he realized, as he tangled his fingers in her hair. He'd never forgotten the shape of her mouth against his, the exquisite softness of her lips, the intoxicating taste of her.
The kiss was tender, cherishing. Gabe struggled with his rampant need, wanting to give more than he took. Dena whimpered, pushing at his chest even as her mouth shifted under his, plucking at his lips. His arms clamped tightly around her. He knew she felt his arousal, stiff as a post against her belly. He knew and he didn't care.
Gabe parted her mouth with his and stroked her with the tip of his tongue. She trembled and pressed closer, her hands sliding to his shoulders, clutching at him. He tasted her deeply, penetrating and receding in an unmistakable rhythm. Her tongue slid against his, matching the cadence. He groaned deep in his throat, his exhilaration tempered by the knowledge that she would chastise herself later, for responding to him.
Gabe couldn't say who pulled away first. Breathless, he rested his forehead on Dena's, already formulating a rebuttal to her inevitable self-recriminations. His gut twisted when he heard her weeping.
"Oh, love…" Gently he lifted her face to his, only to be struck dumb by the merriment he saw there. It wasn't crying he'd heard, but giddy laughter!
"That's the other effect I have on women," he said. "If I had one of those frail male egos you hear so much about, I might start getting my feelings hurt right about now."
Dena stepped away from him as her giggles died down. "You're still the best kisser I've ever known."
Gabe responded with a nonchalant little smile that said, No surprise there, while inside he was grinning like the village idiot. "I see," he said. "Your hilarity makes perfect sense now."
"Oh, stop," she said. "I don't know why I'm laughing any more than I know why I felt like crying. A release of tension—I guess that's all it is." Her gaze flicked to the small sack sitting on the table.
Gabe shoved his hands in the pockets of his denim shorts and kept his distance, wary of jeopardizing the fragile accord he sensed developing between them. "I was afraid you'd be upset."
A CLASS ACT Page 5