by Diana Palmer
“You started it!” she accused, her eyes flaming green and brilliant, changing her face so that despite the inadequacy of her makeup, she was almost pretty.
“A matter of opinion.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it calmly, watching her hesitate before she reluctantly bent to pick up the scattered papers.
Her fingers were trembling; her body was trembling. She wanted nothing more than to hurt him, to wound him. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such rage at any man.
And especially her boss. She colored, remembering that. He’d be within his rights to fire her, and that would take her right out of Denny’s life, because Denny wouldn’t go against Regan. She’d seen proof of that often enough.
She glanced up at him apprehensively as she clutched the disordered sheets of paper to her bosom and stood up.
“Feeling apologetic?” he asked, and the cold smile told her he understood exactly why she was regretting her temper.
She swallowed her pride. Any sacrifice, to be near Denny. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Cole,” she choked. “It won’t happen again.”
“Poor little Cinderella,” he murmured mockingly, and took a draw from his cigarette while she blushed again. “Sitting among the ashes while the wicked stepsister makes away with the handsome prince.”
“Yes, indeed,” she returned curtly, “almost as bad as having to kiss the frog.” She smiled meaningfully at him.
He turned away. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you,” he murmured. “I’m damned particular about who kisses me.”
“I’m amazed,” she muttered. “You probably have to pay women to do that.”
“What was that?” he asked, turning.
In enough trouble already, she controlled her temper. “Not a thing, sir,” she replied with a theatrical smile. “Just commenting on the weather.”
“It would break your heart if I fired you, wouldn’t it?” he asked suddenly, looking disgustingly smug. “Because Denny wouldn’t lift a finger to bring you back, and you know it.”
“That would be hitting below the belt, counselor,” she said quietly.
“Yes, it would. I might remind you,” he added with a flash of a mocking smile, “that I’m a criminal lawyer. I don’t mind hitting where it hurts the most. Do we understand each other, Miss Dean?”
She swallowed. “Yes, sir, we understand each other.”
“One more thing,” he said, as he took a step into his office and turned with cold brown eyes to look back at her. “The next time you throw anything at me, you’d better be wearing your track shoes.”
And he closed the door behind him.
She spent the rest of the day avoiding him, finding excuse after excuse not to go near his office. She didn’t like Regan Cole, but it was even more apparent that he disliked her. He always had, since the day he walked into the office for the first time and saw her. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the coldness in his eyes, the instant hostility that had met her tentative greeting. He couldn’t have made his dislike more obvious if he’d shouted at her. Not that he minded allowing her to take his dictation and his phone calls and type his briefs, she thought angrily. Oh, no, he didn’t mind letting her work herself into a frenzy trying to cope with his impatience and his black temper.
When Denny walked back into the office at three-thirty, she was still simmering.
“Hi, girl.” Denny grinned, whistling a gay tune as he sauntered in and perched himself on her desk. “How’s it going?”
“You had four calls. I put the messages on your desk. And I’ve got the letter on the Myers file in there for your signature, complete with copies,” she said, warming to his charm. He was like a breath of spring compared to his wintery stepbrother.
“Is Regan in?”
She felt her face go rigid. “He left about a half hour ago.”
He cocked his head at her. “You say that with such relish,” he murmured, grinning.
“For my part, I wish he was in darkest Africa, being slowly cooked in somebody’s stew pot, pith helmet and all,” she said, visualizing the scene with glee. “Of course, he’d poison whoever ate him....”
“How savage,” he remarked. “Might I ask why you have this sudden compulsion to feed my stepbrother to strangers?”
“He called me a frump,” she returned with glittering eyes. “Not only that, he hinted that I was a public eyesore and should be under Indian attack....”
His eyebrows arched toward the ceiling. “He what?”
She cleared her throat. “Well, never mind, it’s too complicated,” she murmured.
“He doesn’t like you, does he, little one?” he asked quietly. “I’ve noticed how hostile he is toward you. It’s not like Regan. He’s usually the soul of courtesy with women.”
“Ah, but that’s the problem,” she explained, grinning. “He doesn’t think I qualify for the status of a woman. I look about twelve in this rig, he said.”
Denny didn’t say a word, but his eyes revealed that his own opinion matched his brother’s. “Might I ask what you were doing while all this commentary was going on?”
“Flinging file folders at his shaggy head, that’s what,” she returned. “And if you want to fire me, go ahead.”
He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with delight.
“Oh, no, lady, not me. If you’re brave enough to throw things at Regan, you’ve got a job for life.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Old dragonslayer, that’s my name,” she murmured. “Not that the dragon didn’t flame up,” she added with a sigh. “He said if I threw anything else at him, I’d better be good at track.”
“I don’t doubt it. Take my word for it, Regan in a temper is something to be avoided at all costs.”
“I’ll keep that in mind as I sharpen my trusty saber.”
“Better not rattle it too loudly, either. Want me to talk to him about you?” he asked with genuine concern.
She sighed. “He’d probably chew it up, too,” she replied. “Don’t talk to him, please. He’ll just accuse me of crying on your shoulder and it will only make things worse. I can take care of myself.”
“If worse comes to worse, I’ll insist that he bring in his own secretary,” Denny promised. “Maybe he misses New York after being away six months. I can’t imagine why he gave up that practice to come south, although it’s sure been great for me. I never would have gotten such a big start without his help.”
“He asked me if you were seeing Margo,” she confided.
He frowned. “And what did you tell him?” he asked, his voice cool.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I told him that if he wanted to know, he ought to ask you.”
His face relaxed. “Good girl. Margo is none of his business.” His eyes warmed, softened. “Isn’t she a beauty, Kenna? All fire and determination. A very strong woman with great business sense. I’ve never known anyone like her.”
His voice had gone as soft as his eyes, and Kenna wanted to scream with jealousy. She couldn’t remember ever hurting so much in her life. Oh, Denny, look at me, she pleaded silently. Look at me and love me for what I am, for what I could be....
But he only smiled that friendly, charming smile that he always had ready. “How about making me a cup of coffee? And then we’ll get the rest of the dictation out of the way. I might let you go home early. I need a little extra time by myself.”
Yes, because he was taking Margo to the ballet and wanted to look his best, she thought miserably. So she’d go home early, back to her lonely apartment, and stare at the television set. Because she didn’t date. No one ever asked her out, and she was far too shy to go to one of the singles bars or invite men to her apartment.
“I’ll get my pad and pen and be right there,” she said after a minute’s hesitation, and sighed as she turned for the c
offeemaker.
* * *
When she got home she put on her jeans and T-shirt and glared at herself in the mirror. The jeans were too big and the shirt was too big and she looked older than she was with her hair hanging down around her face. Her eyes weren’t bad, though, and her mouth had a full, nice shape. If only she could get rid of the rest of her and just be eyes and a mouth, she might catch Denny’s eye. The thought amused her and she grinned, turning away before the mirror could tell her how different she looked with her face and eyes animated by laughter.
She turned on the television before she went into the small kitchen to fix herself a sandwich for supper. She’d never had much appetite, but she seemed to have even less lately. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting fat, she told herself.
She walked around the dining room with her sandwich and cup of coffee in hand, smiling at the modest furniture. She enjoyed this apartment where she’d lived for the past two years. It wasn’t expensive, but it was cozy, and the green flowered sofa and matching chair looked friendly in the gray-carpeted room with its pale gray drapes. She’d splurged a month ago to redecorate the living room in a burst of early-spring fever. Now it was really beginning to be spring, and she liked the new look. It made her feel brighter inside just looking at the furniture.
She watched television until bedtime, trying not to think about Denny out with Margo. She’d seen him in evening clothes before and remembered miserably how gorgeous he was in black. It emphasized his blond good looks. He was so handsome. A prince if there ever was one. Prince. That brought back Regan’s horrible remark and she bristled again. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to listen to Denny moon over Margo without having to put up with Regan’s evident dislike as well? She stormed off into the bedroom and went to bed before the memory had time to work her into a rage and keep her awake half the night thinking up horrible things to do to him.
The next morning she wore a beige sheath dress that clung lovingly to the curves of her slender body. The color did nothing for her, although the fit wasn’t bad. She left her hair long, hating its frizzled look, but she didn’t suppose it made that much difference. Denny never noticed the way she looked, anyway.
He was whistling when she got to the office, already pouring himself a cup of coffee and looking like a man on top of the world.
He turned when Kenna walked in, and grinned. “There you are,” he said. “Regan made coffee.”
She flinched at the sound of his name and bit her tongue before she could say something foolish. “Did he?” she asked. “How nice.”
“He’s an early bird, all right.”
She hung up her coat and turned on her computer, then turned the appointment calendar to the right page and sat down.
“You’re cheerful this morning,” she said with a careful smile.
“I feel cheerful. I’m off to the lake Friday for a long weekend. Come to think of it, you might as well take Friday off, too, if Regan doesn’t need you,” he added.
For one wild, beautiful moment, she thought he might be going to ask her to go to the lake with him, and she beamed. The sudden radiance of her face captured his attention, and he frowned slightly.
“I’d like that,” she told him.
“Got a date?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly, just in case.
“Too bad,” he remarked, smiling dreamily as he stared at the other wall. “I’m taking Margo up to Lake Lanier with me for some fishing. Can you imagine, she likes to fish?”
Somewhere in Kenna’s heart, a candle went out. “Oh, really?” she murmured calmly.
“I’m looking forward to the relaxation,” he confessed. “I’ve been putting in twenty-four-hour days lately.”
That was true, he did need the rest, but why did he have to take Margo? she wondered miserably.
“Well, we’d better get to it.” He sighed. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave. Grab your pad and come on...”
“Kenna!” came a muffled roar from Regan’s office.
She gritted her teeth, casting a helpless glance in Denny’s direction.
“Better go.” He chuckled. “I’ll wait my turn.”
“Thanks, I’ll do you a favor someday,” she muttered, tossing him a dark look as she grabbed her pad and deliberately took her time going into Regan’s office.
He knew she’d delayed on purpose, it was in his glittering dark eyes when she opened the door after a perfunctory knock and walked in. He was leaning back in his swivel chair, his jacket off, his broad chest rippling with muscles as he clasped his hands behind his head. Under the white shirt, she could see the thick shadow of dark hair, and the woman in her involuntarily appreciated the sheer masculinity of him.
“Yes, sir?” she asked sweetly.
He looked her up and down, and something in his eyes made her knees go weak. He was always appraising her, as if she were for sale, and it disturbed her more than she liked to admit. She tingled when those cold, dark eyes traced her body, feeling things she’d never experienced until he walked into her life. She didn’t know why she felt that way, and she didn’t like it. As a result, her hostility toward him grew by leaps and bounds.
“The color stinks, but it’s an improvement,” he murmured.
She flushed, clenching the pad in her fingers. “You wanted something, Mr. Cole?”
He leaned forward. “I need to dictate a couple of letters. Have a seat.”
She started toward the chair, aware of his eyes assessing her coldly.
“Have you been crying on my brother’s shoulder?” he asked suddenly.
She sat down heavily, gaping at him. “Sir?”
“You heard me. He asked me this morning if I minded letting up on you.”
Her chin came up. “I slay my own dragons,” she returned. “I don’t need help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered? Yesterday I was a frog, today I’m a dragon...”
“I didn’t call you a frog, Mr. Cole,” she reminded him.
“At any rate, that’s the wrong fairy tale. I’ve got something in mind for you, Cinderella,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened, and he made an impatient sound. “Good God, I’m not that desperate for a woman,” he growled, and she flushed angrily. “At any rate, this isn’t the time to discuss it. Take a letter, Miss Dean...”
It took only fifteen minutes to finish the dictation, but she was almost shaking when she started out the door.
“Just a minute,” Regan said behind her, his voice curt to the point of rudeness. “Denny’s taking Friday off. Did he mention it to you?”
She swallowed. “Yes, he did.”
“Then presumably he told you why?” he added with narrowed eyes.
She only nodded.
“I’ll be out of the office for a couple of days. But I’ll expect you here Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp. We’re going to talk.”
“About what?” she asked curtly.
“Well, Miss Dean,” he said, leaning back again with his lips pursed, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’d like those letters as soon as they’re typed. I have a case this morning.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and forced herself to walk out without asking any more questions.
Denny was sympathetic when she told him that Regan wouldn’t let her off.
“I guess it’s that criminal case he’s handling.” He sighed. “Well, that’s the breaks,” he added with a sheepish grin. “We tried.”
“We tried,” she agreed, and her eyes clung lovingly to his handsome face. It was so pleasant to sit and look at him, to be with him. Oh, if only she were beautiful like Margo.
“By the way,” he said, “would you call the florist and have them send Margo a dozen red roses?”
She jotted it down, keeping her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see the sudden pain in them. “Red, hmmm?” she teased, putting up a brave front.
“Red, for love.” He laughed. “She’s a tiger, my Margo. Spicy and passionate, every man’s dream.”
“Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” she murmured, and stiffened as she waited for the answer.
He sighed, toying with a pencil on the desk blotter. “That would depend on the lady,” he murmured. “She’s not much for cages. But speaking for myself, I’m more than ready to put a ring on her finger. I’ve never known anyone like her.”
She wanted to scream and throw things. Instead, she smiled and reminded him about a letter they needed to get out on a case that they’d just won. He grinned and started dictating. And if his secretary’s face was strained and paler than usual, he didn’t notice.
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.