by Trish Wylie
Laying down the law...
Lawyer Olivia Brannigan has faced down some cool customers, but client Blake Clayton takes emotional control to a whole new level. The man didn’t even bat an eyelid when he inherited a fortune from his estranged father!
Blake doesn’t want guilt money—the only thing piquing his interest is the tough-talking, sweet-looking lawyer that comes with his new property portfolio.
Dating on the job isn’t in Olivia’s Guide to Good Client-Lawyer Relationships, and it certainly doesn’t sit easily with her “no strings” attitude…but aren’t rules always made to be broken?
“I want to go through personal assets first. Can you handle that area?”
She nodded.
“Tomorrow we’ll start looking at the properties on the list you brought me.”
Another nod. Then, without warning, the tip of his thumb brushed back a strand of hair from her neck; the light graze of work-roughened skin sending a sharp jolt through her body that tightened her abdomen.
“Now that’s settled,” he said in a seductively rough rumble as the backs of his fingers trailed lazily over the sensitive skin below her ear, “I think we should discuss your rule...”
What rule? She had a rule?
Blake watched the movement of his fingers, his head lowering. “How set in stone would you say that is?”
Oh, this was bad. This was really bad.
It felt good.
Breathing ragged, pulse erratic, her heart threatening to beat a hole in her chest, Olivia felt the hand on the wall slide to her waist. The fingers on her neck moved to her nape as his gaze focussed intently on her mouth.
“Blake.” Her voice was thick, the unspoken plea caught somewhere between “stop” and “don’t stop.”
The tip of his thumb brushed against her jaw as his gaze lifted to search her eyes and a slow smile began to form on the sensual curve of his mouth. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
“What is?”
“My name—it’s the first time you’ve used it.”
It was?
“Say it again,” he demanded, his smile growing. “Practice makes perfect.”
Dear Reader,
I make no excuses; I’m a sucker for a wounded hero. A gorgeous, strong, funny hero who is wounded deep inside where no-one can see it has the exact same melting effect on me as puppies, kittens and baby ponies. Not that he’d probably appreciate it if I mentioned it to him but I think that’s part of the attraction too...
Two quotes I remembered—don’t ask me where I heard them—when on the final stretch with this story were ‘it takes courage to stand still’ and ‘the biggest mistake people make is when they stop pushing’. You’d think the one contradicts the other, but I’m not so sure it does. I think sometimes in this modern, busy world of ours we need to take a moment to stand still and take stock of where we are and how far we’ve come before we can push forward again. Blake and Olivia’s story is about two people who meet at a time in their lives when they both need to do that. I can only hope you come out the other end of their journey of discovery with as big a smile on your face as I had on mine.
If you’d like to talk to me about wounded heroes, Blake, Olivia, puppies, kittens and baby ponies, you can find me on Twitter @TrishWylie or via the website at www.trishwylie.com
H’s & K’s
Trish
Barbara
Trish Wylie
The Inconvenient Laws
of Attraction
Trish Wylie worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blond hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and has got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep. And it took all that character building and a healthy sense of humor to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, makeup as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know...after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a makeover....
Books by Trish Wylie
BREATHLESS!
BRIDE OF THE EMERALD ISLE
CLAIMED BY THE BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY
HER ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE
HER REAL-LIFE HERO
HER UNEXPECTED BABY
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
For everyone who kept me from hitting the ground until I remembered how to fly again.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘OLIVIA BRANNIGAN. Blake Clayton?’
Continuing to rehearse below her breath, she tugged firmly on her jacket as she walked up the path. ‘I represent Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise, and…’
It was what came after the ‘and’ she was struggling with most. Informing him of a legacy was one thing, breaking the news that came with it was another, even if the news was several weeks old. But the man would have to live in a cave to have avoided hearing about it and they couldn’t have been that close—not when it had taken so long to find him.
The Stars And Stripes hanging from the porch fluttered gently in a welcome hint of air movement as she took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer.
‘I regret to have to inform you…’
She hated that line. Last time she’d made a death notification it had been more than difficult: It had been the final act in a series of events that altered the course of her life.
When the door swung open, a heavy-set man holding a half-eaten hamburger looked her over from head to toe.
‘Mr Clayton?’
‘Yo, Blake!’ he yelled.
‘What?’ a voice yelled in answer.
‘Anyone suing you?’
‘Not this week.’
‘Guess you can come in then.’ The man grinned, issuing an invitation with a jerk of his head.
Following him down the hallway, Olivia’s heels clicked in an even, businesslike rhythm while she focused on their destination and the man she would discover when she got there. In a matter of seconds he would be a living, breathing person instead of someone she’d spent entirely too much time trying to picture in her mind while she was searching for him. She wouldn’t have to imagine what he looked like or wonder how he was going to react.
The mystery would be solved.
Anticipation built with each step as she prepared for the disappointment of reality when compared to the uncharacteristic flights of fantasy she’d been engaged in of late. There was just something about this case that got to her, and with her track record when it came to emotional involvement in the workplace, that wasn’t good.
The sooner she wrapped it up, the better.
The room she walked into was in a chaotic state of construction. There were four men in it: two chewing hamburgers, one hunkered down sanding a door-frame and another by large windows covered in opaque plastic. Since the man by the windows was looking at her, she approached him and held out a hand. ‘Mr Clayton, I’m Olivi
a Brannigan from—’
‘Over here, sweetheart.’ A deep, rough-edged voice drew her gaze to the man sanding the door-frame.
‘You’re Blake Clayton?’ She turned around. Considering how long it had taken to find him, she had to be sure. ‘Blake Anders Clayton.’
There was a snort of laughter behind her.
‘Thanks for that.’ He shook his head, dropping his chin and lifting a hand to remove the dust mask from his face as he stood up. ‘So what’d I do this time?’
Opening her mouth to set his mind at ease, anything resembling coherent thought scrambled when he set the mask aside and looked directly at her. The room contracted; it was suddenly smaller and tighter and felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. Everything in her peripheral vision blurred as her gaze locked on him and doggedly refused to let go. But who could blame a girl for staring?
A little heads-up on how he looked might have helped.
Six foot two, possibly three, lean at the waist, broad at the shoulders, with short spikes of unruly chocolate-brown hair and dark eyes that sparkled with more than a hint of the guy a girl’s mother would warn her about; Blake Clayton was the living, breathing definition of seriously smokin’ hot.
When her gaze dropped briefly to the jut of a full lower lip that begged for immediate, audience-be-damned attention, Olivia ran her tongue over her teeth. Would he taste as good as he looked? She’d just bet he did.
The woman inside her purred appreciatively. The professional forced a businesslike tone to her voice. ‘I represent the legal firm of Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise, and—’
‘Bet that’s a bitch to put on a business card.’ A corner of his mouth hitched with amusement.
The woman sighed contentedly while the professional frowned at how difficult it was to focus. Her flights of fantasy had fallen woefully short of reality.
‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’
‘We’re talking now.’
‘Mr Clayton, I’m afraid I have bad news,’ she announced more bluntly than she’d intended.
‘I heard,’ he said tightly, the change in him immediate.
Her voice softened ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Don’t be.’ Stepping past her to lift a mug from a worktop, he sat down beside one of the men eating lunch, spreading long, jeans-clad legs while tipping the rim of the mug to his mouth. ‘We done?’
Glancing at their audience, she found them watching her like some kind of floor show. Surely he didn’t want to—
‘You can say whatever you have to say in front of them,’ he added as if he’d read her mind.
Considering her thoughts since she’d laid eyes on him, Olivia sincerely hoped he hadn’t.
‘No secrets among friends,’ the man who’d answered the door added. ‘Offer us the right money, we could tell you enough to get him arrested in a half-dozen states.’
‘And Canada,’ added a chorus of voices.
‘You got something you need me to sign, hand it over,’ Blake said over the sound of laughter. ‘You can mail whatever memento I’ve got coming my way.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ Olivia replied patiently. ‘You’re the sole beneficiary. He left everything to you.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes.’
‘All of it?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. He obviously hadn’t known. Not that the flat tone to his deep voice gave any indication he was happy with the news. The majority of people would have been turning cartwheels.
‘There’s no one else?’
Confused by the question after her use of the term ‘sole beneficiary’, she shook her head. ‘No.’ Thanks to Charles Warren’s will, his son was one of the richest, most powerful men in America. ‘I know it must seem daunting to take on the responsibility of—’
‘Such a great legacy?’ A dark brow lifted. ‘Wrong tactic, Miss—what did you say your name was again?’
‘Brannigan.’ She tried not to be piqued by the fact he hadn’t remembered. ‘Olivia Brannigan.’
‘Well, Liv—’ he leaned forward ‘—someone should probably have warned you: I don’t give a rat’s ass how great a legacy it is. I don’t want it.’
Was he insane?
‘I understand you need time to process everything, b—’
‘There’s nothing to process.’ Setting his mug down, he pushed to his feet. ‘What I need is to get this job done.’
As she faltered, he walked past her and picked up his tools. She’d never been in such a surreal situation. What did he expect her to do? Go back to the office, walk up to her boss and say, Sorry, no go, we have to find someone else we can give billions of dollars’ worth of property and assets to? They could hold a raffle.
When she didn’t move, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. ‘Am I supposed to tip you?’
Seriously?
The professional stepped forward and smiled smoothly. ‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Clayton. Allow me to make it clear: you’re it. Whether you want it or not, you’re the sole beneficiary of Charles Warren’s will.’
‘The Charles Warren?’ an incredulous voice asked behind her.
‘Your father made his wishes very clear.’
‘Father?’ said the same incredulous voice. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
So much for no secrets between friends…
He took a step forward and lowered his voice. ‘Look, lady, I get that you’re trying to do your job but, in case you didn’t get it, allow me to make it clear: I’m not your man. So unless you’re planning on setting down that briefcase and picking up a power tool, I suggest you hightail it back to Manhattan and tell Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise—or whoever it is you answer to further down the food chain—they best find a distant Warren relative they can lay this on. I have a life. I’m not living someone else’s.’
‘This isn’t going anywhere,’ she insisted with a deceptive calmness that masked the effect his proximity was having on her body.
‘Maybe not,’ he allowed. ‘But I can.’
What about the life he’d said he had? Olivia found herself wondering if there was a woman in it; one who would miss him when he was gone. Somehow she doubted he was the type to stick around long enough to let anyone get that close. Judging by the number of addresses she’d discovered in various different states—some of which he’d only resided in for a matter of weeks—any relationships he had were short-lived. Not that looking the way he did would leave him short of company for long.
Squaring her shoulders, she reached into the front of the briefcase he’d mentioned and held out her hand. ‘I’ll leave my card. When you’ve had time to think things over—’
‘Not gonna happen.’
Olivia stood her ground.
‘I take it you can find the door on your own?’
Okay. If he wanted to play hardball, she’d play. Lowering her gaze to his broad chest, she relaxed her shoulders and took a step forward, standing within inches of his large body and slowly lifting her lashes until she was looking deep into dark eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips and smoothed them together, watching his gaze lower and smiling when he frowned. She spoke in a low voice just loud enough for their audience to hear.
‘Tomorrow morning…all over the state…thousands of Warren Enterprises employees are going to turn up for work. I’d like to be able to tell them they’ll have a job a month from now, especially in this economy.’ She angled her head. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Reaching out, she set her business card on a plank of wood beside him before turning on her heel and walking back down the hall. Her hand was on the door when she heard a voice ask, ‘Charles Warren is your old man?’
Silence.
‘You know my cousin Mike works for Warren Tech? He’s got a wife and three kids…’
Olivia smiled as she opened the door. There was no question in her mind she’d be seeing him again.
She was looking forward to it
already.
Blake had always liked cities better than small towns. Cities were anonymous, no one wanted to poke their nose in anyone else’s business; it was easy to disappear into the crowd in the city. At least it used to be…
‘Isn’t that your lawyer lady from the other day?’
‘Yup.’ He’d known she was there from the minute she appeared with her mismatched set of friends. His gaze found her in the crowded bar with the same accuracy as a heat-seeking missile.
‘Sure fills out a pair of jeans,’ Marty observed.
‘I’m sure Chrissy will be glad to hear you noticed.’
‘I’m married, not blind.’
Without her power suit she was different, there was no denying that. Dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a scoopnecked blouse that highlighted her narrow waist, pale skin and the swell of her breasts, it had been hard to ignore her presence since she arrived. If there’d been the remotest chance they might cross paths again, he would never have accepted Marty’s usual end-of-the-working-week invitation for a beer and a game of pool in the nearest bar to the restoration project they’d been working on in the West Village. But it was too late now. It was only a matter of time before she crossed the room.
Bending over to line up his shot, Blake’s gaze was drawn upward by the appearance of distinctly feminine, jeans-clad thighs at the other side of the table.
‘Gentlemen…’
And there she was.
Sinking a ball into the pocket in front of her before standing upright, he set the end of his cue on the floor, folding his fingers around it as he looked her over.
American pool halls had once been the exclusive realm of men who smoked cigars and drank beer while they growled and spit tobacco. Young truants cleaned tables and floors, racking balls for new games while they learnt pool hustling and miscreant behaviour. It had been a poor man’s men’s club, devoid of female company.
Blake couldn’t help thinking it would have been better for Olivia Brannigan if it had stayed that way.
Because the second his gaze swept over her, he had the exact same reaction he’d had the first time. The tips of his fingers itched to be thrust into her sleek blond mane and mess it up until it framed her face the way it would after a session of the kind of hot, sweaty, mutually gratifying sex he doubted she’d ever experienced. He wanted to set the pad of his thumb on her full lips and smear away any hint of lipstick before he set his mouth on hers, to place a palm to the small of her back, melding her body to his as—