When Lightning Strikes Twice

by Barbara Boswell

Laurel’s arrival had continued to keep her diverted. Until now.

  But with Quint standing in front of her, looking more virile and masculine and appealing than any man had a right to, Rachel was hit with a bursting dam of emotion. If she were Laurel, she would turn on the waterworks. Her eyes did fill with tears, but Rachel determinedly willed them away.

  “Why don’t you take your reservation and your flowers and candy and give them to Sloane?” she heard herself say spitefully. She was immediately aghast at her blatant display of jealousy.

  Which Quint mistook for a joke. He laughed heartily. “Sure. And then I’ll ask Town Junior, Town Three, and Tilly to join me in a foursome for a round of golf.”

  “Isn’t Sloane the one Wade has always hated so much?” Laurel asked, delving deeper into the ice-cream carton.

  “Who can blame him?” Quint laid the two boxes down on an end table. “That greedy little viper practically jumped me in the parking lot this afternoon and tried to talk me into pulling a fast one on Misty by substituting the dollhouse she inherited for the jewels Town left to my client.”

  Rachel’s first impulse was to blurt that it didn’t look like he’d been protesting Sloane’s attentions in the parking lot all that much, but logic quickly prevailed. From her vantage point at the window, she’d seen only Quint’s back. But if Sloane had been suggesting that he cheat his client, Rachel could well imagine what his expression had been. Knowing his loyalty to Misty and his own personal integrity, he would’ve considered Sloane’s bid to be a dire insult.

  “What did Sloane offer to give you?” Laurel asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. “She did offer you something to get you to go along with her, didn’t she? I happen to know the way these kinds of women operate. I do watch TV, you know.”

  “Probably too much, and all the wrong shows,” Quint said flatly. “But Sloane did offer something.”

  “I knew it!” Laurel giggled. “Money or sex?”

  “Both. As if either would be an inducement for anything, let alone betraying my client!” Quint was indignant. “I told Ms. Lloyd exactly what I thought of her and her dishonesty and lack of ethics. I told her that Misty is rungs above her on the morality ladder.”

  “More than anything, Sloane would hate being compared unfavorably to Misty,” Rachel said pensively. “You knew exactly where to plunge the verbal knife, Quint. You always do.”

  “If that’s a compliment, thank you. If it’s your own plunging verbal knife, pretend that I’m wounded. Anyway, it’s safe to assume that Sloane won’t speak to me again during this lifetime.” Quint glanced at his watch. “I’m hungry. Let’s get moving, Rachel.”

  Rachel’s breath caught. “Laurel, would you put my ice cream in the freezer, please? It’s starting to melt.”

  “And put these roses in water,” added Quint, thrusting the box into Laurel’s hands.

  “You just want me out of the room so you two can talk alone,” Laurel complained.

  “Good for you, Laurel. You picked up on that hint right away,” Quint said drolly.

  Both Rachel and Quint watched Laurel heave “a martyred sigh and shuffle reluctantly from the room, the box of roses and ice-cream containers in hand.

  “Time for me to say something astute, like ‘it never rains, it pours,’ hmm?” Quint moved so fast that his arms were around Rachel before she even had time to think of backing away from him.

  “That’s hardly astute. More like an overused, unoriginal cliché,” she said shakily.

  “Whatever.” His lips brushed the top of Rachel’s head and he inhaled the clean scent of her shampoo “You’ve had a bad day, baby. First, the nasty Tildens and then Li’l Sis shows up in a cranky mood.” His hands moved over her, simultaneously comforting and arousing. “Time for me to make you feel better.”

  Rachel stared up at him. “I didn’t think you were coming,” she confessed, trying to appear blasé. The quaver in her voice betrayed her.

  “Why not?” Quint appeared genuinely surprised.

  “How can you even ask?” she asked rawly. “After the way we parted at the office today, all the insults and angry words! And you strolled out like you didn’t care what I’d said.” That hurt badly, that he could be so unaffected by her.

  “Rachel, I didn’t take anything you said personally. Your aunt and your cousin were practically foaming at the mouth with fury, and if you hadn’t displayed a bit of anger yourself, they would’ve damn well wondered why. Anyway, who could blame you for getting mad at the way things turned out for Saxon Associates? I understand.”

  She stared up at him, amazed at the considerable gaps in their perceptions of this afternoon’s nightmare. At least, it had been a nightmare for her! Quint had discounted her slurs, dismissing them. Not taking them personally.

  Which was what lawyers did in the courtroom all the time. Hurl invectives and outrage on behalf of their clients and afterward, congratulate or commiserate with their colleagues. Rachel knew the dynamics, she’d made use of them herself. But never with Quint Cormack.

  It had alway been different with him, from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. The Pedersen trial hadn’t merely been a case to her, it had been some kind of mating dance with Quint, though she hadn’t known that at the time.

  “You might’ve managed to fool Eve and Wade but not me.” Quint touched his lips to hers, and her knees suddenly went weak. “As far as denunciations go, yours were pretty paltry, sweetheart. You managed a generic barb or two but nothing remotely comparable to some of the ones you’ve leveled at me in the past. And I can tell a professional strike from a personal one.”

  Rachel tried to remember what she’d said—she hadn’t thought her insults were a pale imitation of previous ones, she’d been sure she had offended him grievously, personally. But she was feeling dizzy from the sexual tension vibrating between them and couldn’t properly focus. She didn’t care anyway. Her anxieties and insecurities had been explained away.

  Quint lightly caressed the skin of her cheek with this thumb, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the pleasure of his touch. He kissed her gently, delicately, and her mouth opened to him.

  She slowly slid her arms around his neck in age-old sensual surrender. He deepened the kiss and she responded and returned his passion, stoking the flames, driving them both higher.

  “I knew you two would get hot and heavy the minute I left the room.” Laurel’s petulant tones shattered the silence.

  When Rachel made the obligatory responsible-big-sisterly attempt to move away from her lover, Quint kept her pressed tightly to him, his arms strong as iron bands.

  “You were right on target there, Laurel.” Quint was still breathing heavily and made no pretense of not resenting the interruption.

  Rachel felt the vigorous, irresistible male strength of his body and wanted nothing more than to shed the already-tenuous threads of her self-control and let their desire take them.

  But Laurel’s presence was inhibiting.

  Quint found it annoying. “It’s time you went home, Laurel,” he said pointedly. “You have a family, you have a small child to put to bed. Or do you intend to abandon your responsibilities as a mother and force your husband to try to fill the roles of both parents?”

  Definitely the wrong thing to say to an already-agitated Laurel. She launched into the same tearfully angry monologue she’d given Rachel, centering on her own repressed needs and unjust enslavement.

  “Let me summarize, to make sure I have your bill of particulars straight. You want to leave your husband, give him custody of your child, and go off to find adventure?” Quint was in full trial-attorney mode by the time Laurel finished her tirade.

  “You just don’t understand.” Laurel dropped dramatically to the sofa, weeping still more tears. Quint’s arms firmly encircled Rachel, preventing her from going to her sister’s side.

  “Oh, I understand very well, Laurel. You see, I’ve heard this same song before,” he said roughly. “Have you consid
ered the travel opportunities in Eastern Europe? I can give you a couple names to look up over there.”

  “Rachel, is that man crazy?” raged Laurel, once again abruptly tearless.

  “No, I’m sane,” Quint assured her. “And I am the father of a little boy whose mother decided she was tired of taking care of him. She literally handed him over to me, giving me full custody. Now I have complete power over whether or not she will ever see or talk to her child again, and I have no intention of letting her do either.”

  Laurel recoiled with a sharp gasp.

  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that if you walk out on your husband and daughter, you can simply waltz back into their lives whenever you please, Laurel.” Quint drove his point home. “Some actions are irreversible.”

  “You’re just trying to scare me! Gerald wouldn’t keep me from visiting Snowy if I decide to—to—” Laurel swallowed nervously and her eyes grew round as saucers. “Tell him that can’t happen to me and Snowy, Rachel. I have you and Wade and Aunt Eve to make sure it won’t.”

  “Rachel can’t give you that kind of guarantee,” Quint shot back. “Not with Judith Bernard practicing over in Haddonfield. Judi is practically unbeatable in child-custody cases, and she favors representing fathers. Should Gerald retain her, Snowy is as good as lost to you.”

  Laurel screamed. A piercing high-decibeled shriek that made humans wince with discomfort and probably would have made dogs howl in pain had any been in the vicinity.

  Rachel gazed up at Quint’s face. He was in full crusader mode, and though part of her wanted to soothe her younger sister, another part noted that Laurel was intently listening to Quint, in a way she rarely paid attention to anyone.

  “I’ve met your daughter,” Quint continued, following up his terrifying indictment and moving toward his closing argument. “I’m fond of that little girl, I care what happens to her. If I find out she’s being hurt by selfish and irresponsible conduct on your part, I’m going to call your husband and recommend Judi Bernard’s services to him. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m bluffing, Laurel. Ask your sister—I never make idle threats, I just go ahead and take action.”

  Laurel didn’t bother to ask. She grabbed her purse and ran out the door to her car parked in front of the apartment building. Quint released Rachel long enough to reach over to close the door, which Laurel had left standing open in her haste to escape.

  “A version of shock therapy?” Rachel asked softly.

  Quint nodded. “I cranked up the voltage to excessive levels, but she seemed like the type who wouldn’t respond to a light prod. Do you think she’s headed home?”

  “I hope so. Poor Laurel looked scared to death. She really does love Snowy, you know. She’s been a good mother, she’s taken very good care of her baby. I know she wouldn’t want to lose her.”

  “I hope you’re right, for Snowy’s sake.”

  Rachel eyed him curiously. “Is Judith Bernard really that good? I don’t know her very well, or her track record.”

  “She’s good,” Quint affirmed. “She kicked my ass all over the courtroom in the one custody case where I went up against her. I was new in the area at the time, I represented the mother, and after my resounding defeat, I heard from lawyers throughout the county that you can’t expect to beat Judi in a custody trial.”

  “Well, if she beat you, she must be stupendous.”

  Quint smiled. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” He ran his hand along the length of her back. “Now, will you please get ready for our dinner date? I really am starving, Rachel.”

  She arched her brows provocatively. “Making mincemeat of the Tildens and Saxon Associates and terrorizing Laurel really gives you an appetite hmm?”

  “I have a raving appetite for you, sweetheart, but consider yourself duly warned—unless I get some food to bolster my stamina, it’s going to end up being a version of ‘the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak’ kind of thing.”

  Rachel considered herself duly warned. She hurried into her bedroom, pulled on a dress of clingy apricot silk and high-heeled sandals and was applying makeup when Quint came into the bathroom.

  “You don’t have to bother with that stuff. You look great without it.”

  “A starving man will say anything,” Rachel said dryly. She took another few moments to brush her hair, then permitted him to hurry her outside to her car. Which he asked to drive.

  “I’ve been wanting to get behind the wheel of this beauty,” he confessed, eyeing her convertible appreciatively. “And to escape from the prosaic confines of the station wagon for just a little while. Anyway, we’ll get there faster if I drive.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Definitely. I rode with you before, honey, remember? Even on the way to a fire, you slow down and stop for yellow lights.”

  “And in the midst of a monsoon, you speed up and zoom right through them.” But Rachel handed him her car keys and climbed in the passenger side while Quint took the wheel.

  “Since you’re so hungry, maybe we should stop at a supermarket along the way and buy you some raw meat to tide you over,” she drawled as they sped toward Philadelphia, taking every yellow light.

  “Think that’s what it takes to satisfy my inner caveman’s atavistic urges?”

  “So you admit there is an inner caveman that dwells beneath that civilized exterior of yours?” Rachel grinned. “I figured as much.”

  “There is one that lurks within every male,” Quint assured her. “Well, the Tildens might be the exception. Especially that insufferable little creep Tilly.”

  They crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge over the Delaware River into Pennsylvania and made it to Wainwright’s, not quite ten minutes late for their reservation.

  The atmosphere was that of an exclusive men’s club, with dark red leather-upholstered booths, wainscotted walnut-paneled walls, and a coffered ceiling. The moldings were eight inches wide and three inches deep.

  Rachel assessed her surroundings. “This reminds me of the Union League, the sort of place where robber barons congregated at the turn of the century and ran the country.”

  “An old-fashioned gentlemen’s club where high-stakes deals were made with a handshake,” agreed Quint.

  “Gentlemen’s clubs do run the gamut,” observed Rachel. “Compare this to a certain other kind of gentlemen’s club called Fantasy’s. Of course, the deals struck there probably aren’t much like the ones made in places like this. And Fantasy’s could never be called exclusive.”

  “Except in the worst possible interpretation of the word.” Quint filled Rachel’s glass with champagne from a bottle on ice in a bucket beside their table. “We passed Fantasy’s on Admiral Wilson Boulevard on our way here.”

  “I noticed. Who could miss all those capital X’s on the marquee—plus the promise of nude lap dancers. Do you suppose Misty serves as an inspiration to the girls currently working there? I wonder how many other aspiring millionaire widows are lap dancing at Fantasy’s? If they all strike it rich like Misty, and she kindly recommends your legal services to them, you can be a—”

  “Don’t be a sore loser, Rachel. Town Senior, Misty, and I beat you and the others, fair and square.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” Rachel drained her glass, feeling a blaze of warmth spread through her muscles. A hazy mist began to slowly blanket her mind. “I should’ve eaten something first. This is going straight to my head.”

  She gave it a shake, as if to clear it but only succeeded in making the colors of the painting hanging on the wall in front of her—a detailed scene of a fox hunt—blur and whirl.

  “Good.” Quint smiled and refilled her glass. “That’s my intention, of course. To get you drunk and have my wicked way with you.”

  Feeling daring, she kicked off her shoe and caressed his ankle with her toes. “You don’t have to get me drunk to do that.” She glided her foot under the hem of his trousers and teased his calf with her toes, delighting
in the hot flare that darkened his eyes. “You didn’t even have to spring for the expensive dinner.”

  “I could’ve had you for the price of a burrito at Taco Bell, huh?”

  “You can have me anytime, anywhere.” Her foot moved higher. “But you already know that.”

  It was the kind of remark her old self—the repressed and prim Rachel—never would have made. Or even thought of making. But falling in love with Quint, making love with him, had changed her in so many ways.

  Quint took a long swallow from his own champagne glass. “Did I mention that I booked a room in the hotel tonight?” His hand was on her knee, sliding slowly under her skirt. “Brady is safely ensconced at home with Sarah, so all we have to do is take the elevator to the third floor after dinner.”

  Rachel shivered as a powerful surge of desire rocked her. She felt hot spirals of pleasure uncoil deep within her. If Quint hadn’t made such a point of announcing his near-starvation status, she would’ve hauled him out of Wainwright’s and into that elevator right then.

  But the waiter arrived to recite the specials of the day, and Quint respectfully withdrew his hand from under her skirt to listen attentively.

  Rachel smiled a secret smile. She would summon her patience and wait for dinner to be over. She and Quint had the whole night ahead of them.

  18

  Wade sat on the sofa in front of the TV set with Bob and Mary Jean Sheely, but he wasn’t watching the hair-raising video footage of shark attacks on swimmers, The Discovery Channel’s special presentation to kick off Sea Predators Week.

  It was past ten o’clock and he didn’t know where Dana was. Neither did her parents, who seemed spectacularly unconcerned whenever he brought up the subject. Which could only be during commercials because, unlike himself, Bob and Mary Jean were deeply engrossed in the shark program. When Wade interrupted with queries about Dana, they shushed him—as if he were Emily’s age!—so he waited impatiently for the appropriate breaks.

  “You said she always gets in early when she goes out with Vick Richer.” Wade tried to make a joke of it. To seem casual and merry.