A Woman's Choice
By
Rita Clay Estrada
Contents
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They had an appetite— for each other.
"I though you said you were hungry," Catherine murmured, snuggling up to Sam's sheet-clad length.
"I am," he said, his hand moving to cup her breast. Gently he tugged at the nipple, sending heated messages through her body.
Catherine's breath caught in a gasp. "Then, er, how about letting me up, so I can fix breakfast." His touch was doing crazy things to her senses, turning her insides to jelly.
"No," he answered in a lazy drawl.
"No?"
"No." With a rakish grin he pulled her beneath him. "I haven't had my fill of this banquet yet…"
THE AUTHOR
A Woman's Choice marks the second book in a trilogy that began with The Will and the Way. Author Rita Clay Estrada has taken Sam Lewis from the first novel and paired him with Catherine Sinclair, a controversial character from an earlier romance. Rita is now working on the third book of the series—Leo's and Brenda's story.
This talented author lives in Texas with her husband, James, and their four children. She also writes as Rita Clay and Tira Lacy.
Books by Rita Clay Estrada
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
48—THE WILL AND THE WAY
72—A WOMAN'S CHOICE
Published August 1985
ISBN 0-373-25172-6
Copyright © 1985 by Rita Clay Estrada.
1
"I could have been killed, and the police didn't even care!" the tearful voice said dramatically.
Sam Lewis leaned back in his leather desk chair and scrutinized the beautiful blonde sitting across from him. She was crying her heart out, and all without a blotch or blemish, a runny nose or ugly expression. In fact, the tears made her gorgeous blue eyes appear to sparkle like just-polished jewels. What was he supposed to do? Take her in his arms and comfort her? Admonish her for being too attached to a necklace of perfectly matched diamonds? Tell her he was sorry, but this problem was out of his jurisdiction and she would have to find another attorney? He did none of these things. Instead, he frowned, feeling a faint queasiness in the pit of his stomach. The woman was beautiful, famous and making him extremely nervous—and he wasn't sure why. Only the sound of her sniffles and the leisurely whirling of the brass-and-wicker ceiling fan could be heard. Sam unconsciously let out his breath, unaware until that moment he'd been holding it.
Opening a drawer in his desk, he took out several tissues. "Here, Miss Sinclair," he said, with a roughness he didn't mean, as he pushed the small white pile across the desk toward her. "When you calm down, we'll talk."
"Thank you for being so patient," she answered huskily. She dabbed at the liquid gems that fell to her cheek only to glisten with brilliance before being absorbed into the tissue. She gave a dainty sniff and Sam's stomach lurched again. His radar was telling him to stay away from her, but the rest of him was out of control, grumbling with beginning hunger… for her.
It shocked him.
He leaned back once more, making a pyramid of his fingers and staring at a point on the far wall just above her head. He hoped he looked cool and controlled. He hoped he looked bored. He hoped he didn't look like a damned idiot drooling all over her!
Glancing at his watch, he cleared his throat. He was due in a meeting with his partner, April Flynn-Sullivan, in just a few minutes. That meeting couldn't come soon enough for him, he thought wryly.
Catherine Sinclair was probably the most beautiful woman he'd ever had sit in his office. She was also one of the hottest stars in Country and Western music. And she was lethal when it came to men, if her reputation was anything to go by. So, who could blame him if he was hot under the collar and a little in awe of her?
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lewis. I don't usually act this way," she said softly, forcing him to look at her once more. The moment he did, he was caught in her sapphire-blue gaze. Her silk blouse was the same unusual hue, catching the highlights and making her eyes seem brighter, deeper, more sorrowful. The pristine white of her suit and wide-brimmed hat accented the intensity of that blue.
He gulped. "It's quite all right. Now, can you tell me anything more about the diamond necklace? Where did you keep it? In a safe or chest? Where was its location before you noticed it missing?"
"It was on the dresser, where I had dropped it when I returned from the party. I'm staying in a rented house my agent found. I was told that no one had the key, yet when I came out of my bath, the necklace was missing. Someone must have come in while I was there and stolen it!" She shuddered at the thought of another person being in the house when she was all alone. So did Sam. "Anyway I called my attorney in Dallas, and he recommended that I see you."
"What makes you think someone has a key? Are you positive you locked the doors behind you when you came in?"
"Yes. Well…" She sighed. "I'm not sure. I was so exhausted at the time."
"When did you call the police?" ,
"Immediately." Her eyes hardened into blue diamond chips. "They arrived over twenty minutes later!"
"What did the police say?"
"They thought that I might have given my key out to someone at the party that night! Can you imagine?"
Sam could imagine very well. Catherine Sinclair had a reputation for having affairs with wealthy men. She had once been a Texas millionaire's mistress for three years. What was his name? Oh, yes…Noah Weston. Funny, but she didn't look like what he would expect a mistress to look like. She was all soft and sweet and almost cuddly. There were light-purple smudges under her eyes, as if she needed a good night's sleep or perhaps a vacation. But Sam felt that she might well possess a will of iron underneath that facade, and that was what scared him. Was this on the level or was she trying to get away with stealing her own necklace for the insurance money? Was Catherine Sinclair in some type of money trouble? Or could this be a publicity stunt? Regardless, it wasn't really his problem and he needed to get that point across as quickly as possible so she could find some other attorney to handle this.
He cleared his throat for the third time since she had walked in. "I'm afraid that this is out of my realm, Miss Sinclair, but I can recommend someone who could look after this without any trouble. I'm in the corporate end of the law, and my partner is in family; so as much as we'd like to help you out, this is not our area of expertise. What you really want is someone who can mediate with the insurance company so they have the complete story." Had that sounded blunt enough? Too blunt? None of the above? He didn't know.
Her eyes welled with tears again. "You're sending me to someone else, and I'll have to go all through this again." She looked straight at him, her eyes telling him that she was mentally exhausted and not ready to face another ordeal. But he had no choice.
"I'm afraid so," he muttered, cursing himself for his reluctance to cut their meeting short. Reaching for a pad on the side of his desk, he said, "But I'm sure you'll find Leo Coulter very helpful. He's an excellent attorney." He scribbled the name and number of his good friend on the pad, tore off the paper and slid it across the desk.
She didn't move to pick it up. "And what happens if that person, whoever he is, returns to rob me again?"
"I doubt that he will. He probably didn't expect anyone to be there. He found a door open, saw your necklace and ran."
Catherine stood, displaying her perfect, full-blossomed figure for his perusal. "I hope you're right, Mr. Lewis. My life could be ridi
ng on it."
A twinge of apprehension flew through him, leaving a dampness under his arms and across his forehead. Was he right or was he sending her out there to get robbed, raped or worse? No, he was panicking because she had a pretty face and perfect body. It didn't figure that a burglar would be stupid twice.
"Do you have a gun?"
"Yes."
"Is it registered with the police here?"
"Yes."
"Then keep it handy if it will make you feel better."
"I will."
"Good." He stood and cleared his throat once more. What on earth was the matter with him that he was acting so awkwardly? He walked around the desk and toward the door, escorting her out with what he hoped was gentlemanly, but professional, reserve. She stepped past him and began to walk across his reception area, and his eyes riveted on her delightfully feminine swaying hips.
She stopped as she reached the outer door, glancing over her shoulder to catch the expression on his face, which he was sure looked like slobbering hunger. A deep slow flush began at his neck and reached up to tint his cheeks and forehead. He was blushing like an adolescent schoolboy caught sneaking a peak at the pretty teacher's cleavage.
Her smile was slow in coming, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners as she intimately surveyed him in turn.
"Thank you anyway, Mr. Lewis." Her look might have been sensuous, but her voice sounded so sad and lonely that he wanted to say to hell with his warning radar and tell her to come back.
But he didn't, and she left, quietly closing the door behind her. He stood, his mind in a turmoil over his unaccustomed reactions to her.
"She wouldn't have to sing a note and the audience would still be captivated by her." His secretary's voice cut through his musings.
He shook his head ruefully. "Including this member of the audience," he said.
Brenda grinned, her freckled face lighting up with laughter. She had been with Sam a year, but he felt as if he had worked with her forever. She was around his age, divorced, and wanting to stay that way. Under those conditions it was easy to allow a good friendship to blossom. It was a perfect arrangement. "What did she do to you in there? Pull out a flute and hum a few bars of the cobra waltz? You look like you're under a spell."
"I need to get out and meet more people. I'm leading too sheltered a life. Compared to her, I'm so naive that she almost had me convinced I was in love," he joked, only he wasn't laughing. That was really funny, for he didn't believe in love at first anything, let alone with a woman of her experience and background. Her kind of woman was poison.
"A sheltered life? Meet more people? What is this. The Fairy-Tale Hour'?" Brenda's brows rose disbelievingly, and Sam grinned. He was on the town more often than anyone else she knew. Sam was constantly busy, doing something or being with someone, owning more cards that gained entrance to charity groups and clubs than she could keep up with.
"Maybe I'll change my habits, and then I'll come after you, Brenda. You'd better watch out."
"If that's a leer on your face, you'd better practice more. It looks a lot like agony," she said, still chuckling as she rolled a sheet of paper into her typewriter. "By the way, April was looking for you. I told her you were in a meeting."
"Damn!" he muttered under his breath. He turned back to Brenda. "Tell her I'll see her after I make a phone call. Then get hold of this attorney in Dallas for me." He held out a slip of paper. "His name should be in my index file. Let me know when you have him on the line."
After Sam closed his office door, he walked across the Persian-carpeted floor to the window, hands in his pockets, to stare out at the boulevard below. His back was to the room he had worked so hard for: the one that had the small gold plaque on the door that read Sam Lewis, Attorney-at-Law.
A late bloomer, it had taken him six long years to achieve that title, four of which were earned in this office as a paralegal for his partner while he worked toward his degree. And here he was, at thirty-seven, in the spot he had always imagined himself. He was supposed to be on top of the world. Vietnam was behind him, college was finished, his earning capacity had quadrupled, life was as he had always dreamed. He didn't need a blond monkey wrench in his life, screwing up the works now. Still, the lady definitely needed help…
The phone buzzed and he reached over, flipping the On button. "Mr. Hannover? This is Sam Lewis in Los Angeles. I'm calling regarding a client of yours, Catherine Sinclair."
"Oh?" The gruff voice chuckled. "You calling to thank me for your new client or to put a hex on my next case, in retaliation?"
He laughed at the man's words. "I'll withhold judgment until I'm. sure just how lethal she is. Can you fill me in?"
"Oh, geeze, what a loaded question." Mr. Hannover's voice held a sigh. "I'm not sure I can help you much. I don't agree with most people as to what makes Catherine Sinclair tick."
"Give me something. All I know is that she's dynamite, was another man's mistress and is out here to do a movie. Is she having financial problems? Last night her diamond necklace was stolen, and she believes that the insurance company is trying to prove that she did it to herself. Is there any chance she could have stolen her own necklace?"
Hannover seemed to hesitate a minute before answering. "Anything's possible, but I doubt it. The necklace has a matching bracelet worth just a little less. If she wanted to lose something, I'd bet it would be the lesser of the two,' except that she loves both those pieces. It could be a publicity stunt of some kind, but I can't see her doing that, not after her last brush with the law, in which she was a witness for the state in a drug case involving a senator. Besides, for all her showmanship, she's a very private person who would rather not call attention to herself. It wasn't always that way, but, well…" His voice trailed off. "I'm also well aware of her financial situation and she certainly doesn't need the money. She's loaded. So, if you're looking for a snap judgment, I'd say she's telling the truth."
"Why?"
"Because for the six years that I've known her, I've only seen her lie outright once, and I really believe it was in desperation. A last-ditch effort to keep her millionaire boyfriend."
A flash of jealousy zipped through Sam and caught his breath in his throat. What was the matter with him that he should be jealous of another man he had never met? "Your good opinion of her doesn't seem to be universal. Her reputation is, uh, shady to say the least."
"I know, but only some of it is deserved. Look, if a man had done some of the things she has to get ahead in the music world, he would have been labeled assertive. But she's a woman, so she made enemies of other women and quite a few men along the way, including the press. The only piece of advice I can give you is not to judge her by what you've read or heard. I have a feeling that there's more to Catherine Sinclair than any of us know. You're going to have to wing this one."
"You sound a little enamored yourself."
"Not me!" he said with a chuckle. "I just don't happen to be as prejudiced as some others. I'm also lucky enough to have old age on my side, and at my age, my wife's about all I can handle." There was a note of pride in his voice when he said that. "I just see Catherine a little differently than most, because I worked with her on some tough legal problems. She's had to struggle twice as hard as anyone else to get where she is today. I admire the woman as long as she doesn't cross me. I also feel just a little sorry for her."
"Why?"
"No way." Hannover chuckled again, a rasping sound that almost grated the wires. "No more clues. You make up your own mind. I don't want to prejudice you one way or the other. So you'll have to take her as you see her. Besides, you don't have to handle her. You could always send her to someone else. I figured that if you didn't want to work with her you'd know somebody who would. I didn't mean to throw you a curve." The older man's voice was noncommittal, telling Sam that he knew more than he was saying.
"The information you just gave me could have probably come off a press packet." Sam's voice was dry.
"
That's more than I had when I met her."
"Thanks a lot."
Sam hung up the phone and stared at it for a minute. He had been right to get the case out of his office. Catherine Sinclair was not a woman he would be able to work easily with, no matter how much money he would make.
He flicked the intercom to Brenda. "Remind me to call Leo this afternoon and fill him in on Catherine Sinclair." At least he could do that much for her.
"Yes, sir!" Brenda rejoined, barely keeping the chuckle from her voice. Leo was Sam's friend and fellow attorney whom Brenda had yet to meet, but his voice and manners on the phone told her he probably led the same, woman-filled life that Sam did. Birds of a feather…
"And let April know I'll be right in." His voice was harsh, irritated with the women in his life reading him so well. Dammit! Were all women the same?
Catherine Sinclair slumped into a booth at the Polo Lounge. Her hands were still shaking, and her short, shallow breathing was making her dizzy. She had to get over this fear of returning to the house. It was just a house, just a necklace, just a freak set of circumstances, she kept telling herself.
The waitress came up and she quietly ordered Perrier Water with a twist of lime, then leaned back and held her breath to will away the dizziness. She had to get a hold on herself!
Two men sitting on stools at the bar turned to smile at her. She ignored them. The last thing she needed in her life was another man, especially after the fiasco with Noah Weston. The very last thing. She'd learned her lesson well enough the first time.
When the waitress brought her drink, she asked for a phone. It was brought to her table immediately, and she dialed a number from her small black address book.
"Tommy? Catherine." Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. "I went to the attorney's office, and he said he couldn't help me. I have to see another attorney."
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