She flipped on the light and looked around. After all this time, everything remained exactly as it had been when her mother was alive. The dainty vanity top still displayed her perfume bottles and beauty creams as if she’d merely stepped out for an evening’s entertainment and would return at any moment. Despite the slight musty scent, the room appeared clean. Virginia must come in and dust occasionally, Samantha thought.
Samantha had never understood her father, who had never shed a tear nor displayed any kind of grief over his wife’s death, and yet he had refused to allow anyone to change this particular room. It was the kind of senseless dichotomy he’d often displayed. Even she and her sister had been forbidden to come in here for as long as Samantha could remember.
With a curious sense of dread, she slowly walked toward the gold brocade curtains drawn tightly closed over the glass French doors that led onto the balcony.
Hands trembling slightly, she drew the curtains back and opened the doors. Cool night air caressed her as she stepped out onto the balcony. Directly ahead of her was a gaping hole in the railing, a new board nailed across the opening for some measure of safety.
After her mother had fallen to her death so many years ago, Samantha could remember Virginia pleading with Jamison to tear down the balcony and board up the French doors. But it had never been done. The balcony had remained, weathering year after year. How ironic that her father had died falling the same way his wife had.
Again she had the feeling that something was amiss. She could never recall a time when her father had entered this room. And he would never, ever have set foot onto this balcony. Despite Jamison’s powerful personality, his overwhelming strength of character, he’d had an innate fear of heights.
Samantha approached the railing cautiously and peered down at the concrete terrace below. What had her father been doing out here? What could possibly have forced him to ignore his deep-seated fear and walk out on the balcony?
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
A sharp scream of surprise escaped her at the deep voice.
She whirled around to see Tyler standing in the doorway. “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?” she snapped. She pushed past him to get back into the house, her legs shaky from the fright he’d given her.
“I believe these are yours.” He held out a handful of her lingerie. A wispy lavender bra and panties escaped his grasp and fell to the floor. “They were in the foyer.”
A hot blush washed over her as she hurriedly picked up the errant underwear and grabbed the rest from his hand. “My suitcase broke,” she explained. Then, quickly changing the subject, she said, “I want to see my father’s autopsy report.”
He blinked. She’d obviously caught him by surprise. “You’ll have to get it from the medical examiner. I don’t have a copy.” He narrowed his eyes. “What hornet’s nest are you stirring up, Samantha?”
“I don’t intend to stir up anything,” she replied. He followed her out of her mother’s room and down the hallway. “I just want to know whatever details there are about my father’s death.” She paused in her doorway and tossed the handful of underwear at her bed, then headed down the stairs. “Why don’t you have a drink with me and fill me in on what’s been happening since I left?”
Tyler followed her downstairs with a slight feeling of trepidation. She’d been home less than an hour and upheaval had been evident the moment he’d stepped into the foyer and spied the silk underthings all over the floor.
They’d felt obscenely smooth and cool in his grasp, and he’d immediately been able to envision her slender, shapely form in the pale purple panties and whisper of a bra.
The fire Virginia had started for them in the den snapped and crackled pleasantly. As she walked to the bar, Tyler sat down on the sofa, hoping she wouldn’t drink enough to repeat the seduction she’d tried on him so many years ago. He was tired and felt an edge of crankiness; he certainly didn’t want an unpleasant scene.
“Name your poison,” she said from behind the marble-topped wet bar.
“Brandy.”
She nodded and splashed a couple of inches of the amber liquor into the bottom of a snifter. She then poured a liberal amount of club soda into a glass and added a slice of lime.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she said dryly as she handed him the snifter. “The last time I drank was the night you rescued me from the James bar. I realized that night that alcohol made me stupid.”
He didn’t remember her stupid. He remembered her sexy as hell, a wanton flame of heat that had nearly made him throw away everything he’d worked for, including his own self-respect. “So, you’ve completed law school and stopped drinking. Commendable behavior.”
“Behavior proper for a Dark,” she replied with a touch of sarcasm and sat down next to him.
He smiled and swirled the brandy in the bottom of his glass. “There’s something to be said for proper behavior.”
“Not when it sucks the very life out of you.” She cast him a sideways glance beneath her thick lashes. “Besides, sometimes improper behavior is far more fun.”
He kept his smile, although his blood warmed enticingly. “There’s nothing wrong with playing by the rules.”
Her brown eyes skimmed him curiously, as if he were an odd, new species. “Tell me something, Tyler. Were you always a rigid stick-in-the-mud, or did my father turn you into one?”
He laughed, as always finding her an odd mix of charming candor and irritating brashness. “Tell me something, Samantha. Are you ever going to grow out of being a mouthy, rebellious brat?”
For a moment they battled with their eyes, each refusing to look away. It was finally she who averted her gaze and laughed softly. “Stalemate.”
He nodded and sipped his brandy, watching as she stood and paced the floor in front of the fire. At twenty-nine, she’d blossomed into the beauty that he’d anticipated years ago. The mouth that had always seemed a trifle too wide now appeared to fit perfectly in her face. Her eyes held shadows that gave her a mysterious appeal.
Yes, she had always been a beauty, and that hadn’t changed. Nor had he changed his mind about what he wanted in a woman—attributes that Samantha Dark would never possess.
Still, he was aware that Samantha represented a forbidden danger to him. If he were a different kind of man, he wouldn’t mind a single night of passion shared with her, but any more than that would ruin all the dreams, all the plans he’d made for himself.
Despite the physical attraction he’d always felt for her, he didn’t intend for her to mess up his personal life, nor did he intend to see her ruin his professional life by gambling with Dominic Marcola’s life.
“Samantha, you can’t take the Marcola case.”
She stopped pacing, her back stiffening as her eyes flared wide. Immediately he regretted his words. He knew better than to use the word can’t with Samantha. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. “Yes, I can. If Dominic agrees to let me represent him, then that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“You don’t even know the details of the case,” he objected.
“I’ll learn them.”
“It’s going to be a high-profile case.”
She shrugged and gave him an irreverent grin. “I think my picture will look fine in the papers.”
He took a sip of his brandy, wishing it were something even stronger. “You’ll be in over your head,” he finally managed softly.
“It won’t be the first time.” She sank down next to him on the sofa. “If you don’t want me to take the case, then you do it.”
He shook his head. “I won’t. I can’t. I never handle cases like this.”
“But you try criminal cases,” she protested.
“Not murder cases. Samantha, I’m not going to represent Dominic Marcola and that’s that.” There was no way he would tell her the real reason he couldn’t. He’d buried that baggage a long time ago and never intended to expose it to anyone.
�
��You’re not giving me any valid reasons,” she pressed.
“I don’t owe you any explanations for the decisions I make,” he returned.
“Then I’ll represent him,” she declared. He could see her frustration in her body language. “As a fifty-percent partner in this firm, I’ll have all the firm’s resources at my fingertips, just as you do.”
“And what happens if he really is guilty?”
She flinched, as if the thought had never entered her mind. “Then I’ll see what the mitigating circumstances are and see that he gets the best deal possible.”
Before he realized it, she was sitting so close to him he could smell the subtle scent of her perfume, see the tiny mole that rode just to the left of her lower lip.
“Don’t you see?” she pleaded. “Defending people who can’t defend themselves is what I went to law school for.”
This was a side of Samantha he’d never seen before. Earnest, with eyes shining almost feverishly. Why was this case so important to her? What was Dominic Marcola to her?
“This particular case is too big to cut your teeth on,” he said. “Dominic is facing the death penalty. He should have the best, not a greenhorn lawyer who doesn’t know her way around a courtroom.”
She frowned. “The best won’t take the case. Besides, I have an advantage over another lawyer.”
“And what’s that?”
“Unlike all the other lawyers I’ve ever known, I still have a heart, and my heart says Dominic is innocent.”
Tyler finished his brandy and carried his glass back to the bar. He turned to face her once again. “This is a business that will steal any heart you have, Samantha. It’s not a career you dabble in because you’re bored or trying to prove something.”
Her eyes sparked as she stood, her back stiffening defensively. He’d made her angry again. “I’m not playing at this. I’m not some poor little rich girl dabbling in the law, and I resent that implication.” She tossed her head and eyed him loftily. “What are you really afraid of, Tyler? That I’ll be good? Maybe better than you? Maybe, just maybe you’re afraid I’ll be so good I’ll usurp your position as the best lawyer in Kansas.”
He walked over to where she stood vibrating with energy. She held her ground, despite the fact that he’d moved close enough to invade her personal space. “Is that what this is about, Samantha? You aren’t so much interested in defending Dominic as you want to best met?”
He reached a hand up and stroked the side of her face. She allowed the caress, her eyes narrowed but unflinching. He marveled at the smoothness of her skin, the heat that spoke of such life, such passion. “You’re playing in a game that’s way over your head. The one with no heart almost always wins.”
She stepped back from him, her face flushed with color. “This all might be moot. Dominic may not want me to represent him.”
He dropped his hand and laughed wryly. “Samantha, I doubt our good law-enforcement officer has a chance against your wiles. If you want to be his counsel, he’ll agree. You could talk the devil into buying fire sticks.” And the reputation of Justice Inc. will rest in your hands, he grimly and silently added.
“We’ll know for sure tomorrow. I intend to talk to Dominic first thing in the morning.” She looked at her watch. “And on that note, I think I’ll head off to bed. It’s been a long day and tomorrow promises to be even longer.”
Yes, tomorrow promised to be even longer, Tyler agreed as he watched her climb the stairs. He poured himself a second glass of brandy and sat down in front of the fire. As he stared into the hypnotic flames, he thought of Jamison Jackson Dark.
The old man would spin in his grave if he knew Samantha’s intentions. Justice Inc. had always been a firm that catered to the white-collar crimes of the well-to-do, and kept away from publicity-drenched cases where careers were made famous by the press.
Of course, Jamison wouldn’t have been surprised by his eldest daughter’s plans. Samantha had spent most of her teenage and early adult years flirting with trouble, making poor choices, playing the role of bad girl in what Tyler had suspected was an effort to gain her father’s attention.
Jamison had been a brilliant man...but difficult. He’d inspired fear, respect, but rarely love. Still, he’d given Tyler a chance to become something, someone. In Tyler he’d seen something worth salvaging, and for that, Tyler would always be grateful—grateful enough not to allow Samantha to ruin everything her father and he had worked for over the years....
Samantha didn’t like Tyler, had never liked him. He was a prude, a miniature clone of her father, filled with the same self-righteousness and pompous arrogance.
Yet, there was something about Tyler that evoked a strong passion in her. Perhaps it was his enigmatic mystique. She knew nothing about his past, nothing about where he’d come from. He’d simply appeared in their lives one day and never left.
He’d commanded their father’s respect, stolen any love he might have had for his daughters. He’d become the son their father had always wanted, and for that Samantha hated him.
She’d often heard the two of them in the den, their deep masculine laughter ringing out as they shared pieces of their day. It was a ritual of male bonding that had excluded and enraged Samantha.
She hung up the last of her clothes and walked over to her window. Drawing aside the curtain, she peered outside. From this vantage point she could see the balcony that jutted out from her mother’s bedroom.
Again, questions flitted through her head. Why had her father walked out there? In all her years of living at home, she’d never once seen her father in her mother’s room, let alone out on that deadly balcony. What had possessed him to walk out there and lean against a rotting railing?
Suicide? Somehow she couldn’t imagine her father taking his own life, no matter what the circumstances. So what were the alternatives? An accident that didn’t make sense?
Or murder?
A chill danced up her arms at that thought. Was it possible he hadn’t accidentally fallen, but instead had been pushed?
She dropped the curtain back in place and moved away from the window. Always when a murder was committed, the number-one question was who might gain from such a murder.
Certainly she and her sister had gained from their father’s death, but the idea that Melissa had anything to do with his death was absurd.
Samantha sank down on the bed. There was only one other person who had a lot to gain from Jamison Jackson Dark’s death. Tyler. She frowned and rubbed her forehead; the headache she’d fought off earlier now blossomed with nauseating force.
The thought of Tyler committing murder was equally as ridiculous as the thought of Melissa having anything to do with such a horrible crime. Impossible. No matter how much Samantha didn’t like Tyler, she knew he wasn’t anything close to a killer.
She touched her face, remembering the feel of his hand on her there. For just a moment, her heart had leaped at his touch. She shook her head, dispelling this particular phenomenon.
She was tired, and fanciful thoughts always came to her more easily then. The idea that her heart had reacted to the touch of Tyler’s hand was definitely fanciful. Tyler meant less than nothing to her. At the moment he was merely an unwanted partner in a business.
She needed to keep focused on the problems at hand—and she had plenty. She wanted to further explore the circumstances of her father’s death. She needed to gear herself up for a legal battle to save Dominic, and more than anything, she wanted to find a way to force Tyler Sinclair out of the law firm—and out of her life.
Chapter 3
Samantha woke earlier than usual, after a restless night. She showered and dressed in one of her few two-piece suits, knowing she needed to look like a professional for her jailhouse visit with Dominic.
A few minutes later she eyed herself in the bathroom mirror as her fingers nimbly worked to capture her wild hair into a twist at the nape of her neck.
Hair finally as neat as the curly mass
could get, she stepped away from the mirror and eyed herself critically. The navy skirt was shorter than she’d remembered, and her lipstick was a trifle too bright. She wiped her mouth with a tissue, tugged at her skirt, then left the bathroom and went downstairs in search of a cup of coffee.
The scent of fresh brew struck her as she walked into the large, formal dining room. On the antique wooden buffet, a serving tray with a coffee carafe sat ready. She made a beeline toward it, poured herself a cup and sat down at the ornate, highly polished table.
The morning newspaper rested on top of the table, but she didn’t pick it up. She didn’t want to read anything about the Marcola case, preferring to get her first impression of the case from her potential client. Many accused had been judged and tried by the media, and she wasn’t about to get caught up in believing anything other than the true facts of the case.
Sipping her coffee, she tried to keep her focus on her upcoming meeting with Dominic. She didn’t want her mind cluttered with all of her other troubling thoughts.
She smelled the subtle, spicy cologne and knew Tyler approached before she saw him. She turned her head in the direction of the doorway as his scent preceded him into the room.
He stopped in the doorway, as if surprised to see her. “Good morning,” he said and headed for the coffee carafe. “I remember the days when you didn’t make an appearance until noon,” he observed as he carried his cup to the table and sat across from her.
“Those were the days when I didn’t think I had a reason to get up. Now I do.” She grinned at his frown. “Did you think maybe I’d change my mind about the Marcola case overnight?”
“I’d hoped sleep might bring sanity,” he said wryly.
“Not a chance.” She sipped her coffee, studying him as he flipped open the paper and scanned the front page.
Physically, he was the type of man that Samantha had always found attractive. All darkness and shadows, a hint of secrets in his eyes. The aura of suppressed emotions flirting dangerously with exposure. He looked like a bad boy in a three-piece suit. And Samantha had always had a thing for bad boys.
Reluctant Wife Page 3
