Surrender to a Playboy

by Renee Roszel

  The woman walked straight to Bonn, whose back was to the kitchen door, placed her hands on his shoulders and bent to nibble his earlobe. “Morning, baby.”

  “Good morning, Lee.” Bonn angled his head away from her love bite, stood and faced her. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded, though her expression grew theatrically tormented. “Finally!”

  “That’s good.” He moved to the chair opposite Mary and held it out. “Join us?”

  Lee took the seat, then patted his cheek. “Thanks, Bonn.” She smiled cryptically, and Mary couldn’t fathom what the look or the emphasis on his name could mean. Some kind of lover’s private joke, no doubt.

  “You’re welcome.” He seated himself, and Mary thought she saw a hardening along his jawline. That didn’t make sense, either. “By the way, Lee,” he said, “Pauline isn’t a short-order cook, so you get what’s offered for breakfast, or you don’t have to eat. Your choice.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I recommend her delicious waffles.”

  Mary experienced a sizzle in her gut at the sight of his smile, and shifted her attention to her bowl.

  “I’m not up to waffles,” Lee said. There was a pause in the conversation. Mary ate her oatmeal and sipped her coffee, keeping focused on her breakfast. “Just black coffee.” Lee sounded put out. “I can’t keep trim eating all that fatty food.”

  “Why not have some oatmeal?” Mary glanced at her. “And skim milk. Oatmeal lowers cholesterol.”

  Lee waved off the idea as though it were a bothersome horsefly. “It tastes like cardboard, too.”

  Pauline plunked a mug of black coffee before Lee. “Here you go, ma’am.” She made a face over Lee’s head that only Mary caught. To mask her wayward chuckle, Mary coughed behind her hand as the cook set another mug in front of Bonn, this time with less sloshing. “And yours, sir.”

  “Thanks, Pauline. And, remember, it’s not sir.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She pivoted toward the stove. “Your break-fast’s coming right up, Mr. Wittering.”

  “I’m Bonn, and there’s no rush.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mary’s glance skittered to his face. His jaw muscles bunched and jerked, his expression serious. She hurriedly dragged her attention back to her own breakfast. Why did he have to draw her like a magnet!

  “Sleep well, baby?” Lee asked.

  Mary experienced a surge of unruly annoyance. Unable to help herself, she quipped, “Just fine, darling.” She looked at Lee with as much innocence as she could muster. “Or—weren’t you talking to me?”

  Bonn chuckled, the rich sound filling the kitchen. Mary was startled she’d been able to make him laugh, considering how solemn he’d looked seconds ago. She wanted badly to search his face, look into his eyes, but forced herself to keep focused on Lee.

  The woman eyed Mary, her expression a blend of speculation and disdain. After a moment, she shifted her attention to Bonn and smiled broadly. It was as though Mary had never spoken and didn’t exist. “I feel terrible about not being with you yesterday.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’ve never had such a miserable migraine in my life.”

  “It might have been brought on by the altitude,” Mary offered, not caring whether she existed for Lee Stanton or not. “Being at nearly ten thousand feet affects some people that way.”

  Once again, Lee peered at Mary, her bright green eyes, narrow and cold. Since it had been dark when Lee arrived, this was Mary’s first chance to really look at her. She was quite striking, even more so than Mary remembered. Her face was sharply sculptured, her lips full to the point of being exotic, her nose, slender, nostrils delicate.

  Her skin was clear, pale, almost bloodless, as though she were allergic to sunshine. Her platinum hair was thick, the style, very short. It fell just shy of the length of her ears, leaving enough lobe visible to show off two-carat, diamond stud earrings. Her bangs, a narrow, platinum ribbon, bisected her forehead.

  Every element of Lee Stanton, from her swanlike neck and svelte, nearly six-foot-tall form, her manicured nails to her Botox-injected forehead, spoke of practiced chic and the pursuit of physical perfection. Her white silk slacks and cowl-neck sweater screamed relaxed elegance. Mary sensed this woman didn’t own a pair of jeans.

  The stubby, Prince Valiant haircut seemed wildly paradoxical on Lee, who was the antithesis of unsophisticated and boyish. Her “innocent youth” coiffure bordered on fraud. At least that was Mary’s opinion. Sadly, she wasn’t objective on the subject of Bonner Wittering’s girlfriend, no matter how badly she wanted to be.

  “Well, aren’t you a little fountainhead of information,” Lee said to Mary. Her tone suggested she’d be perfectly content if Mary-the-fountainhead dried up and blew away. “Tell me, Marty, do you get a headache when you climb down out of the mountains?” She canted her head, her smile conniving. “Or do you know?”

  “My name is Mary,” she corrected, well aware Lee was calling her a country bumpkin whose opinion she found worthless, but she held her temper. “You shouldn’t have a problem when you leave,” she added. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “When will that be?” Pauline chimed in, as she served Bonn his breakfast. “Soon? I’ll be happy to pack you a lunch for the drive.”

  Mary passed Pauline a quelling look, but the cook just smiled and shrugged.

  “Thanks for the breakfast,” Bonn said. “It looks delicious.” Mary thought she heard the slightest tinge of mirth in his words, and found herself glancing his way. Their eyes met, but almost immediately he shifted his attention to Lee. “To answer your question, Pauline, I believe Lee told me she’s staying until Wednesday.” His lips twitched in a minimal grin. Mary couldn’t tell if his mild amusement had been caused by the cook’s smart-aleck remark or Lee’s country bumpkin slam. “Speaking of leaving,” he went on, “I talked to Miz Witty before I came down for breakfast, and she suggested a picnic this afternoon.”

  “Oh, how marvelous.” Lee squeezed his hand. “I’d love it! How sweet of your old granny to think of me. And I haven’t even had the pleasure of meeting her, yet.”

  “She wants to meet you.” Bonn removed his hand from hers to pick up the syrup dispenser and drizzle the stuff over his waffles. “I’ll introduce you after breakfast.”

  “Did you tell her who I am?” Lee asked. Mary wondered at the woman’s tone. It seemed to be full of innuendo, but Mary couldn’t imagine why.

  Bonn set the pitcher down, picked up his knife and fork, then glanced at Lee briefly as he cut a bite of waffle. “I told her we’re friends.”

  Since the mention of the picnic, Mary had tried to get her mind on something else, but she wasn’t succeeding. She didn’t mind Bonn and his ladylove going on a picnic. In fact, she was glad they were going. It would keep them both out from under foot. So why did she feel like she’d just eaten a bowl of concrete instead of oatmeal?

  “Where’d you two meet, anyway?” Pauline asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Oh, we met at work,” Lee said. “We’re both—”

  “My attorney and Lee are partners in the same law firm,” Bonn cut in, his tone unusually sharp.

  “Right,” Lee said, with a laugh. “Bonn’s in the office—a lot.”

  Mary’s mind wrapped itself around what Bonn had just said. “My attorney and Lee are partners in the same law firm.” She became even more baffled. How did that answer fit into the high-fashion model business? She glanced at Bonn. “But isn’t she a…” Mary hesitated, blinking as her brain belligerently confronted the truth. If Lee Stanton was a partner in a law firm, then she wasn’t a high-fashion model. “But that would make her a…” She couldn’t finish. The thought was too inconceivable.

  Bonn met her gaze, finishing her sentence for her. “An attorney.”

  Hearing him say it didn’t make it any more palatable. Mary’s glance shot to Lee, and she echoed, “An attorney?” Goodness! Lee was gorgeous and a high-powered lawyer? Then she wasn’t simpl
y a tall, willowy, brainless beauty. She had a college degree, plus a law degree and was a partner in an important Boston law firm, which must mean she was exceptionally bright. She made tons of money, too. That was plain by her clothes and those rocks in her ears. Mary felt nauseous, old Trailer Town insecurities settling over her like a shroud. So—so maybe this beautiful, snippy blonde had a right to feel superior. She was.

  Bonn’s ironic chuckle drew her gaze. “Try to curb your enthusiasm, Miss O’Mara.”

  “What enthusiasm?” Lee asked, with a curt, sarcastic laugh. “She looks like somebody punched her in the stomach.”

  Mary reluctantly met his gaze; his earthy eyes held hers captive. “Mary thinks criminal defense attorneys are a waste of oxygen,” he said, his grin crooked and cynical. Her heart raced ridiculously at the sight.

  “Not all,” Mary corrected, shifting her glance to Lee. “Just high-priced, smooth-talking lawyers whose sole business it is to prove that black is white or white is black, according to who’s paying their fee!”

  Lee burst out laughing. “Ouch. If looks could kill, I’d be dead!” She leaned forward aggressively, eyeing Mary. “One day, when you get into really bad trouble, sweet-cheeks, it’s somebody exactly like me you’ll run to. Trust me, you’ll revisit your holier-than-thou attitude.”

  “That’s enough, Lee,” Bonn cautioned.

  Lee glanced at him, then grinned sweetly. “Sure, baby. Whatever you say.” Her gaze drifted back to Mary, her expression mutating to a cool smirk.

  Lee’s superior attitude didn’t surprise Mary. She knew Lee didn’t give a fig for her or her opinion. Without a doubt, one of the reasons Lee excelled in an adversarial career like criminal law was her invulnerability to the pain she caused others.

  “I didn’t think a client and his lawyer could have—a thing,” Pauline said, from her lounging position beside the coffeepot. “Aren’t there, like, rules?”

  “The legal profession has lots of rules,” Bonn said.

  Lee held up her mug and faced Pauline. “You might as well refill me, cookie, since coffee’s all I’m having. And, as for the rules, I don’t represent Bonn. His lawyer is Taggart Lancaster.” She paused and passed an odd smile to Bonn, before adding, “Taggart is the only lawyer besides myself, in that firm, with any real—talent.”

  Bonn looked annoyed, which didn’t make sense. Why should Lee’s admission that Bonn’s lawyer had talent annoy Bonn? She was about to ask when he sat back, his attention shifting from Lee to Mary. “By the way,” he said, “Miz Witty wants you to join us on the picnic. She thinks you’ve been working too hard and need a break.” He watched dispassionately as Mary absorbed his comment.

  When his meaning hit, it hit hard, and the question on the tip of her tongue was swept away in her horror. Miz Witty insists I go along with Bonn and Lee on a picnic—an utterly unwelcome third wheel? What had her employer been thinking? It was out of the question. She opened her mouth to refuse, but before she could speak, Bonn cut in. “Naturally, I accepted for you.” Pushing up from the table, he held a hand toward Lee. “Shall we go meet Miz Witty?”

  The couple left before Mary could form words. She sat motionless, stewing. This was horrible! She didn’t want to be around them, let alone be foisted off on them like a bothersome baby sister! Or worse, a chaperone! She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, Pauline! How can I get out of it?” she cried. “They don’t want me along any more than they want food poisoning!”

  She heard the scrape of wood against wood and realized Pauline was taking the chair Lee had occupied. Forlorn, she peeked out from between her hands to see the cook set down her coffee mug and grin. “If you figure a way out of going, I’ll be happy to send a case of food poisoning in your place.”

  She giggled wickedly and rubbed her hands together. “I can set a little of my homemade mayonnaise in the window-sill, so it’ll go bad in the sunshine. Then I’ll run to the store for vanilla yogurt and strawberries. Just before they leave for the picnic, I stir the spoiled mayo in the yogurt, pack it in the basket, and presto! One sick blonde lawyer!” She nodded, encouragingly. “Good, huh?”

  Mary pushed away her congealing oatmeal. “It’s very—er—scary of you to offer, but—no.” She sighed long and low.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re gonna go.”

  Mary shook her head. “That’s not an option, even if I wanted to go—which I do not! They don’t want me along.”

  “But Miz Witty does.” Pauline quirked another impish grin. “And Miss Migraine doesn’t. I can’t think of two better reasons to go.”

  “Bonn doesn’t,” she murmured, recalling his impassive features as he watched her absorb the news.

  Pauline lifted her mug and held it in both fists, her expression going contemplative. “To tell the truth, I got the feeling he did.” She peered at Mary, her brow knitting inquiringly. “Didn’t you?”

  Mary experienced a prickle of exhilaration, wishing that were true. No! No! No! she admonished inwardly, working to quell the tingling rush. You don’t want that to be true, you foolish, foolish woman!

  But what if Pauline were right?

  Worrying her lower lip, she stared at the cook, pondering her query. Well, she wasn’t so much pondering as attempting to rescue bits and pieces of her wits from the whirlwind of useless gray matter spinning inside her skull. Finally, drained from the effort, she shook her head. She had to face facts. The idea that Bonn wanted her along on the picnic was tempting—to the weak-willed fool in her—but in reality the notion was absurd. And rightly so! She pushed up from the table. “No—that’s crazy. I—I’ll make some excuse.”

  Taggart watched Mary trek up the woodland pathway ten feet ahead. Lee trudged beside him, clinging to his arm, breathing heavily. She’d had to borrow a pair of his hiking boots, which, with two pairs of thick socks, almost fit. She’d also had to borrow—kicking and screaming all the way—a pair of Mary’s jeans.

  Mary was at least five inches shorter than Lee, so the jeans were comically short and, according to Lee, “baggy as a clown suit.” She wore a red, cotton knit sweater, her own, and the only thing she’d packed in those two suitcases, casual enough for the hike up to the meadow. Taggart wasn’t sure she’d make it, if her labored breathing was any indicator.

  “How—much—farther?” she asked between gasps.

  “About a quarter of a mile,” he said, experiencing a spark of wry amusement at Lee’s struggle. How could that be? How could he find anything funny? Mary was clearly as unhappy as he was, having been forced to come along. He didn’t know what Miz Witty had said to her, but whatever it was, she’d obeyed, though with conspicuous reluctance.

  She had insisted on carrying the picnic basket, which was probably a good thing, since Taggart had his hands full with Lee. She was a tall woman, and though she was very slender, she was not exactly a feather.

  “A—quarter—of—a—mile!” Lee wheezed.

  “I thought you were so delighted about going on a picnic.”

  “I was—when I thought it—included—driving to a nice little park—in town.”

  “A park in town?” he asked, incredulous. “In the Rocky Mountains you think people drive into town to picnic in a park?”

  “Well—whatever I thought—it didn’t include—a third party!”

  “Lee,” he cautioned under his breath, even though Mary was moving farther and farther ahead and couldn’t hear their conversation.

  “Or…” she went on, “…dressing like—a homeless person!”

  “You look fine.” His attention was focused on Mary’s backside as she hiked up the slope. As she walked, her hips swayed enticingly, they were impossible to look away from.

  Lee lifted an arm up to his shoulder, gripping hard. “Thank you—baby.” Her softened tone and the close proximity of her voice to his ear told him she’d turned toward him. He made himself glance her way and received a wide smile for his trouble. “You always—know the—r
ight thing to say.”

  He had no idea what he’d said, but let it go. “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t—you let me—ride you piggyback?” she asked, giving him her sexiest pout.

  “Because I don’t want to die of a heart attack.”

  She poked her lower lip out farther, apparently under the misguided impression that acting like a spoiled two-year-old would turn him to mush. “For a woman—of my height—I’m not heavy.”

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “Besides, I thought you spent an hour at the gym every morning on the stationary bike.”

  “But—there’s air—in Boston!”

  Any other time he would have found her agony amusing. He wished he could muster a lighter mood and enjoy her bellyaching, since she found everybody else’s suffering amusing. “Quit whining, Stanton.” He indicated Mary, charging forward, now at least thirty feet ahead. “She’s carrying twenty pounds of food in that basket. Do you see her complaining?”

  Lee gave the brunette an annoyed, squinty look. “I wish I didn’t see her at all.” She laced her fingers though his supporting hand at her waist. “Why on earth—did you naturally insist—she come along?”

  He watched Mary, taking in her unconscious, sexy wiggle, her surefooted trek along the steep, rocky path, the buoyant sway of her long hair. Lord, she was beautiful, and kind and strong and vulnerable and caring—everything he’d thought he would never find again, after Annalisa’s death. “Because…” A melancholy smile tugged at his lips. “I love her.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “YOU—what?” Lee hauled Taggart to a stop.

  He pursed his lips, staring after Mary as she moved farther away. He was surprised at how effortlessly he’d said those words. As though his love for Mary were as much a part of him as his eyes or his heart. After Annalisa’s death, he’d never thought he would be able to utter them again.