Sensuous Burgundy

by Barbara Delinsky

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kraig,” she offered softly, covering her puzzlement as he quietly closed the door, then leaned against it, one hand thrust deep into his pants pocket, the other propped on the doorknob. “Have you been waiting to see me?” Her voice did not betray her. She was as poised as she could ever hope to be.

  He hesitated just for a moment; then his deep tone assailed her with its richness as it had done earlier in the day. “You didn’t really think you’d get away from me that easily, did you, Miss Grandine?”

  Refusing to be put so quickly on the defensive, she ignored his suggestive overtone. “Please do come in,” she mocked gently, “and shut the door behind you, if you’d be so kind.” She paused, enjoying the flicker of amusement on the face of her one-man audience, before getting to the point. “Thank you. Now, what can I do for you, counselor?” Her three years of dealing with often arrogantly chauvinistic attorneys stood her in good stead. As long as she could convince herself that Maxwell Kraig was no different from the others, she would do just fine.

  To her dismay the man straightened slightly and offered mocking applause. “That was an excellent performance this morning, an even better one just now,” he drawled before relaxing once more against the door. “Are you always as polished?” His warm brown eyes never left hers.

  “I try,” she answered evenly, an easy smile playing on her lips. “After all, it’s part of my job.”

  “Ah-hah, and you are very professional, aren’t you?”

  Laura wondered whether he was purposely trying to bait her, and this suspicion gave her an added measure of patience. “Mr. Kraig, as one of the most prominent and able lawyers in the state, I know that you have already researched me. So let me ask you—do your sources report me as being very professional?” Satisfied that she had scored a point, Laura sat back, her hands draped comfortably over the arms of her chair.

  His eyes narrowed as he readily answered her challenge. “Yes, I’m told that you are totally professional. But I always reserve final judgment until I’ve seen for myself.”

  Not quite prepared to follow up the last, Laura held his gaze unwaveringly. “And what else, Mr. Kraig? What other goodies did your—ah—sources dig up?”

  “Let me see.” He rolled his eyes skyward as he prolonged the anticipation. When he looked back down at her, there was definite amusement etched in the lines radiating from those all-enveloping eyes. “Age twenty-eight. B.A., Mount Holyoke, J.D., Cornell. Assistant District Attorney, Hampshire County, three years. Hard worker. Tough prosecutor. Shrewd bargainer. Very straight-laced.” An added gleam in his eye accompanied the lowering of his voice at the last phrase. Once more, Laura chose to ignore the bait.

  “Certainly you know that this is my first homicide?” she volunteered. It occurred to her to wonder why she had wanted to add this information to the dossier. Surely she would rather have been able to tell him that she had already under her belt some of the same experience on which he had built his own career over the last twelve years. Yet she was neither a pompous nor a presumptuous person, and perhaps it was this that she had wished to convey. For an instant she feared that her forthrightness had held an implicit plea for mercy. Then as quickly as this thread entered her mind, she chased it out. She was a good lawyer, one who needed neither mercy nor compassion to win a case.

  “That is correct. But then, Miss Grandine, you appear to be intimidated by neither new experiences nor new faces.” The reference was obvious, though in this Laura had to congratulate herself on the deception. She did feel clearly intimidated by this man who stood so boldly before her. Yet it was an intimidation which had little to do with the law. Her thoughts had barely begun to ponder this situation when he caught her up short.

  “Is Sandy Chatfield your personal protector?” For the first time Laura felt the force of his direct examination. When he wanted an answer, she realized with little amusement and definite mental note, he knew how to get it.

  “Sandy is a good worker and a friend. If you’re asking whether I am involved personally with him”—her blue eyes flashed spiritedly as she returned his candor with her own—“the answer is no. I don’t make a practice of mixing my professional with my personal life. But surely, Mr. Kraig, your sources told you that. Isn’t that what is meant by very straight-laced?” Despite his attempts to disconcert her, Laura enjoyed the gentle sparring, gaining boldness as she went on. “Is that why you are holding that door shut? Are you worried that my trooper will barge in to defend my virtue?” A gentle giggle rippled through her lips and into the air. “Yes, I suppose good old Sandy would do just that.” Then, glancing back at the more dubious look on Maxwell Kraig’s face, she once again took charge. “Please, Mr. Kraig”—she motioned with her hand toward the seat on the opposite side of her desk—“have a seat. Sandy is otherwise occupied for the remainder of the day, although I can’t guarantee that there will be no other interruptions.” A humorous smile lingered on her lips as she tacked the last on whimsically.

  Slowly and with an air of self-confidence, he stepped from the door and moved gracefully forward. “Thank you, Miss—would you mind if we dropped the formality? I really would prefer you to call me Max.” He was strangely earnest in his request, as though it meant a great deal to him to be on a first-name basis with her; Laura, the last one to stand on ceremony, readily complied.

  “Max? It’s Laura then.” She smiled warmly, unaware of the captivating picture she made when she was as suddenly relaxed as she now felt. The occasional wisp of black hair had escaped from its knot as the day had progressed, and now these loose tendrils softened her face, complimenting the faint pinkness on her cheeks. Max, too, now seemed more relaxed, in a different more genuine way than the calculated calmness of earlier moments.

  “You handle yourself well for a small-town girl, Laura. You must have had experience handling overbearing men from the big city.” The self-deprecation did not fool her for a minute; he was enjoying himself as much as she was.

  “You’re right. I have had a lot of practice. A woman in this job has to convince people that she is a lawyer first, then a woman. It’s been…a challenge.” She smiled, recalling other words she had used to describe the situation. “Men seem to think that a woman who enters this profession is looking solely for male companionship.” Now her own candor surprised her.

  “What are you looking for, Laura?” he asked warmly. Once again she felt the melting effect of those brown eyes as they blanketed her.

  She didn’t hesitate. “I’m looking for a successful career. I want experience, not on paper, but in the courtroom. I’d like to become a good trial lawyer. At this point, that’s all.”

  “And do you feel that the two—lawyer and woman—are incompatible?” His voice had a caressive quality, soothing in its way yet oddly disconcerting.

  “Not at all,” she countered quickly, lowering her eyes to trace a tapered forefinger with the thumb and fingers of the other hand. “I just don’t take relationships lightly. And I realize that if I behave in this office as a female first, my chances of being accepted as a lawyer will be forever put second. I don’t want that.”

  Her thick black lashes lifted as she looked again at Max. One elbow was flexed on the arm of his chair, a hand subconsciously rubbing the roughness of his jaw, as though he too were faced with the dilemma. Laura caught herself just short of empathy. He was a man! It was he of whom she had to beware! The ghost of a sad smile touched her lips. There were times when she tired of playing the asexual professional; this was one of them. Impulsively, she gave rein to her very feminine curiosity.

  “Tell me about yourself. You had a head start on me. My detectives are only getting to work now.” She smirked.

  “Chatfield?” The dark eyebrow arched, becoming lost behind the lock of wavy hair that had fallen progressively lower on his forehead as the day had worn on, giving him a decidedly more youthful look.

  Laura nodded with a grin of concession. “Among other things, yes, Sandy does that t
ype of research. Why don’t you save him some trouble?”

  A contrived sigh preceded his reply, his long legs now stretched casually before him, crossed at the ankles. Laura’s eye caught on his well-polished loafers, another surprisingly independent touch for a man in the legal establishment, which notoriously saved its accolades for the crusty old gentlemen whose wardrobes bespoke of an earlier decade and who, though brilliant and outspoken in the field itself, were relatively invisible as individuals. Perhaps Max did have more going for him than a fine legal mind. Laura blushed. But then she had known that since their first encounter this morning.

  “Please,” he chided, raising a hand in feigned protest, “no blushing before I begin. That sort of thing can bode ill for a fellow’s ego,” he quipped. Then noting the even deeper color his comment had inspired, he mercifully proceeded. Laura was surprised that he kept his gaze to the floor, an almost self-conscious gesture which was thoroughly endearing. She found herself listening intently as he rattled off his biographical data.

  “Born New York City, thirty-nine years ago next month. B.A., Princeton. J.D., Harvard Law School. Two years, Legal Services, Bronx, New York. Subsequent establishment of the law offices of Maxwell Kraig and Associates.” He paused, only then directing his gaze to his listener. “Trial practice consisting primarily of felony cases. Author, Eleventh-Street Defense.” An eyebrow lifted. “Reported to be a very eligible bachelor, thought to frequent many of the East Coast’s most chi-chi night spots.”

  There was an abrupt silence as the listing ceased. Laura remained immobile, held by those suddenly familiar brown pools. Trained to catch the slightest innuendo as her job demanded, she heard herself question him, repeating his words. “Reported to be?”

  It was a long time before Max responded, and when he did, there was a slight tensing of his features. “That seems to be all that matters…too often…” His deep voice trailed off, as he stood and walked slowly around the room, absently studying the prints on the walls. The break gave Laura a chance to recover from this injection of bitterness into a life story which should, by all reasonable measures, hold nothing but gratification.

  As she watched his dark back, he dug both hands into his trouser pockets, his posture suggestive of a reluctant resignation which she could not fathom. Instinctively, and totally as a woman, she prodded him.

  “I don’t understand, Max.” Her voice was soft; she had no idea of the sensuality of the sound which met his ears, drawing first his head, then his entire body, around until he faced her, then approached, slowly. There was an initial fierceness in his expression, which gentled rapidly as he neared.

  “For a man, too, there can be a conflict between the professional and the personal. Yes, I have attained a fair level of legal success, but with it has come a distortion of any personal life I may have wished. At this point I often wonder whether there is a private Maxwell Kraig or whether the celebrity Maxwell Kraig—I didn’t mention the television programs, panel discussions, and testimonials I am forced to endure—” he interjected with a heavy dose of sarcasm “—is the only one the world can see…the only one that remains after all.”

  Laura was astonished by the raw hurt that glittered in his eyes, the sadness that escaped from some unseen depth to tug at her. She had not known the man for more than a few hours, yet she sensed that he had opened up to her in a way in which he rarely, if ever, did. There had been an immediate rapport between the two of them. She felt oddly close to this man who had been a total stranger up until this very morning.

  Sensing her thoughts, Max shook his head gently. “I’m sorry. You seem to have a strange effect on me,” he murmured, as he looked down at her. Now only inches from her chair, he had begun to have a strange effect on her also. For the first time, she noted the muscled span of his thigh as his pocketed hand pulled the fine fabric snugly around it. She sensed the power of his body as her eyes slowly lifted, following the tapering-out from his waist to a solid expanse of chest revealed by the thrust-back jacket. His face, strong and handsome, held a mystery that beckoned to her irresistibly.

  Helpless to move, and unaware of the allure of her own slightly parted lips as her head tilted sharply up at him, she watched, mesmerized, as he bent over and rested one large hand on either arm of her chair.

  For an eternity he remained with his face mere inches from hers, his breathing deep and steady, its warmth further intoxicating her reeling senses. Time was suspended. She was under his spell and at his mercy. Her gaze clung to his eyes as they traced the line of her nose, then swung over the faint hollows of her cheeks to her ears, returning along her jawline to rest on her lips, moist and sweet, waiting for his with an eagerness which would have startled her, had she been cognizant of it.

  Ever so slowly he succumbed to her lure, lowering his head until his lips feather-touched hers, first with a lightness that barely tantalized, then with growing persuasion, until her own initial shyness was replaced by a response that matched his in a searching and caressing she had never before experienced. New sensitivities awakened with each shift of his lips. Swept into the vortex of his passion, she allowed, sampled, then returned the play of his tongue, until, breathing raggedly, he drew it, his lips, then his head back to look down upon her.

  The end of the ecstasy brought Laura hurtling back to earth. Yet the reality to which she returned was a far cry from that she had left moments before. This master of seduction had, with his lips alone, led her on a breathtaking journey toward an irrevocably altered reality. This new reality was a burning desire for the resumption of his kiss. It was an aching need that quivered uncontrollably within her. It held an awesome awareness that frightened her as it beckoned.

  Perhaps sensing this, Max straightened, then leaned back against a corner of her desk, one leg draped over the edge, the other stretched out to give him balance.

  “Which will it be, Laura,” he offered gently, “lawyer or woman? Or has the fine line between the two become blurred?”

  It took Laura a moment to reorient herself. Then as outwardly calm as he, she smiled. “No way, counselor. The woman just dropped in for a quick visit. Had I known she were coming, I would have insisted you left that door”—she cocked her head in its direction—“open. I can assure you that she won’t be by again.” It was a guarantee she wanted desperately to believe. “Now,” she continued for Max’s benefit, “is there any other business to attend to?” Pleased with what she felt sure attested to her recovery from the throes of passion, she was taken aback by Max’s follow-up.

  “Have dinner with me tonight, Laura.” Huskiness lingered in his tone.

  There was no hesitancy in her response. “No, Max.”

  “Why not? Do you have other plans?” His gaze challenged her gently.

  Slowly, she shook her head, her eyes leaving his for the moment. “No, I have no plans. But I won’t go out with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you really think it’s a wise idea?” She threw the question back at him. Where the tactic had worked earlier, now it failed.

  “I’m the one who’s doing the asking this time, Laura,” he insisted. “Why won’t you join me for a bite to eat?”

  “I’m tired, for one thing.” She stalled, her gaze now flickering to her desk in search of some other excuse.

  “We can make it an early dinner,” he persisted.

  “But I still have too much to do here.”

  His tone lowered, taking on that caressive quality that threatened to rekindle those strange feelings within her. “You have to work late. You have to get to bed early. Which is it, Laura? Or…is it something else?”

  Swallowing hard, Laura faced him head-on, her eyes testifying to the truth of her words. “We have a professional relationship. And, if you recall your own researcher’s report, I am very straight-laced. I won’t risk a personal involvement with you.” She knew her argument to be aimed as much for her own ears as for his.

  “A simple dinner? Is that really such a per
sonal involvement?”

  “Please,” she hurried on, determined to lay her last cards on the table, regardless of the tactical merit of the move, “I…lost control a minute ago. You must have sensed that. I can’t afford to lose control again, not after I’ve worked so hard. I’m sorry, I’m not quite as sophisticated as the luxury versions you must be used to. I can’t just turn it on and off. But I’m a lawyer, prosecuting a case you will be defending.” She shook her head, her voice lowering to a husky whisper. “If you hadn’t backed off…”

  Horrified at the extent of her confession, Laura looked away in embarrassment. What had been to her an awakening experience had probably been to him merely a matter of routine. He must indeed think her a babe in the woods!

  Nervously fingering a monogrammed letter opener, she steeled herself for a taunt that never came. Rather, she felt a strong finger beneath her chin, gently turning her face to his. Until that moment, his hand had never even touched her, save the introductory handshake he’d given her that morning in court.

  “You must be one of the most forthright women I’ve met.” She could only guess at the flicker of admiration in his eyes, it came and went so quickly, to be replaced by a more mischievous twinkle, as his hand fell away. “I’ll see you soon.”

  So abrupt was his change of mood, veering from the earnest to the playful in an instant, that Laura was left with a frown of disbelief on her face, long after he had left the room.