Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi)

by Gina Wilkins

  Unlike Gideon, Adrienne mused. She had already figured out that he did all his own housework. He was much too independent to rely on anyone for his needs—not even a housekeeper.

  She wondered for a moment if a couple of busy lawyers had time to be good guardians for Isabelle, but she remembered that Gideon had said the three of them adored each other. Isabelle certainly seemed attached to her oldest brother and his new wife.

  It was silly of Adrienne to suddenly feel a bit proprietary toward the child. Protective. Of all the adults involved in Isabelle’s life, she had the least right to question any arrangements for Isabelle’s care.

  Encouraged by the little girl’s improving mood, Adrienne asked what was planned for preschool the next day. Keeping her eyes on her brownie, Isabelle replied quietly, “I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

  Glancing at Gideon, Adrienne raised her eyebrows. “You’re not?”

  “No. I don’t want to.”

  Apparently, she had stumbled onto a clue to Isabelle’s odd behavior. “Did something happen at school today?”

  Isabelle shrugged.

  Adrienne tried again. “Did your teacher say something to upset you? Or one of your classmates?”

  Isabelle’s lower lip poked out. “I don’t want to talk about school.”

  Adrienne backed off. She didn’t know how to push any harder without further upsetting Isabelle. Maybe Gideon could get more out of her.

  But Gideon had no more luck than Adrienne had. Just questioning Isabelle about school set off pouts and, eventually, tears. The first teardrop caused Gideon to retreat, leaving Adrienne to soothe the child, dry her eyes and take her off to bathe her, tuck her into bed and read her a soothingly silly bedtime story.

  Only when she was sure Isabelle was asleep did Adrienne rejoin Gideon in the den, where she found him pacing and running his hands through his already disordered hair.

  “You need to get off that foot,” he said curtly when she entered. “You’re limping badly. Are you in pain?”

  “It’s not too bad,” she said, then sank gratefully onto the couch. Her leg was throbbing all the way to her hip, though she had no intention of saying so. Gideon had enough to worry about.

  He resumed his pacing. “What do you suppose happened at school today?”

  “Probably she got into a squabble with another child. That’s fairly common in preschool, I think. It will blow over.”

  “And in the meantime? Do I make her go to school tomorrow even if she’s kicking and screaming in protest?”

  Adrienne spread her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose it would hurt her to miss a day of preschool, but that wouldn’t solve her problems, either.”

  “I’m not sure I can make her go if she cries and pleads.”

  Adrienne nodded in empathy. “I’m not sure I could, either. Maybe we should just play it by ear. Maybe by morning she’ll have forgotten all about it.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He paused a moment, then asked, “How about some tea?”

  “Yes, thank you. And make a cup for yourself. We could both use something warm and soothing.”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded and left the room without saying anything else.

  Adrienne sat looking after him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Every once in a while an expression crossed Gideon’s face that made her wonder just what was going on in his mind. Was she completely misguided or was he attracted to her—at least superficially? And if he was, how did she feel about that?

  It was true that her feelings about him had undergone several changes in the past three days. Initially expecting to find a grumpy, eccentric middle-aged man, she had discovered instead that he was a grumpy, eccentric—and drop-dead gorgeous—young man, filled with contradictions.

  At first he had seemed cold and unfriendly, as he could be when he wanted to be, but his connection to his family was strong. Yet he wouldn’t even open the last letter his father had written to him. He seemed indifferent about advancing his career, but he worked very hard at his craft. She had watched him write earlier, and she had realized that he invested everything in his words. It wasn’t that he especially enjoyed the process; more, it was something as vital to him as breathing.

  He fascinated her. And, yes, she was attracted to him. Extremely attracted, actually. Every time their eyes met, her breath lodged in her throat. And every time he touched her, even by accident, her knees went weak.

  So what was she going to do about it? Ignore her feelings? Deny them? She certainly couldn’t act on them, not and maintain a professional relationship with her client.

  He returned bearing two steaming mugs. “I took your advice. Made a cup for myself.”

  She smiled and accepted her cup from him. She was rather surprised when he sat on the couch beside her rather than returning to the chair in which he’d sat earlier.

  He leaned back into the cushions with a soft sigh. “This baby-sitting gig is wearing me out. I don’t know how Nathan adjusted to it so easily.”

  “What’s Nathan like? Is he like you?”

  “Hardly. Nathan’s the life of the party, whereas I’m the classic wet blanket sitting in a corner and scowling. Nathan’s an almost compulsive caretaker, always the responsible, concerned older brother, the dutiful son. Even to the father who didn’t deserve his loyalty.”

  “Except for the party thing, you don’t sound all that different to me. Haven’t you spent the past week taking care of your sister as a favor to your mother?”

  That made him frown. “I’m not really like Nathan at all. You simply found me under highly unusual circumstances.”

  Rather than argue with him, she sipped her tea.

  “So when do you have to go back to New York?” Gideon asked after a minute. “Are you missing any important meetings or appointments?”

  “Actually, this is the first week of a two-week vacation. I’m not missing anything.”

  He set his barely touched mug on the table and turned to face her. “You came here to talk business with me on your vacation?”

  She shrugged. “It was the only time I had available.”

  “Lousy vacation.”

  She laughed softly at that and set her mug beside his. “It hasn’t been so bad.”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve spent the past few days helping me with my sister and my mail, hurting your ankle—and now dealing with Isabelle’s emotional breakdown.”

  She smoothed a hand over her black slacks. “It really hasn’t been that bad. I’ve enjoyed being with Isabelle and, well…”

  “Have you enjoyed being with me?”

  Something in his voice made her look at him suspiciously. Was that a glint of teasing in his eyes? It seemed unlike Gideon, but then, what did she know? She’d met him for the first time only forty-eight hours ago.

  “Being with you has been…interesting.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  She laced her fingers in her lap. “Let’s just say I’m glad I finally had a chance to meet my client—and my favorite writer. I adore your books.”

  For the first time, she saw Gideon look almost flustered. “Yeah?”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Does that really surprise you so much? I’ve told you before that I like your books, when we’ve spoken over the phone.”

  “Well, yeah…but you never said it quite like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a reader, rather than my agent.”

  She laughed softly. “I am a reader. I couldn’t do my job well if I didn’t love books.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “With a little more push in the public relations area, you’d really take off. I think you’re well on your way to becoming the next Dean Koontz or Michael Crichton.”

  “I’m not trying to become the next anybody. I just write what I want.”

  “I know. But there’s more to an author’s life than just writing, you know. There are interviews and book sig
nings, your picture on book jackets—”

  “What’s wrong with just writing a damned good book?”

  “Nothing. In fact, that’s the most important thing you can do to advance your career. But—”

  “But nothing. I’m not good with people, you know that. Put me on TV or at one of those boring book signings, and I’d probably torpedo my own career by alienating the readers I already have.”

  “You would be fine,” she assured him. “You just need some prepping. I’d like to sign you up with a good public relations firm.”

  “I’d rather have my toenails rotated.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. That will give you time to think about my suggestions.”

  “Won’t make me like them any more,” he muttered.

  She shook her head. “I think you’re the only client I have who doesn’t want to get rich and famous.”

  “I don’t mind the rich part,” he admitted with a wry smile. “It’s the fame I have trouble with.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to come to terms with it—especially if it means you can keep doing what you enjoy.”

  “Mmm.” He propped an elbow on the back of the couch and studied her. “So what would you be doing with your vacation time if you weren’t here baby-sitting Isabelle and me?”

  Had he inched a bit closer or was it her imagination? There was nothing apparent in his expression except a mild interest in her answer. Since she couldn’t think of a way to scoot away without calling attention to her action, she gripped her fingers more tightly in her lap and concentrated on the question. “I didn’t have any specific plans. It’s the first time I’ve taken off in quite a while, so I thought I would just relax, do some reading and shopping, maybe watch a few of the movies I’ve missed lately. And I had tentatively planned to spend a couple of days in Boston next week visiting an old friend.”

  His expression didn’t change. “Old boyfriend?”

  “Girlfriend,” she corrected. “College roommate.”

  “Ah. So is there a boyfriend in New York?”

  She thought of the man she had dated infrequently during the past year, a stockbroker who had recently begun to hint about marriage, mostly because it was time for that step in his longtime life plan. He had considered her a suitable mate, one who came very close to matching his “profile” of the type of woman he wanted as his wife and the mother of his children.

  Though she liked Robert, his approach to marriage had seemed too calculated. While he had spoken of affection and loyalty and commitment, he had never used the words “love” or “passion.” A couple of her friends had questioned her sanity when she’d begun to extricate herself from the relationship—after all, decent, successful men who were interested in marriage were hard to find. But she simply couldn’t get excited about being married because she fit some preexisting, arbitrary profile.

  “No,” she said. “There’s no boyfriend.”

  His elbow still resting on the back of the couch, he turned sideways so he could see her better, propping his cheek on his fist. “Do you enjoy your work?”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “Not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “I’m good at my job, and I find it interesting most of the time. It’s quite demanding, of course—long hours on the phone and in meetings, confrontations with editors on behalf of my authors, stacks of reading, attending the occasional writers’ conference. But most jobs are challenging—that’s why they call it work, right?”

  “Did your father pressure you to join his firm?”

  She stared down at her hands. “It was what he always wanted. Not because he wanted to spend that much time with me, but because he liked the idea of having someone he could control as his second in command.”

  “He controls you?”

  “Like one of those radio-operated airplanes,” she said dryly. “Do you suppose we could talk about something else now?”

  “Of course.” He reached over to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “How’s your ankle?”

  His touch caused a tiny shiver to course through her. Her voice was just a bit hoarse when she said, “It’s better, thanks.”

  “It’s swollen again. You’ve been standing on it too long today. I’m sure it hurts like hell, but you’re not a complainer, are you?”

  “I try not to be.” Whining and complaining had never been tolerated by her father; she’d learned early to keep her troubles to herself.

  His mouth twisted wryly. “When I hurt, everyone knows about it. I’ve been told I’m a rather…difficult patient.”

  That made her laugh. “I’d just bet you are.”

  His gaze lingered on her mouth, and her smile wavered. Was he suddenly leaning closer? She cleared her throat. “Maybe I should…”

  What? She couldn’t think of one reasonable excuse to retreat, except, of course, cowardice.

  He was definitely moving closer, and there was a gleam in his eyes now that made her pulse speed up. “Um, Gideon…”

  “You know all those times we talked on the phone during the past couple of years?”

  “Yes?”

  His fingers slid down the curve of her jaw. “I didn’t picture you looking quite like this.”

  “What—” She started again. “What did you think I looked like?”

  “Different.” His fingertips traced her cheek, and then the pad of his thumb moved lightly across her lower lip. It was as if he were a blind man learning her face by feel alone, and the sensation was decidedly erotic. It wasn’t hard to imagine him exploring the rest of her body the same way.

  It wasn’t hard to picture herself learning his body the same way. And that image was so tempting that she knew she had to move now, before she did something really foolish and unprofessional—like make a pass at her client.

  “I think I’ll read for a while before I turn in,” she said, scooting away from him. “I have a couple of manuscripts to look over, one that looks pretty good, another that has so many flaws I’m not sure it’s fixable. But I thought I would look at it one more time, just to make sure I’m being fair before returning it to the author. I can’t wait to read your new book when you finish it, by the way. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  He studied her face for a moment, his gaze so intense that she wondered if he saw too much there, but then he asked, “How would you like to read it now?”

  “It’s finished?”

  “No. But I’ve printed out what I’ve written to this point. Sometimes I edit more efficiently on paper than on screen.”

  “I thought you had a policy of not letting anyone read your work before it’s finished. You don’t even like to submit sample chapters to your editor.”

  “Not usually, no. But I’ve had some problems with this one, and you’ve always given me good advice in the past.”

  Those words delighted her as much as her compliments about his books had seemed to please him earlier. “I would love to read your manuscript.”

  He nodded, though he looked as though he half regretted the offer. “Be sure and tell me if there’s anything about it that bothers you. I can’t promise to be gracious about taking the criticism—I never am—but I want you to be honest, anyway.”

  “I’m always honest with my clients,” she said firmly.

  He seemed rather amused by the fervency of her assurance. “Go on back and put your feet up, and I’ll bring the manuscript to you.”

  “In the bedroom, you mean?”

  His eyes met hers. “Yes.”

  “Oh. Well, you can just bring it in here and I’ll—”

  “You need to get that foot elevated. It wouldn’t hurt to ice it for a few minutes, since it’s swelling again.”

  “I’ll take an anti-inflammatory.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”

  Pushing herself to her feet, she limped awkwardly toward the doorway. “I’ll wait for you in the bedroo
m.”

  There was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice when he called after her, “That sounds good to me.”

  She discovered then that she could move more quickly than she’d realized while hopping on one foot.

  Chapter Seven

  Though Gideon tended to be a restless sleeper on the best of nights, rarely needing more than five or six hours total, he slept very little that night. The couch in the office was perfectly comfortable. He’d spent many nights on it after writing until the wee hours and finally collapsing into sleep. So it wasn’t physical discomfort that caused him to prowl the dark hallways during those long hours.

  He was concerned that Isabelle was getting sick or had encountered problems at school that he was unprepared to deal with. He certainly didn’t relish the prospect of a parent-teacher conference with him in the role of parent. But it wasn’t Isabelle’s odd behavior that had kept him awake—not entirely, anyway.

  His mind filled with images of Adrienne, lying asleep in his bed. She would look flushed and warm and tousled, as she had when her soft moans of pain had led him to her. Something else was drawing him to her now and it was all he could do to resist.

  She’d still been fully dressed when he had taken his unfinished manuscript to her. Sitting on his bed, her back propped against the pillows, her swollen foot stretched in front of her, she had looked both fetching and self-conscious. Attractive enough to make his palms sweat yet vulnerable in a way that made him keep his distance.

  He’d been strung tight as a banjo string ever since. Partly because it made him nervous letting someone else read his work in progress—something he almost never trusted to anyone. But mostly because he had left that room with a need so deep he ached from it.

  Maybe it was time for Adrienne to go back to New York, Isabelle notwithstanding.

  If Adrienne had been under the illusion that Isabelle never misbehaved, she learned differently Thursday morning. She and Gideon were treated to an outburst that came perilously close to a tantrum when they tried to get Isabelle ready for school.

  “I don’t want to go to school!” she cried out, stamping one foot, her face red and tear-streaked. “I want to stay here!”