"I can't believe you don't trust me." Wounded sincerity coated his words, even though he couldn't restrain a grin. "In my elementary school, on graham cracker day I was appointed crumb boy."
Dani gave a distinct giggle.
Barbara felt her own lips twitch. "If you want to help, Gerrard, grab a vase."
"Where are we going with these?" Dani asked, looking much like a flower waif.
"If anyone wants my opinion, I think they'd make a nice donation for a nursing home," Kenneth offered, picking up the largest vases. "Once you each pick your favorites."
"After my own heart," Dani muttered.
"And how do you suggest we get them there?" Barbara asked, secretly admiring the idea, totally unwilling to let him know so.
"I think a phone call to the florist ought to do it."
"And in the meantime?" she questioned, unwilling to completely relinquish her anger.
Kenneth caught her gaze with an ironical one of his own. "I think they'll hold them out front at the security desk. It's not like we're trying to foist off fertilizer."
"You think not?" Dani muttered.
"You'd rather be hauling fertilizer?" Barbara asked in disbelief.
Dani balanced all the vases she'd grabbed, looking as though she might topple over at any moment. "No. I'd just rather not be hearing a pile of manure."
* * *
Even though the courtroom was now clear of every last bud and petal, Barbara's cheeks flamed every time she glanced at Kenneth. It was difficult to maintain any sort of concentration. She was normally not the sort of person to pay attention to what other people thought, but felt very conscious of her fellow lawyers' knowing snickers and amusement. Never having provided fodder for gossip, it was doubly uncomfortable to be in the hot seat. Grateful her client hadn't seen the debacle, she could only hope he didn't hear about it.
Under the guise of studying her opponent in a strictly legal sense, she let her eyes linger on Kenneth. And wondered. Had she let her personal attraction to him overrule her caution? And at what cost to her client, to her own strict set of standards? Had it truly been a purely romantic gesture? Or was it sabotage?
* * *
The plucking of strings, a patter of scales and the assorted bleating of the brass section blended with the excited hum of conversation as the orchestra tuned their instruments in preparation for the performance. A quick rapping on the conductor's stand and the overture began. Even so, the rustle of evening gowns coupled with the padding sound of tennis shoes from the more casually dressed patrons continued, along with the excited chatter that accompanied a good show.
Barbara still couldn't believe she'd agreed to go with Kenneth. Not after the "flower fiasco," as her colleagues were calling it. She'd taken more ribbing over the flowers than anything she'd ever encountered in her professional career. And, of course, Kenneth had been understated all evening. She suspected he knew she was wary. And he was keeping his motives carefully under wraps.
As they moved down the aisle, he confidently found their seats. She glanced at hers before sitting down. "Couldn't find an ejector seat?"
"You're a prickly rose, Counselor. Petals like groomed velvet, but those thorns…"
"Should have thought of that before you planted a garden in the courtroom."
"I hear the ladies in the nursing home loved them," he replied, studying the program he unfolded.
A pang of guilt assaulted her, accompanied by the feeling that she hadn't considered all the angles of his gesture. It was romantic to have a room full of flowers practically laid at your feet. And even Judge Herbert had recovered his equilibrium when he'd returned to the courtroom and been informed of the ultimate destination of the flowers.
She cleared her throat. "I imagine they did."
Kenneth's eyes flashed to hers. He seemed to know that was as close as she would come to acknowledging the gift. Then his gaze continued drifting down over her emerald silk dress. It had been an impulsive decision once she'd reached into the closet. She'd considered wearing the practical suit she had dressed in that day, but something about a night out called for a softer look. Studiously she ignored the fact that it was also a more sensual look.
"Nice frock, Counselor."
She ran one hand over the sleek skirt. "This old thing?"
Kenneth reached over and cupped her chin. "Counselor," he began with mock surprise, "don't tell me you're flirting."
"I wouldn't begin to try and tell you anything," she retorted, but she didn't move her head away, connecting instead with the gaze that seemed to see right through her.
The overture ended, breaking the spell as the house lights dimmed and the curtain rose.
Barbara had looked forward to the play since she'd first seen the tickets. Now she dreaded having to sit through each act when she knew she'd enjoy baiting, and being baited, by Kenneth far more.
Then Kenneth's hand found hers. Strong, firm flesh encircled her fingers. Almost absently he rubbed each knuckle, finding the sensitive spot between her thumb and first finger. Then he turned her hand upside down, tracing the life lines that ran up to her wrist. A knot of unexpected heat formed in her stomach and with each move of his fingers a new tingle raced up each arm and then down her legs. She suspected that if someone yelled "Fire" right now, she would just have to sit and burn, unable to move under his spell. Of course there was the distinct possibility that she might erupt into flames anyway.
Kenneth angled his head so that he could whisper in her ear. "Great music."
"Uh-huh," she agreed, feeling the husky tickle of his breath on her neck.
He gave his full attention to her hands again and the blaze grew stronger. Barbara tried to concentrate on the play, but nothing beyond the perimeter of their two seats penetrated her consciousness.
Kenneth leaned close again. "Incomparable scenery."
She swallowed, but the dry note in her throat wouldn't dissolve, so she settled for nodding her head in agreement instead.
Unperturbed, Kenneth leaned back in his chair. Barbara squinted first at the orchestra pit, then at the stage, trying to get a grip on her runaway emotions. Feeling like a teenager at her first drive-in movie, she knew she shouldn't be unnerved by simple hand holding.
However, its effects were anything but simple. She wondered if every nerve ending in her body was connected to the hand he insidiously operated on. She could feel her pulse throb where his fingers brushed her wrist. The contrast of their hands brought to mind other things, other pleasures. The top of her hand was soft, his palm hard.
Kenneth's breath whispered against her neck as he murmured into her ear. "First-rate cast."
Considering that for all she knew they could have had Kermit and Miss Piggy on stage, she could only nod in agreement. His knee nudged hers and she wondered if it would be too obvious if she bolted and ran.
The thought had her withdrawing her hand and sitting upright stiffly as though she could close out those sensations. Kenneth angled an amused glance in her direction and she guessed that he'd read her thoughts again.
If he continued his uncanny perception of her, she might be forced to throw in the towel on the case. What kind of bluff could she run in the courtroom when opposing counsel was privy to her thoughts?
Deliberately concentrating on the play rather than on Kenneth, after some time a portion of the story penetrated and she was taken by the sad tale. In a short time she felt the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes as the heroine's poignant story got to her.
Kenneth leaned close. "You a sap for this sort of thing?"
Trying to pretend that she wasn't about to get weepy over a silly play, she ignored the gentle gibe. And when he offered his handkerchief at an appropriate moment, she accepted it, especially when he didn't tease her further.
The rest of the play passed and Barbara let herself be drawn into the story. Kenneth didn't renew his assault on her senses and she was grateful.
When the houselights came on and she an
d Kenneth blended into the crowd that swept outside, Barbara dabbed at the last of her tears. Catching Kenneth's eye, she expected a touch of ridicule; instead, he seemed thoughtfully guarded, picking up her hand and placing it within the warm shelter of his own. No pressure, no overtures, just a shared comfort. When the crowd in front of them stalled, he carved a path to the door.
Outside, the air was fresh and sweet, tinged by the coolness that always swept in on the evenings of a land that had once been reclaimed desert.
"I can't believe I get so stupid over things like that," she explained lamely, hoping the end of her nose hadn't turned red with her tears.
"Hey, it's not a crime, Counselor. Sentimentality in the first degree rarely gets to court."
"First degree, huh? Was I that bad?"
His look was long, lazy and appreciative. "I wouldn't ever call you bad."
But now that they were outside, she could see the humor, try to ignore the heat flaring between them. "You might tomorrow in court."
"Is that a warning? Should I rush back to my hotel and delve through my notes for something I missed?" She suspected he never missed anything, yet still she curved one side of her mouth upward in a knowing grin. "Privileged information, Gerrard."
"In that case, I won't lose any sleep worrying about it."
Sleep brought to mind images she didn't dare think about. Instead, she linked her arm with his. "Hungry?"
"That's a loaded question, Counselor."
She worked on ignoring him. "Fresh seafood at Market Street Grill, Southwestern at Piermont Cafe…"
"Or room service at my hotel."
Barbara thought quickly. "We haven't tried a lot of the restaurants in town. There are—"
"Too many people in all of them," he interrupted. "I'm not planning to lock you in my room and ravish you." His smile turned wicked. "Not that the idea's not tempting."
"Actually, I have to be in court early."
"So do I, Counselor. We'll be at an equal disadvantage."
She was running out of arguments. "Maybe for just a snack. I'm not all that hungry."
"Pretending to be a nibbler now?" He tsked under his breath.
She stopped suddenly, the light from a street lamp pooling about her. "I'm not that comfortable about going to your hotel, Gerrard."
The honesty flared between them as strongly as their attraction.
She scraped the toe of her shoe against the pavement. "Despite the past few days, we're still on opposite sides of the case. I have an obligation to my client." She met his eyes and rushed on before he could protest. "And I'm aware you have the same obligation. But I can't let my personal concerns interfere with my professional ones."
His eyes simmered for a long moment, as though wanting to tell her something. She suspected it was something important, but then he offered his arm and she decided she'd imagined anything more serious.
"So, how fresh is this seafood place? From what I remember of my geography, Utah's a landlocked state. Since the fish couldn't possibly swim here, let's hope they didn't come by Pony Express."
Relieved, Barbara got back in step with him, even laughing at his dry wit. All the while hoping she could keep her resolve in place. Because it was dissolving faster than the seconds ticking away.
* * *
Kenneth questioned his sanity. Inviting her back to his hotel room? And what then? Seducing her and hoping she would forgive him when she found out he'd deceived her?
He pushed aside the draperies shrouding the window and was rewarded with that fairy dust display of lights covering the valley that so admired. But his mind traveled beyond the sloping hills and the mountains that stood guard around the city.
To Texas. Fifteen years earlier.
He had been filled with fire and determination. And an overwhelming love for a stubborn, laughing girl who had recklessly accepted every challenge, pulled out the best in him and ultimately rejected his last desperate offer.
She hadn't known when she said no that he would disappear.
Sighing as the memories washed over him, he remembered, too, that she had been so different then. Maybe they had been too young, too filled with desperation. Their love had been the most important thing in their young lives.
It had overruled reason and practicalities. It had also never been matched. Or forgotten.
Pushing one hand through his hair, he wondered how he could have thought he could be this close to Barbara and remain unaffected. It was just supposed to be a lawsuit, one he could oversee. He'd planned to share a few laughs with Barbara, and then go back to his now-tidy life.
He wasn't sure why he hadn't revealed himself to her. Taken her into his confidence and made her swear not to reveal his secret. Not that it would have been easy to walk up to her and say, "Hey, remember me? I used to be Billy Duncan." Not to mention that doing so could still endanger him.
Still, he could have somehow let her know. But a stubbornness had sprung up in him, wanting to make her recognize him in spite of all the physical changes. True, his long, wild blond hair was now colored a mahogany brown and sculpted in a GQ cut, and he was no longer a whipcord slim boy. And true, he'd traded jeans and T-shirts for Armani suits. Still, he wanted her to look inside and recognize his soul.
With a bitter laugh, he turned and gazed into the mirror that hung above the dresser. He'd expected a miracle.
Moving closer, he stared deeply at his own reflection, then reached up to pop out the green colored contacts he wore. If the eyes were a mirror to the soul, then his had irrevocable shades covering them.
He imagined her reaction if he were to confess everything now. He could envision the hurt, the betrayal. Knowing he needed to back off, not interfere with the life she'd created, he still felt a craving to continue what he'd started. To shake up her neat, complacent little life. He wanted her happy, damn it.
And he also wanted to be part of that happiness.
Knowing it was impossible didn't make him want it any less. Because if he continued this foolish route, he'd have to pull up stakes again, change what had finally become comfortable for him. He thought of his family, the anguish they'd been through, and knew he couldn't add more.
No, he couldn't tell Barbara.
Turning back to the window, he stared out at the carpet of light. And knew he couldn't leave her again. Yet.
* * *
Arriving early, Barbara poked her head into the courtroom with a great deal of trepidation. To her relief, no flowers, balloons or other paraphernalia decorated the room.
Hearing the door creaking open, she swung around, expecting Kenneth. But it was Dani. Yawning and half-askew, but here nonetheless.
"Shouldn't you be inhaling coffee about now?" Barbara asked.
Dani looked sheepish. "I thought Brian might be here."
Barbara's eyebrows rose at the reference to the young attorney assisting Kenneth.
Slinging her oversize purse into the chair, Dani shook her head. "He had some papers I wanted to look at."
"Consorting with the enemy?" Barbara asked playfully.
Dani sucked in her breath. "Now that's rich, coming from you."
Barbara stilled her hands. Her face paled as she considered her friend's words. Was Dani right? Had she compromised her professional ethics? Swept up into Gerrard's roller coaster of adventure, had she ignored everything important to her? Was that why she'd felt the need to refuse his invitation to the hotel the previous evening? She'd sensed she was close to crossing a line. She didn't know it was so apparent to others.
Dani laid a hand on Barbara's shoulder. "Hey, don't get all bent out of shape. You've got a grip on things. I can tell that from how we're doing in court." She met Barbara's gaze with a steady, unblinking look. "Don't you think I'd have said something if you were blowing it?"
"I'm not sure I would have paid attention," Barbara replied slowly. "I was so sure I had everything under control."
"Not even you can always be in control." Dani smiled. "And it's nic
e to see you thawing out. Gerrard may be on the opposite side of the legal fence, but he's drawn out things in you…" Shaking her head, Dani tried to explain. "It's like you're softer somehow, more like the rest of us mere mortals."
Barbara's eyebrows rose.
"Don't be offended. It's just that you were always so perfect that you were untouchable. That's why the flower thing was so great. You handled it, but everyone could see there were more layers to you."
Even though she felt more relaxed than she had in years, Barbara didn't think she'd undergone a Cinderella transformation. "I'm delighted everyone's so pleased by the new me, but nothing's worth compromising the client's interests." And that's what she'd risked. Lured by her attraction to Kenneth, she wondered if she would have played this differently. Been harder.
What had happened to Calculating Callister? Had she gotten so lost in Kenneth's plans that she hadn't been in top form?
The door creaked again and they both swung their heads toward the sound. It was Don Maroney, a reporter Barbara had dealt with in the past. He'd always given her a fair shake, so she usually gave him more information than other reporters.
"Glad I found you, Barbara. Any scoop you can tell me?"
Barbara's thoughts collided between personal and professional. Schooling them, she tried to decide what would benefit her client if revealed. Like many corporate cases, the actual facts in question were relatively simple. It was the interpretation the plaintiff and defendant had each taken that turned it into a complex legal debate.
Barbara's client, Pete Delight, originator of the now-famous Delightful Cookies, had sold his famous recipe and its exclusive rights to the Bakewell Corporation, once his fiercest rival. Weary of battling their underpricing methods in every market in the country, Pete expected to be happy once rid of the cookie recipe.
However, the huge corporation continued hounding him, claiming at every turn that he was violating his noncompetition clause of the buy-out agreement when he began selling "Pete's Peanut-Butter Brownies." Pete retaliated, saying that the brownies he now baked and sold were not the cookies in question.
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN Page 9
