Tall, Dark...And Framed?

by Cathleen Galitz

  Susan suspected the prosecution would do everything in its power to capitalize on such irrational beliefs and attempt to demonize Seb as a robber baron of old. She wondered if the jury would take into account all the jobs and revenue Wescott Oil Enterprises provided for their hometown. Her heart twisted at the thought of how painful it would be for Seb to endure denunciations from any employees willing to publicly bite the hand that fed them. Fortunately, having seen him in action earlier with Carlie, she didn’t think it would be too hard coming up with loyal employees eager to attest to their employer’s character.

  “Can you get me a list of people who’ve been fired from Wescott Oil, starting with the most recent and working backward?” she asked Dorian. “Everyone from the janitor pool to the inner sanctum of top management.”

  “How soon do you need it?”

  Her smile was weary as she responded, “Yesterday.”

  After assuring her that he would get her a computer printout as soon as possible, Dorian attempted to lighten the mood by reminding them of his offer to take them both out to dinner. Seb looked pleased by the opportunity to focus on happier times. Clearly the impending lawsuit was taking more of a toll on him than he’d like those closest to him to believe.

  Susan could empathize. She had been working hard on this case, and she knew from experience that often the best insights came to her in relaxed settings where her brain wasn’t on overload trying to unravel a complex case.

  “What a lovely, generous offer,” she said, bestowing on Dorian a look of gratitude. She knew his brother was going to need all the friends he could find in the difficult days ahead.

  “Count me in,” Seb chimed in. “Just so long as you let me pick up the tab. It’s the least I can do to thank you for finding me such a crackerjack lawyer.”

  Dorian protested, but not very hard, Susan noticed. He did, however, look visibly moved by Seb’s next remark as he offered his brother his hand in a time-honored and sacred gesture.

  “You have no idea how much your support means to me, Dorian. I’m proud to call you my brother.”

  Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Susan tried swallowing the lump that rose in her throat. Yet witnessing the two men, so similar in physical appearance, clasping hands in the symbolic bond of brotherhood, she felt a sense of dire foreboding for which there was simply no explanation.

  Five

  As the evening progressed, it became excruciatingly apparent that whatever her earlier premonition had been about, it had little to do with any rivalry between the two brothers over her. Dorian seemed completely uninterested in her as anything more than his brother’s legal representation. She liked to think it was because he sensed his brother was attracted to her, but it seemed unlikely that a man as sought-after as Sebastian Wescott would be interested in a woman so clearly his socioeconomic inferior. In previous conversations she had alluded to feeling deprived as a child. Susan didn’t think he understood that she was referring to more than the lack of a new bicycle any more than she could grasp the meaning of his cryptic comment about his own underprivileged youth.

  After making a point of seating her beside Seb, Dorian sat in a chair across the table from them and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening fawning over every remark that came out of his brother’s mouth. When he wasn’t agreeing with what Seb said, he seemed to be raising doubts about every employee with whom he’d ever come in contact. Doggedly persistent, he ignored every attempt of Seb’s to change the conversation. Susan visibly tensed when he approached the wine list as if it were a register of possible suspects.

  Making an effort to relax, she gratefully allowed Seb to pour her another glass of wine. He looked debonair and handsome in a light-blue striped shirt and navy tie of fine imported silk. Seb was the real thing—he didn’t have to adopt the pretensions of his less-assured brother.

  Considering his background, she knew she was being too hard on Dorian. She supposed he was entitled to put on airs. In all likelihood it was just his way of dealing with old childhood insecurities. Glancing around the room, Susan could see why this restaurant drew such a wealthy clientele from miles around. Evidently word was out that the food at Claire’s was as outstanding as its distinctly upscale atmosphere. Everything from the valet parking out front to the fine linen tablecloths to the fresh-cut roses at every table to the imported wines and gourmet French cuisine implied that status was for sale here.

  Staring into the gentle flicker of candlelight, Susan wondered if Dorian would ever stop talking long enough for her to enjoy the soothing ambiance. She was actually relieved when his cell phone interrupted his incessant prattle and he excused himself to take the call in private. The ensuing silence was blissful.

  When Seb reached across the table to take her hand in his, Susan felt a surge of warmth.

  “He means well,” Seb told her, acknowledging with the statement his own irritation with Dorian.

  Susan found his loyalty touching.

  “By the way, you look lovely tonight.”

  The compliment was more intoxicating than the expensive wine they were drinking. Normally Susan would be more wary of such glib flattery if it hadn’t sounded so sincere. She brushed it aside uneasily.

  “I mean it,” Seb persisted. “You are a beautiful woman, and it concerns me that you seem so completely unaware of it. If things weren’t so complicated, so crazy, in my life right now, I’d spend all of my time proving that to you.”

  Feeling transformed by the admiration glimmering in his eyes, Susan squeezed his hand and blinked back the moisture that clouded her vision. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “You’re not so bad on the eyes yourself.”

  That her ex-husband should choose that exact moment to waltz into the restaurant seemed a cruel trick of fate. All her pretty illusions shattered like a mirrored ball crashing to the floor of some make-believe cotillion. Susan wished that she could slip unnoticed beneath the table.

  Though it came as no surprise to Susan that Joe had some cute young thing hanging on his arm, she was not at all prepared for the gut-wrenching impact of their entrance on her. The baby-faced nymphet with Joe had a body made for spandex, and knowing Joe’s preferences, Susan assumed she had a shrink-wrapped brain, as well. Judging by the satisfied expression he wore, Susan knew it was too much to hope that her ex would simply pass by their table with a perfunctory hello.

  “Well,” he drawled, stopping and sizing her up from top to bottom as if perusing an old, familiar novel. One with tattered and dog-eared pages.

  Feeling obligated to introduce him to Seb and Dorian, who had just returned to the table, Susan put on a tight smile. “Gentlemen, my ex-husband, Joe Wysocki.”

  Before she could present him with their names, however, Joe gave her a condescending smirk and said, “Business must be better than rumor has it if you can still afford to dine at Claire’s.”

  His insult carried the force of a slap in the face. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily he still got to her, she willed aside the moisture clouding her vision. What was it about this man that took her back in time to the tender vulnerabilities of her youth? A youth when she was besotted with the idea of marrying an older, more sophisticated man. The cruel intent with which Joe attempted to undermine her confidence tonight was nothing new, but Susan found herself unable to think of a witty rejoinder to take the sting out of his insult. To her surprise—and, she secretly acknowledged, pleasure—Susan was momentarily taken aback when Seb took it upon himself to defend her.

  Eyes the color of smoking gunmetal impaled Joe.

  “I’m not in the habit of asking a lady to pay for her own meal when she’s in my company. If that’s a problem for you, I’d suggest your daughter join our party for the remainder of the evening.”

  A man more comfortable hurling slurs than enduring them, Joe turned crimson with anger as Susan fought back the laughter tickling the back of her th
roat. It was a relief to discover that she wasn’t the only one who thought Joe looked ridiculous with this pubescent arm candy attached to him. Almost ten years older than Susan, Joe was indeed old enough to be this young woman’s father.

  “Tamara is not my daughter,” he said, slipping an arm possessively around her tiny waist. “She happens to be my date.”

  “How embarrassing—for you,” Seb murmured without an ounce of remorse. “Next time you swing by the high school, be sure to tell all your friends that business has picked up for Susan. Apparently they’re unaware that she’s been hired to represent Sebastian Wescott in the highest-profile case this dusty little town will likely see for quite some time.”

  With that, he turned his attention back to Susan, effectively snubbing Joe, who stood beside their table picking up his jaw from the top of his expensive Italian shoes.

  “And under whose authority have you come by this piece of information?” Joe sputtered in disbelief.

  That he seemed more intent upon finding out the status of his ex-wife’s business rather in than taking umbrage at the slight on his companion’s age didn’t appear to sit any better with young Tamara than with Susan herself. Remembering a time when she had attributed such disrespect to the difference in their ages and Joe’s brash business style, Susan pitied the younger woman. If she hoped to obtain the security of Joe’s money, Tamara would, Susan knew, be forced to give up her identity in order to meet Joe’s every need. She wished there was some way to warn Joe’s next intended victim that the money was not worth it.

  “None other than the client himself,” Seb replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to a grown-up conversation with my lawyer. I’m sure the maître d’ will bring your date a Shirley Temple while you wait at the bar for your own table. As you can see, this one is already taken.”

  As was every other table in the room. Leave it to Joe to show up without a reservation and expect to be seated right away. Furthermore his pushy, condescending attitude did little to endear him to the serving staff, who disdainfully informed him he’d have to wait his turn. Among the influential clientele of Claire’s, some of whom had flown in from out of state, Joe Wysocki pulled little weight. Susan was delighted to see him forced to choose between making a scene and slinking to the bar in compliance with Seb’s directive.

  Not at all inclined to get himself barred from the most exclusive restaurant in town, Joe tossed a final insult over his shoulder as he guided Tamara in the direction of the bar in the adjoining room. “You’d think a millionaire would have more sense than to hire some second-rate lawyer to defend him.”

  “You’d think any man but a consummate jackass would know better than to let a woman as beautiful and amazing as Susan get away,” Seb rejoined, loud enough for everyone in the establishment to hear.

  By no means a small man, Joe was used to intimidating others with his size and demeanor. He wheeled around, his hands balled into fists at his sides. But the challenge on his lips died as Seb rose to his feet. He stood several inches taller than Joe, and the steely look in his eyes left no doubt that he was not one to back down from a fight. The moment seemed like an eternity to Susan, who remembered to breathe only after Joe finally yielded to his opponent’s clearly superior physical powers and simply opted to leave.

  Like the Cheshire cat, all that remained of him was a nasty sneer hanging in the air—or rather imprinted on Susan’s mind. Though she had done her best to remain perfectly calm during the heated exchange, her hands were shaking when she picked up her wineglass and lifted it to her lips.

  “I can’t believe you were ever married to such an arrogant little…”

  Unable to think of a socially appropriate word, Seb let the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

  “Me, neither.”

  Blushing the color of the wine in her glass, Susan smiled at him gratefully. Had it been anyone but Joe, she would not have been so lost for words. As much as she hated for Seb to think her incapable of standing up for herself, it had certainly been gallant of him to defend her honor. From the horrified expression still lingering on Dorian’s face, she would have been waiting a long time indeed for him to speak up on her behalf. Susan wondered if she should offer to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him to reestablish his normal breathing pattern.

  “I’d like to call it an evening,” Dorian said.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Susan seconded, eager to put as much distance between herself and her ex as possible. One never knew what Joe might do once he had a couple of drinks in him. And she’d had quite enough of his behavior for one lifetime.

  When Seb offered to drive her home, she gratefully accepted. Two glasses of wine was her limit, and she had no desire to explain herself to a police officer had she the misfortune to be pulled over. Besides, she wasn’t ready to part company with Seb just yet. Every minute she spent with him brought new insight into what this man was really made of. He was what her father liked to refer to as a “real man’s man.” Charm, strength, intelligence and integrity all wrapped up in one appealing physical package, Sebastian Wescott appeared to be a true gentleman through and through. He wasn’t at all the snobbish exemplar of the ultrarich she had once envisioned. This was definitely a man worth getting to know better. A man who deserved to have his day in court represented by someone who genuinely cared about him.

  Susan noticed the surprised look on Seb’s face when she asked him if he’d like to come up to her apartment a short while later. She was glad when he agreed to walk her to the door. That her actions seemed less than professional was of little consequence at the moment. Feeling particularly melancholy about the events of the evening, she didn’t want to be alone with nothing better to do than brood over Joe’s verbal abuse. All she had to do was see her ex, and she was back on the same emotional roller coaster she had ridden for the duration of her marriage.

  It wasn’t until Seb stepped inside her apartment that she became self-conscious, thinking how different it was from his luxurious estate. Except for the papers scattered from one end to the other, indicating her dedication to his case, little about her home reflected her own personality. In her divorce, Susan had been more than willing to give Joe the showplace of a house he had insisted they buy, and all the luxurious contents he had acquired by maxing out their credit cards.

  Looking around her modest surroundings through Seb’s eyes, she supposed her life looked empty and pathetic to him. Despite the fact that she paid a handsome price every month to secure her lease on this place, it did look rather like a college dorm—minus the posters on the walls. In truth, this apartment was simply a temporary place to sleep and eat until the future chose to reveal itself to her. The only photograph on display was of her family, and it was sorely dated.

  “I want to thank you properly,” she told Seb, moving a stack of documents to clear a place for him on her sofa. A cheerful slipcover hid the fact that the fabric of the rented furniture was worn through on the armrests.

  “For what?” he asked.

  That he looked genuinely perplexed by her words only served to deepen the sense of gratitude Susan felt. She sat down beside him, slipped her shoes off her aching feet and looked him directly in the eyes. Falling helplessly into their silvery depths, she spied compassion—and something more….

  “For standing up to Joe back there, of course,” she said in a throaty, emotional voice that she hardly recognized as hers. “For such a very public show of support.”

  Seb put his index finger beneath her chin and tilted up her head so she couldn’t avoid the heat of his gaze. “That was nothing compared to what I’d like to do for you.”

  Susan went all soft and warm inside at the images his words conjured up. Her breath came in shallow, feathery gasps, and her pulse skittered in a most alarming pattern. Recognizing that her reaction was far from professional did absolutely nothing to change the fact that she wanted to feel Seb’s lips on hers more than she had ever wanted anything in her l
ife. To see for herself if there were more than empty promises smoldering behind those intriguing dark lashes of his. She longed for one brief, stolen moment to indulge her senses and feel like a hot-blooded woman, instead of a cool, logical lawyer.

  Recalling the last time her eyelids had drifted shut in expectation of a kiss—and the disappointment that followed when Seb had so chivalrously refused to take advantage of her momentary weakness—she tried to tear her gaze away from the sensuous curve of his lips. And failed miserably. It was as if her brain, overloaded with worries and overwhelmed by the latest encounter with her ex-husband, had simply shut down and given her body complete authority to override her tenuous willpower.

  “We both know what a bad idea this is,” Susan murmured in a last-ditch attempt to resuscitate reason.

  She wondered if Seb was as confused by the contradiction in her words and actions as she was herself. Curling her legs beneath her, she proceeded to wrap her arms around his neck. She was glad that he didn’t attempt to remove them. Rather, she felt a shudder run through him and saw the impact of her touch reflected in the shimmering depths of the identical wells that were his eyes. Thus emboldened, she lifted her face to his and pressed her lips against temptation. To her delight, she found everything she’d secretly hoped for, as Seb responded with an ardor that set the earth trembling beneath them both.

  Never had she thought a simple kiss could have such an impact on all her senses at once.

  It was akin to diving off a precipice and embracing the fall. All thoughts of the abrupt stop at the bottom vanished in the exquisite joy of the moment. There was no denying that she wanted him. Not when the whimper that rose in her throat belied all rational thought and gave away her emotions in kittenish tones.

  Or was it a wildcat that Seb had released from its bonds with his oh-so-tender kisses? Her lips parted, inviting a deeper sharing of the intimacy crackling between them like bolts of lightning illuminating the night sky. Susan melted against him. He proceeded in a slow, cautious manner, as if careful not to frighten her or cause her to draw away. Seb was an expert kisser—she had to give him that—and he evoked in her a passion that thrilled her like nothing in her previous experience. She felt as powerful as a lion tamer.