Tall, Dark...And Framed?

by Cathleen Galitz

  With that, he took a flying leap onto the bed amid gales of feminine giggles. It had been so long since Susan had heard that unfettered sound from herself that she almost didn’t recognize it. She was certain that no woman could feel self-conscious when her partner made sex so downright fun—and so very, very good. Between the laughter and her cries of passion, Susan was sure the neighbors were at a loss as to who had replaced the staid lawyer who used to live next door to them.

  And just as soon as Susan figured it out herself, she’d be sure to let them know.

  Even reheated in the microwave, breakfast was a delicious indulgence of the senses. In fact, Susan couldn’t remember when food had tasted any better or, for that matter, when she had felt more ravenous about life itself. When she said as much to Seb, he grew suddenly earnest.

  “What do you think about sampling my cooking every day?” he asked.

  The thought of what he might actually be proposing made Susan’s heart pound and her hands shake. Gulping air like a fish on the shore, she dismissed the possibility as ridiculous. Aside from the fact that he’d only known her a short while, she didn’t see herself fitting in with the ultrawealthy crowd with whom he rubbed elbows on a regular basis. Not to mention that there were, at present, murder charges standing between Seb and his immediate future.

  Reaching for the last piece of bacon, she strived to sound nonchalant over the thunderous beating of her heart. “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to move in with me, Susan,” he said, looking her right in the eye.

  He reached across the table to take both her hands into his, and she felt the familiar zing of his touch settling into the most intimate zones of a body still humming with the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

  “Are you serious?” Susan managed to ask without somehow choking on her food. Even in a state of shock, she was struck by the strength in the hands that caressed hers. And by their gentleness.

  “I am,” he assured her, pinning her with a gaze so intense and hot it sent her pulse fluttering out of control. The usual twinkle was gone from his eyes. Nothing about his manner indicated he was joking.

  “Look,” he went on, “as lovely as your place is, it seems a little…small for the two of us. I’m sure you could find a room or two at my house to designate as an office of sorts to contain all your paperwork, and I promise to feed you well. You did say that you like my cooking, didn’t you? And Rosa is an even better cook than I am.”

  Susan’s head swam. Having just recently gained her freedom, she wasn’t sure she wanted to give it up just yet. Aside from the fact that they hadn’t known each other very long, she had her professional reputation to consider. Not to mention her shell-shocked heart. Nor had she been raised to believe in simply shacking up with someone, rather than making the kind of lifetime commitment her parents had upheld every day for the past thirty-eight years. Of course, she hadn’t been taught that divorce was acceptable, either. Or premarital sex, for that matter. And she could not bring herself to regret the intimacy they had shared even one little bit.

  For lack of a better reason to refuse such a tempting offer, she blurted out, “What would people think?”

  “Who cares?” Seb rejoined with the kind of candor and indifference to the opinion of the masses that had made him such a phenomenal success in business. “I want to know what you think, Susan.”

  Looking into the face of the man who made her feel more desirable and cherished than anyone ever had before, Susan felt hope well up inside her. She felt like a songbird watching the door of its cage being unlocked and opened wide. Released from the bars that kept it earthbound, it did not hesitate to break into a joyous tune. And if, like poor Icarus in the Greek myth, the bird were to singe its wings by flying too close to the sun and ultimately be hurled onto the stones, there was an irrefutable splendor in its attempt to soar to heaven.

  “I think you’re crazy,” Susan told him truthfully.

  “I am,” Sebastian assured her, caressing her hands tenderly and drawing them to a cheek rough with the stubble that had grown there overnight. “Crazy about you.”

  His words were balm for a wounded spirit still leery of becoming romantically involved again. Experience had taught Susan caution. She had been thoroughly taken in by the charming facade that Joe had presented to her and to the world while he was wooing her. It was not until after she was wearing his ring that she discovered the cruel, controlling nature behind that smiling mask. Torn between fear of making yet another disastrous mistake and the desire to give love a second chance, she hoped to have a safety net securely in place before she took another leap of faith—as if there was such a thing as safety nets when it came to matters of the heart.

  “I suppose such an arrangement would make working together a whole lot easier,” she conceded. “You’re not exactly the easiest person to get hold of, and rather than trying to hunt you down a dozen times a day, this way I’d be sure to see you at least in the mornings and evenings. I assume that I would have faster access to any information I’d need if we were staying together.”

  The smile that spread across Seb’s face was broad and genuine. It encompassed a world of possibilities. Susan’s implication that this arrangement would be temporary, based on the need to work on his case, did not dampen his obvious delight at her tentative concurrence.

  “Of course, I want to keep my apartment,” she added, not about to give up her safe haven in case things didn’t work out.

  “Whatever you think, Counselor,” Sebastian agreed, kissing her senseless.

  The sense of urgency he displayed in committing her to the move gave Susan the distinct impression that he was worried she might change her mind if he gave her another second to think about it.

  “Let me help you get started packing,” he said, grabbing a phone and putting things in motion before she had a chance to protest.

  There was an unnerving sense of déjà vu about the process of moving into Seb’s home. As much as Susan would like to repress the memory altogether, his take-charge manner reminded her of the way Joe had hustled her into marriage. There was solace in the fact that if things turned sour in her relationship with Sebastian, no messy divorce would complicate her leaving whenever she wanted.

  Why that thought made her feel sad rather than reassured was a mystery to her.

  Moving in with a millionaire had certain advantages, in any event. Having sacrificed most of her material possessions in her divorce as a means of appeasing Joe and being rid of him as quickly as possible, Susan didn’t have a whole lot left to her name. A moving company Seb hired before he took off for work loaded up her meager belongings in no time at all. By afternoon she was moved lock, stock and barrel into Seb’s veritable mansion. It wasn’t until she was standing at the doorway all alone that Susan realized the full import of what she had done.

  She felt rather like Cinderella returning after the ball, minus the fancy party dress. Having taken the day off to accommodate this oh-so-impetuous decision, she was wearing clothing appropriate for moving day. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a dusty white cotton shirt, she wondered if she should knock on the door of her new residence or simply barge right in. Would she be mistaken as a salesperson and shooed away before she had a chance to explain herself? For that matter, would she ever feel at ease in a house with more rooms than her entire apartment complex?

  She was on the verge of bolting when an older Spanish woman opened the door. Her dark hair was sprinkled with gray, and her dark eyes smiled a welcome that instantly made Susan feel less out of place.

  “You must be Susan,” the woman said, looking her over from top to toe in one sweeping glance that missed nothing. “Come in, come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Silently Susan thanked Seb for his thoughtfulness in alerting the staff of her arrival. No matter that she undoubtedly looked far plainer and more unsophisticated than his usual lady friends—she felt almost at ease. What could have been a terribly awkward moment too
k on the feel of a homecoming.

  “You must be exhausted,” the woman continued, gesturing for Susan to follow. Once inside, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I’m Rosa.”

  Susan liked Rosa immediately. Her callused hands reminded Susan of her mother, as did the strong grasp that belied her slight stature. Her English was excellent.

  “Seb speaks fondly of you,” Susan said, recalling his fear of displeasing this woman by leaving too much of a mess behind when he’d barbecued the other evening. This brief personal introduction made her understand why.

  “He is like a son to me,” Rosa replied simply.

  Though her words didn’t sound like a warning, Susan suspected this demure, grandmotherly housekeeper would be capable of the ferocity of a tiger when its cub was threatened.

  “You’re the lawyer who is going to clear my Sebbie’s name, is that not right?” Rosa asked, peering at the new houseguest suspiciously.

  Susan smiled, wondering how Seb would react if she was to use the same fond childhood endearment. She knew she didn’t look much like a lawyer at the moment and hoped Rosa didn’t think she was merely some gold digger out to cut herself a fat deal at the expense of her client.

  “I’m certainly going to do my best to get that result,” she replied. “If you don’t mind designating a room for me to use as my office while I’m here, I’d like to get started setting things up right away.”

  The quizzical look on Rosa’s face gave the impression that she thought poor Seb must have picked her up at a blue light litigation special. Susan hastened to explain.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be underfoot much at all, and I’ll do my best to stay out of your way. I have a regular office downtown. It’s just that I plan on bringing a lot of work home with me, and I don’t want to be running back and forth any more than I have to.”

  Rosa looked pleased.

  “You strike me as a sensible girl,” she said. “Not like those society bimbos who want to be waited on hand and foot and spoon-fed their caviar. I expect you’ll do well enough by Sebbie.”

  Susan assumed the housekeeper was referring to her legal services, but she wasn’t completely sure. Nonetheless, she was warmed by the compliment. Rosa continued in her matter-of-fact manner, “Dinner will be ready at seven. Seb should be home before then, unless he’s told you anything different.”

  Glad that she had no information to upset the woman’s plans, Susan shook her head.

  “Then why don’t you go on upstairs and pick out as many of the extra rooms as you want and make yourself comfortable? If you need anything, just let me know.”

  Susan started for the stairs, but was stopped before she had taken three full steps.

  “You do believe that he’s innocent, don’t you?” Rosa asked point-blank.

  Susan didn’t hesitate to respond just as earnestly as Rosa had inquired. “I wouldn’t be representing him if I didn’t believe that. However, proving it to people who don’t know him like we do may be harder than either you or I would like to believe.”

  Blessing herself with the sign of the cross, the older woman called on a higher power to support the cause of the unfairly accused. “I have faith in God,” she said, gesturing upward. “And in you.”

  Susan took comfort in Rosa’s words. She desperately hoped she could live up to this woman’s expectations. With renewed determination, she vowed to go through the case yet again to see if there was any detail she had possibly overlooked that might shed some light on the real murderer. Before she left, however, Rosa asked her a final question that left Susan pondering the housekeeper’s motives.

  “Say, how do you feel about children?”

  Eight

  Susan had never been more deliriously happy in her life.

  Or more terrified.

  Her nights and evenings were spent in the company of a man who made her laugh one minute and cry out in ecstasy the next. Sebastian Wescott was the wildest, most wonderful roller-coaster ride she had ever had the privilege to take. It was all she could do to hang on. He was teaching her things in bed that would make her mother blush, all the while making her feel like the most desirable and passionate woman on the face of the earth. That his tenderness extended beyond the boundaries of his bedroom meant more to her than she could put into words. Every day he made a point of making her feel special and listening to her as if whatever she had to say was important and fascinating. He had also taken to sending her flowers every day and tucking love notes in her briefcase.

  Susan was thankful that Seb wasn’t pushing for any commitment beyond their living together. This arrangement gave her the perfect opportunity to discern any sign of the kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde personality that Joe had kept so well hidden until after they were married. Susan was relieved to discover that for all his intensity on the job, Seb was easygoing and relaxed during his off-hours. He claimed that he had learned early on to distinguish between home and work out of fear of becoming just like the father he despised.

  Susan was having a more difficult time separating her personal and professional life. Though her nights were spent in rapture, her days were occupied with legal briefs, stacks of growing paperwork and the grinding process of subpoenaing anyone and everyone who just might be able to shed light on a way to clear Seb’s name if the grand jury actually handed down an indictment. It was a time-consuming and arduous process that so far had turned up little in the way of hard evidence. For her time, she had accomplished little more than compiling a list of witnesses a mile long who were just itching to vouch for Seb’s character as a boss, a philanthropist and a hero dating clear back to his stint in the military. Unfortunately such testimony held little weight in light of the evidence piling up against him.

  Susan had yet to pin down his alibi for the night of the murder. Seb’s earlier evasiveness had turned into outright refusal to shed any light on his where-abouts on the evening in question. She supposed she should be glad that he refused to simply invent an alibi. But Susan couldn’t convince Seb how critical this information would be in procuring his freedom. It was worrisome, to say the least.

  Susan was relieved to discover that Dorian’s assessment of his half brother’s standing among the ranks of his employees was 180 degrees off. The fact that disgruntled employees were few and far between was a tribute to Seb’s management style, but it didn’t help a bit in uncovering a motive for setting the boss up in such an insidious manner. So far every single lead she had turned up ultimately had dead-ended, leaving Susan more frustrated with each passing day.

  The closer she got to Seb personally, the more intensely she redoubled her efforts to prove him innocent. The crux of the prosecution’s case was a damaging e-mail supposedly sent by Seb himself in which he appeared so incensed by the discovery that Eric had been misappropriating company funds that he actually threatened to kill him. Seb had dryly pointed out that it was not a particularly bright move for the CEO of a major international corporation to put such a thing in writing, but the police were not smiling. To make matters worse, Robert Cole, the private detective that Sebastian himself had hired to find the murderer, was the one who had uncovered evidence in Seb’s own office tying him to the missing money.

  Granted, the evidence was circumstantial, but it was damaging nonetheless. Other men had been convicted on far less. Susan knew that unless she came up with something fast, they were headed for trial armed with little more than pluck and an endless supply of character witnesses. When Seb offered his extended legal services from the staff he kept on retainer, Susan gladly accepted his help. As much as she would have liked the honor of being his sole legal representative, there was too much at stake to let silly pride get in the way of good sense. Seb looked relieved when she put up no fight. Buried in paperwork back at the office, Ann heartily agreed.

  “Now that the word’s out that you’re representing Sebastian Wescott, we have more clients lined up than you could shake a fat stick at,” her assistant reported gleefully over t
he phone.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to put them all on hold until this mess is behind us,” Susan told her with a sigh.

  “They’ll be back.”

  Ann sounded certain about that, but Susan wasn’t so sure.

  “Not if we don’t win.”

  The implications of that statement hung in the air like the very telephone line that transmitted it. When Ann spoke again, it was in a more solemn and personal tone.

  “Listen, right now our mutual financial future doesn’t worry me half as much as your emotional state. Why don’t you just drop the pretense and answer me—how are you?”

  “Wonderful,” Susan admitted with a girlish tone that she knew was a tip-off to the early stages of lovesickness. “And terrible,” she added half a moment later, putting voice to her wild fluctuations between bliss and panic. “I’ve finally found the man of my dreams, and I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can do to keep him from being convicted and thrown in prison for a crime I know he didn’t do.”

  Ann’s assurances that love would find a way and that things would surely work out in the end weren’t all that comforting. They were the same kind of platitudes that Rosa was fond of mouthing. At least Seb’s loyal housekeeper backed hers up with a barrage of prayers.

  In the short time she had been living at the mansion, Susan had come to respect Rosa and enjoy her company. Aside from making the best fajitas in the entire state of Texas, the older woman was a wealth of information. Outspoken and opinionated, she seemed impressed when Susan insisted on helping her prepare dinner whenever she could spare the time. Just as Seb had suspected, she approved of Susan’s blue-collar roots and lack of pretense.

  “For a lawyer, you’re pretty handy in the kitchen,” she remarked. “And,” she added, grabbing the cutting board, “you’re certainly a much nicer houseguest than that phony-baloney Dorian.”