The Inconvenient Laws of Attraction

by Trish Wylie

  Reluctant to wash his scent from her skin, she got up and threw on light cotton shorts and a halter-neck, padding barefoot through the house and deciding to indulge in a little exploration when she couldn’t find him. Starting in the library, she wandered along the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, trailing her fingertips over the rise and fall of the books’ spines as she looked around the room. It would be a great place to spend time on a rainy afternoon. She could see herself taking cushions from the chairs and piling them in the window seat, wrapping a blanket around her legs while she tried to work her way through every book. She’d always meant to find time to read more.

  In the fantasy world she allowed herself to envisage for a moment, it was how she would spend her time while Blake was in the workshop he’d set up somewhere in the house. Given the choice, Olivia would make it a bench in the same room—possibly over in the corner where a couple of chairs and a lamp were currently standing—so she could watch what he was doing. The way his hands moved, the concentration on his face as little by little he revealed what was hidden beneath the surface of the wood…

  She smiled. She loved watching him work.

  In the living room, she stopped to look at pictures of generations of famous Warrens on a baby grand piano, frowning at the fact there weren’t any of Blake. He should have been there, laughing and smiling with everyone else. When she found a picture of a young Charles Warren, she picked it up and searched for a resemblance. They had the same colouring, she supposed, but knowing they hadn’t been close, she refused to see anything more and set the picture down. He didn’t deserve to have his son look like him. Not when he didn’t have a single picture of Blake as a baby.

  In her fantasy world the few pictures she had seen in his apartment would take up space on the piano along with new ones taken on weekends and holidays at the house. Instead of photographs taken sailing or sipping cocktails or—she leaned in to check what she was seeing, shaking her head in amusement—playing croquet, there would be pictures of touch-football on the lawn, picnics on the beach, maybe even snowball fights during winter holidays.

  When her imagination started adding kids who looked like Blake to the picture she stopped fantasizing. It was the house calling out to be filled with love and laughter. The more she saw, the deeper she fell under its spell.

  In need of something to do, she went to the kitchen and searched through the cupboards for ingredients she could throw together to make a meal that wouldn’t require culinary skills or allow her to burn the house to the ground. With the basics laid out, she placed her hands on her hips and turned a circle. The house had to have a sound system. She’d even settle for a—Ha! She might have kept the volume down if there had been houses nearby. But the way Olivia saw it—wherever Blake was—he would soon know she was awake. If she fed him and no one died, they could have an early night.

  Leaning his shoulder against the door frame, Blake crossed his ankles and folded his arms across his chest, a smile lifting him out of the contemplative mood he’d been in outside. Unaware of his presence, she balanced salad ingredients in her arms, bumped the refrigerator door shut with her hip and made her way to the sink, where she dropped everything and rescued a pepper as it rolled away.

  The singing he’d heard from the patio continued, culminating in an enthusiastic if somewhat off-key chorus of, ‘La, la, la…la, la, la… La…la…’ as Blake chuckled.

  When his gaze followed hers to an overflowing pot, he crossed the room and met her at the stove, the hands he placed on her hips making her jump in surprise before he kissed the side of her neck and she smiled in greeting.

  Locating the source of the music, he stepped over and turned the volume down, returning as Liv blew on the surface of a loaded spoon and brought it to his mouth.

  His reaction made her grimace. ‘That bad?’

  It really was. He shook his head. ‘No.’

  When she sighed heavily, he took the spoon out of her hand, turned her around and moved her to the side before lifting her and setting her on the counter. ‘Do I want to know what’s in the other pot?’

  ‘Pasta.’

  ‘How long have you been boiling it?’

  ‘Ten, fifteen minutes.’ She shrugged.

  ‘I’d say it’s done then, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t spend much time in the kitchen.’

  ‘I guessed.’

  Turning off the heat, he set the pans to the back of the stove. ‘How have you managed to survive this long without learning to cook?’

  ‘I live in Manhattan, I don’t need to cook. We have delis and restaurants and markets where you can buy stuff that’s already put together in neat little packages you can heat up in the microwave.’

  ‘If Martha had more notice we were coming you’d have found something similar in the refrigerator.’ Checking what she’d left by the sink, he set the things he needed aside and started opening cupboards. ‘Last time I was here, she made enough food for an army.’

  When he looked at her again Liv had a thoughtful expression on her face. Considering his reaction when she asked questions, he could understand that but he didn’t mind talking about Martha. She was one of the few good memories he had from that summer. The kitchen had been different then: a large wooden table in the centre of the room had provided the setting for the three squares a day. A younger, cockier Blake had flirted outrageously with the older woman because he knew it made her blush.

  ‘You want something to drink?’ he asked.

  ‘What is there?’

  ‘In this place—name your poison.’

  ‘I’ll have what you’re having.’

  After a trip to the refrigerator, he opened drawers until he found utensils, popping the lids off ice cold bottles of beer and handing her one before he washed his hands at the sink and got to work.

  Taking a sip from her bottle, Liv ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. ‘Did Martha teach you to cook?’

  Lowering his chin, he focused on chopping the pepper into strips, the knife making efficient, even slices. ‘No one but Martha cooks in this kitchen when Martha’s here.’ He took a short breath. ‘My mom taught me the basics.’

  Giving her an opening hadn’t cost him much. It was dealing with the line of questioning she could form from it he wouldn’t find easy. Thanks to his upbringing, he had a tendency to think three steps ahead. Don’t say anything that might give people a hint where he came from or where he was going. Never mention something that would lead to another question and another until they had enough pieces to put it all together. When he’d said he wouldn’t hide, he’d meant it, but the truth was he’d been conditioned to hide. Probably half his problem, now he thought about it.

  ‘Mine tried that,’ she replied lightly. ‘Still does from time to time. Not that it does her much good.’

  He smiled. ‘Tomboy, huh?’

  ‘Didn’t matter, she tried it with all of us. No division of the sexes in the Brannigan household.’

  ‘Four brothers can’t have made your life easy.’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  No, he didn’t. But he was glad about that for many reasons, not least of them being he hadn’t had anyone to worry about but himself.

  ‘Were you serious about your brother running a background check on every guy he sees you with?’

  ‘They all do.’

  Blake’s brows lifted. ‘They’re all cops?’

  ‘Worried they might find something?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled again. ‘Are you?’

  ‘You’re not on the Mounties’ Most Wanted list?’

  His smile grew. ‘Killing you to know what happened in Canada, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can’t tell you, sweetheart; I took an oath.’

  ‘Attorney/client confidentiality, remember?’

  ‘Pity you’re off the clock then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Damn it.’ She was silent for a moment, the sparkling memory of an earlier time in their relatio
nship fading in her eyes before she felt the need to add, ‘You know I’m not billing you for the hours we’re together like this, right?’

  ‘You have to bill me for today and tomorrow. Weekend starts Saturday.’

  ‘Changes my profession a tad, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’re here because we’re looking at another property.’ He slanted a glance at her to measure her reaction. ‘If you don’t bill me, they’re more likely to question what you’ve been doing.’

  She thought about that. ‘It just doesn’t feel right. And anyway—’ she shrugged the shoulder nearest to him ‘—I’m hardly the first person in the world to play hooky, am I?’

  ‘You’ve never played hooky before,’ he said with the certainty of someone who had played it plenty.

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’ She smiled, her gaze rolling upward. ‘Been kinda fun…’

  He was glad to hear it but, ‘Bill me for office hours, Liv. Keep it straight with your boss.’

  ‘Not when we’re doing…this…’ she said with a wave of her hand between them.

  ‘We’ve been doing this since the day we met.’

  ‘Not all of it, we haven’t.’

  ‘So where do you suggest we draw the line?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But we’ll figure it out.’

  ‘It’s not like I can’t afford it.’

  She could quadruple her rate as far as he was concerned. People with money tended to pay over the odds for the best and, whether he liked it or not, he was now one of those people. Since he’d watched her at work she could consider half of it a bonus for how sexy it was when she talked in legal terms. The way she said ‘fiduciary’ did it for him every damn time.

  ‘That’s not the point.’ She sighed.

  Setting the knife down, he rinsed his hands again and picked up a cloth to dry them. ‘No one knows you’re sleeping with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like we’re having sex in Times Square.’

  She frowned. ‘Are we heading for an argument? I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer it if that didn’t happen.’

  ‘There’s nothing to argue about. You bill me for office hours, we’ll take it from there.’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘And I’m not moving on that. Not while we’re here.’

  Tossing the cloth, he turned towards her. ‘So you’re gonna do what when we’re not here? Check your watch every time I kiss you, or are you going to make a rough estimate of how much time we spend flirting and deduct it from the weekly total?’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she warned. ‘You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.’

  ‘No, what I’m doing is making it less complicated.’

  Shaking her head, she set her bottle down and began to wriggle off the counter. ‘You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.’

  ‘I’m not holding all the cards on that one.’ Stepping sideways, he laid his palms flat on the counter beside her hips and looked deep into her eyes. ‘You think I want you doing math in your head when you’re with me?’

  ‘That’s the whole point of not billing you while we’re here,’ she said with exasperation. ‘I want our time here to be about this…about us…’

  When she realised what she’d said she frowned, her gaze lowering to his neck. But before he could tell her not to censor herself, her chin lifted, eyes bright with determination as if looking at him as she said the words was some kind of personal challenge. ‘Can you give me that?’

  Blake was floored by how much he wanted to. In that moment, looking into her eyes, he wanted to give her everything. Anything she wanted was hers; all she had to do was ask. It was the first time having stupid amounts of money held any appeal to him. He couldn’t promise her more than he was already giving her from a personal point of view, not when he didn’t think he had it in him. But this time in this place he could give her, even if it still didn’t feel like enough.

  Hands moving from the counter to her hips, he nodded.

  The smile she gave him was different from any of the smiles he’d seen before. ‘Told you we’d figure it out.’

  Reaching up, she palmed his cheek before leaning in and kissing him. Her soft lips explored his as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his thighs to haul him closer. Hands sliding up from her hips, Blake circled her waist and drew her to him, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

  ‘Thought you were hungry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I am,’ she mumbled back. ‘But not for food.’

  ‘Think you can stay awake long enough to eat later?’

  Liv leaned back and blinked as he slid her off the counter. ‘Are you complaining because we don’t snuggle? Oh. That’s. So. Sweet.’

  Shaking his head, he allowed her feet to hit the floor before scooping her into his arms and turning around. ‘You sleep like a dead person.’

  ‘It’s not my fault you tire me out.’

  ‘I happen to enjoy tiring you out.’

  ‘I’m obviously not doing as good a job of it with you.’ She nodded firmly. ‘I’ll try harder this time.’

  Heaven help him if she did.

  She smiled the smile he hadn’t pinned down yet. ‘Would be nice—just once—to wake up and find you beside me.’

  It was something else he could give her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘YOU want more coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  Raising a hand to the back of her neck, Olivia moved her fingers against tense muscles. Sitting at a table for three hours without a break would have made her muscles ache to begin with but working with Blake wasn’t helping any. She’d never been so distracted from her work by the presence of another human being. Every movement of his large hands, the rise and fall of his broad chest beneath the dark material of his V-necked T-shirt, the teasing hints of deliciously clean male scent that drifted across to her when he shifted his weight in his chair or—

  It was distracting as hell.

  Lifting the mug he set in front of her, she cradled it in both hands and leaned back in her chair, blowing on the surface of the hot liquid before she took a sip. When her gaze found his, he was watching her mouth.

  ‘You could just let it sit till it cooled.’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe I needed the break.’

  ‘This was your idea.’

  True—kind of made a mockery of their time there being about ‘us’—but she saw it as a necessary survival tactic. Her hope might have been they’d get to know each other well enough to make it feel as if what they were doing was more than just sex for its own sake—that it could be categorised as a romantic interlude when she looked back on it in her old age. But who could have predicted after a minor breakthrough in the conversation department that the first real change would take place in the bedroom? After endless hours of couldn’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other sex, if she’d known the difference it would make when he made love to her oh-so-slow with soul-shattering tenderness—looking deep into her eyes as she tumbled over the precipice…

  Trouble was, she wasn’t convinced she’d have done anything different. But the experience had widened the crack around her heart, turning the trickle of escaping emotion into a flow she was fearful she wouldn’t be able to stem if it got any worse.

  ‘How many shares does this guy have?’ He lifted the paper he’d been reading and turned it towards her so she could see the details.

  Reaching out a hand, she called up the information. ‘Ten per cent.’

  ‘This one?’

  ‘Six per cent.’

  ‘So Kirby is the largest shareholder on the board…’

  ‘No. You’re the largest shareholder on the board.’ Having decided his lack of interest in money was yet another thing she found sexy, she transferred her attention to how tiny the pen looked in his hand.

  ‘Collectively, they could still outvote me.’

  ‘They’re only going to outvote you on something t
hey don’t think will make money. That’s the way it works when you’re a shareholder.’

  ‘Thanks for the heads-up,’ he said dryly.

  Her gaze lifted. ‘I’m just stating a fact.’

  ‘Do I have the word stupid written on my forehead?’

  ‘No. But I’m pretty sure I can see the word touchy.’ She sighed. ‘If you hate this so much, wouldn’t it be easier to sell your shares with everything else?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t approve.’

  ‘Do you need my approval?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why should my opinion matter?’ She smiled sweetly. ‘If I recall, I’m not supposed to have one.’

  Leaning back in the chair, he rolled his neck before tossing his pen on the table. ‘I’m done for today.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me what the problem is or shall I take a stab at it?’

  ‘Not a big fan of paperwork.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm—’ she nodded ‘—got that.’

  When she continued staring at him, he frowned. ‘Might save time if you told me what you’re fishing for…’

  ‘Admitting you don’t want to take over the day-to-day running of the company might be a good place to start.’

  ‘I don’t want to take over the day-to-day running of the company.’

  ‘Because you don’t want to or because you don’t think you can?’

  Blake nodded, pressing his mouth into a thin line. ‘I’d stop there if I were you.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  He turned his head and looked out of the windows. ‘I don’t want the responsibility.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He shot her a warning glance from the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t play me, Liv.’

  ‘Touchy.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re still not easy to work with, you know.’ When he lifted a brow, she rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Work for.’

  A tense silence descended. One she didn’t fill for a minute. Deciding that was ample demonstration of patience—and since talking about work was a safe subject—she set her mug down and rested her elbows on the table. ‘Walk me through it. Which part of the responsibility is it that bothers you most?’