‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
He didn’t answer, and Laila bit down on her bottom lip. She’d done an online search for him when they’d first met, but she’d only read the legal stuff, mostly his association with the Peyton family and his appointment at Poole Greenwood.
Now she thought about it, there might have been photographs of a guy playing football, but she’d skipped over them, thinking it was someone else. Why? Why had she not made the connection?
And why was she so worked up about it? As of last Friday, they didn’t even have a relationship. It was odd though, how she’d learned more about him in the three days since they’d broken up than in all the time they’d been seeing each other.
She glanced at him again, but his expression was the same. In the end, she just decided to be honest.
‘Why the lack of enthusiasm?’ She could understand him valuing his privacy. If she thought his actions were to protect a fledging relationship, she would have been flattered. But she knew that wasn’t the case. ‘Don’t you like talking about it?’
He gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘It’s no longer a big part of my life.’
‘You still have loyal fans.’
He nodded. ‘It happens occasionally.’
In an effort to lighten his mood, she bumped her shoulder against his. ‘I bet you scored a lot.’
She couldn’t help smiling at the double entendre.
His eyes cut to hers. ‘I got across the line a few times.’
‘I bet you did.’
Even as a lawyer, he was a female magnet. Add ‘famous footballer’ to the mix, and it would be an irresistible combination for a lot of women.
She’d never forget the first time she’d laid eyes on him. He was charismatic and gorgeous, and the sexual tension had positively crackled between them.
Laila’s smile died, her stomach beginning a slow churn as an unwelcome thought took root in her mind.
‘That first night,’ she asked quietly, aware of the stillness in him. ‘You thought I recognised you, didn’t you?’
There was a pause, then a hushed. ‘What does it matter now?’
‘It matters to me.’
He looked at her then, uncertainty in his eyes as he searched her face. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
At least he was honest. Still, his frank admission hurt. More than she would have expected.
She shook her head and moved closer to the door, putting more physical distance between them. ‘Here I was, thinking we were wildly attracted to each other, and you thought I was some kind of football groupie gagging to get laid.’
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. ‘We were wildly attracted — are. I’m sorry. It’s not as if it hadn’t happened before.’
Laila averted her face and stared out the window. ‘Yeah, thanks for that too.’
What the hell was wrong with her? She was a big girl. Three days ago she’d ended this for professional reasons. Why should she care now?
Because you still want him, that’s why!
‘It didn’t take me long to realise you didn’t know, Laila. And I liked it that you didn’t.’
His words were reasonable, rational, but they angered her because that night had been significant. He was the first man she’d been with since Will, and now it was sullied. In the beginning, she’d told herself it meant she was ready to dip her toe into the dating scene again, that she needed male companionship, needed sex.
Now, she feared it meant her heart was open, and that wouldn’t do. An open heart made her vulnerable to manipulation, and she would never allow that to happen again.
Finally, she found her voice.
‘Wow, a desperate widow and a football groupie, all rolled into one package and sitting at your table. You must have thought all your Christmases had come at once.’
‘Hey.’
Suddenly the fingers of his good hand were on her chin and he was turning her head, forcing her to look into stormy grey eyes. ‘It wasn’t a one-night stand. I kept coming back, didn’t I?’
She laid a hand on her chest. ‘Consider me duly grateful.’
As always, he remained in control, refusing to retaliate to her undisciplined sarcasm. ‘We’ll continue this conversation when we get to your place.’
‘Like hell we will.’
He released her chin, and they sat in stony silence for the remainder of the half-hour journey.
Laila had her keys in her hand when the driver pulled up in front of her house. It was a welcome sight. All she wanted was to soak in the bath, make some coffee and find out about the state of her office.
Evan and his bloody notoriety could just take a hike.
The moment the car stopped, she flung the door open and climbed out.
‘Hold the cab,’ she heard him say, and then he was right behind her as she unlatched the small, wrought-iron gate leading into her front garden.
‘I don’t want you to come in.’ She flung the words over her shoulder and stepped onto the wooden bullnose veranda.
‘Calm down,’ he growled in her ear, taking absolutely no notice and following her inside when she unlocked the door. ‘I’m not going to drive off in the middle of our first fight.’
Exasperated, Laila turned on him. ‘Our first fight suggests we’re still together, and we’re not…’
His mouth landed on hers, stealing her breath and turning her protest into a needy moan. He growled low down in his throat, one warm hand sliding down her arm, fingers entwining with hers. He walked her backwards until she was against the wall, his mouth devouring hers with a dominance that left her in no doubt about how much he desired her.
Blood pounded through Laila’s veins, skin turning to gooseflesh even as heat engulfed her from the inside. She nipped his bottom lip. He groaned and kissed her harder. But when she scraped her teeth against his he pulled away, raised her arms above her head and pinned them with his good hand.
Thigh to rigid thigh, chest to heaving breasts, he crowded her with his body.
‘Tell me, Laila.’ His voice was ragged, lips hovering a hair’s breadth from hers. ‘Tell me I’ve only been turning up here because you’re an easy lay.’
She closed her eyes against his blazing ones.
‘Don’t close your eyes.’ He pressed his rock-hard erection to the sensitive spot between her legs, making her squirm. ‘Look at me, and say it.’
He was forcing her to face her own accusation, daring her to repeat it when he was only heartbeats away from taking her. She realised then that she didn’t actually believe it. Oh, she was disappointed, hurt, and jealous as hell of that bloody nurse, but she knew in her heart he came to her because he wanted her.
Laila opened her eyes and looked into his handsome face — this man that she was only now beginning to know. ‘I can’t. I know it’s not true.’
He expelled a deep breath and released her wrists, pushing away from the wall just as a horn blast came from outside.
Laila glanced at the front door. They’d end up in bed any second, and it wasn’t right. They both had responsibilities, places to be, appointments to reschedule.
‘You have a meter running out there.’
‘I have a meter running right here.’ He made a fist with his good hand and thumped it against his chest.
Fighting her own desire, Laila shook her head, lips still tingling from his kiss. ‘Please go Evan. We can’t, not now we’re both on the Peyton case.’
‘Oh, this is just fucking great,’ he said, then gave a frustrated groan as outside, the taxi driver leaned on his horn.
Striding to the front door, he flung it open and waved to the driver, signalling he was on his way.
Then he turned and looked back at her, angrier than she’d ever seen him.
‘Alright Laila, have it your way. You want me to stay away, I’ll stay away.’
Chapter Nine
7 p.m. Monday
Evan pulled off Old South Head Road at Rose Bay and turned into the Peyton compo
und. It was the time of day he loved the most, the gloaming, just after sunset, before nightfall.
Bringing the Porsche to a halt at the top of the curved driveway, he sat for a minute looking out over the formal gardens. The trees and shrubs were more established than when he’d first come here, and he smiled a little, remembering his first glimpse of the city, and this impressive, sandstone home. It was like something out of a movie. Not that he’d seen too many of those back then.
A few minutes later he was in the library, watching as George Peyton held up a bottle of Remy Martin with an unsteady hand. ‘Cognac?’
Evan nodded. ‘Please.’
Duncan’s father poured two fingers of the amber liquid into each glass. The French doors leading onto the flagged stone terrace were thrown wide, so they could look out over Sydney Harbour.
‘Cuban?’
George knew he didn’t smoke, but he always offered a cigar to those in his presence.
‘Thanks. I’ll pass.’
The older man opened an intricately carved box, complete with the Peyton family crest. He viewed the contents, taking his time selecting one, like some people did with a box of fine chocolates.
‘Smart boy,’ George muttered, as he cut the foot off the cigar, right at the shoulder where the curved end began to straighten out. ‘Won’t end up with emphysema, like me.’
He coughed as if on cue, faded rheumy eyes studying Evan. ‘Well, what’s going on with those two?’
Duncan and Scarlett.
The reason George had called him here.
Holding his glass, Evan moved into the doorway and stood gazing out to where the lights of the Catalina restaurant glowed in the distance. ‘Scarlett phoned me at the office last week, right before we went into negotiations with the Chinese.’
He heard a shuffle, looked around to find the older man standing beside him in the doorway. ‘What did she want?’
‘She said she was leaving Duncan. A friend of hers had recommended a female lawyer. Scarlett wanted to know if I knew of her.’
‘Do you?’
Evan nodded. He knew every inch of her.
‘I told Scarlett she was very competent, that she wouldn’t find better representation.’
For the hundredth time, Evan wished he hadn’t taken Scarlett’s call that day. ‘I didn’t think she’d go ahead with it. She’d called me on three previous occasions, saying she was unhappy and was going to leave. Nothing ever came of it. I didn’t think it would be any different this time.’
He’d been wrong.
Now he was paying the price.
‘You thought she needed an ear?’ asked George. ‘Thought she was letting off steam?’
‘Something like that.’
‘And you went ahead and wrapped up the deal anyway?’
Evan turned and stared at George. ‘I could have lost us the contract. I took a gamble. That’s what you pay me for.’
George flicked on the lighter and brought it close to his cigar. ‘Okay son, don’t lose your shit.’
George liked to call him son, even though it made Evan uncomfortable. ‘I accept I’m vulnerable if the deal falls through, and the Chinese sue for breach of contract. But eight out of ten enquiries made by women concerning divorce never eventuate into anything.’
And that statistic was higher for wealthy people like the Peytons. They usually found a way to live with it.
‘You still haven’t told me what their problem is.’
And he wouldn’t, even if he knew. This was Duncan’s personal matter, and he’d only speak about it with his father in general terms, or discuss how the situation affected the development.
‘I’m not aware of the problem, sir. Duncan’s my client, and my best friend, but I’m no third wheel in their marriage.’
George snorted. ‘He’s got bad taste in women, his mother always said so. He gives them business advice, that’s how he gets them. The first one wanted her own fashion label, and this one wants her own range of skincare cosmetics. Business advice — from someone without a business brain.’
Evan said nothing. He’d heard it all before. Despite what George said, he loved his son.
‘I wish he was more like you.’ George said.
Evan winced and raised the glass to his lips. The Cognac went down smooth as silk and he closed his eyes in appreciation. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘You know what I mean. He’ll never be you. Those first nine years before I took you in, they made you who you are — hell of a time though it was. You lived off your wits, learned how to survive. That’s something you can’t teach.’
‘I was lucky I could play football.’ Evan swallowed another mouthful of Cognac and thought of Laila’s reaction to what she’d learned today.
How would she react if she knew he’d played a part in Scarlett choosing her as a lawyer? Somehow, he didn’t think she’d be grateful for the endorsement.
‘You could really play football.’ George’s nostalgic statement brought Evan back to the present.
‘You only brought me down here to help Riverview win the premiership,’ Evan said, pleased the conversation had taken a lighter turn.
‘You’re right. I didn’t like you at all.’
They laughed. This is how it was between them. George thought of him as a second son, and Evan loved the tough old coot who’d given him an opportunity to make something of himself. The Peytons were the only family he’d known since his mother walked out and never came back.
‘You were the best, as fast as the Aboriginal kids,’ George said between puffs as he attempted to re-light his cigar. ‘Christ, when I first saw you, you were so brown I thought you were one of them.’
Evan smiled at the memory. Old George had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and thrown him in the bath. Then he’d given him his first hot meal in about six months and asked where he lived.
It was the start of a relationship that had lasted to this day.
They were quiet for a while, and once again Evan’s mind drifted back to Laila. She’d accused him of not telling her he was ‘mildly famous’. Well, he wasn’t the only one keeping things close to his chest. She’d never mentioned her foundation, the most important thing in her life, according to Mike. He’d managed to find out a bit about that this afternoon.
‘What is it with Scarlett?’ George inhaled, holding the thick Cuban between shaky fingers. ‘You go somewhere, and she doesn’t mix. She sits alone on a chair likes she’s special and expects everyone to come to her.’
There was a pause, then. ‘Do you think she’s met someone else?’
Evan turned to look at him. ‘I’ve no idea. I had a long talk to Duncan on Saturday. He doesn’t know what the problem is. She won’t talk.’
‘Yeah, that’s what he told me.’ George blew out a puff of smoke, the pungent aroma wafting towards Evan and turning his stomach.
Shit! As if he hadn’t inhaled enough smoke today.
‘I’m worried about the Chinese,’ George said after a while.
Evan swirled the Cognac in his glass. He’d expected George to say he was worried about Duncan.
‘I am too. We have the construction firm ready to go, and then there are the subcontractors.’
‘Little people?’
Evan nodded. ‘With families.’
‘Christ! What’s the chance of it all going down the shitter?’
‘There’s every chance if we don’t get a quick property settlement.’
George turned, bushy eyebrows pulled into a frown over the top of his wireless glasses. ‘Who’s this lady lawyer?’
Evan’s heart seemed to stand still.
He cleared his throat. ‘Laila Richards. She’s a single practitioner.’
‘Any good?’
‘Very competent.’
‘That’s bad news.’ George turned away and stared at the view. ‘Do we have anything on her?’
For a second or two, Evan wondered if he’d heard correctly. ‘What do you mean?’
/> ‘You know what I mean, son. Everyone has a secret. Find out hers. Sometimes, a little pressure can be brought to bear, a little inducement offered.’
Evan’s heart pumped fear through his veins, and his fingers tightened around the glass. Surely George wasn’t thinking of putting pressure on Laila, or offering her a bribe, for god’s sake!
His mind rocketed backwards. He knew the Peytons had used people once or twice in the past to recover large amounts of money owed to them by those who refused to pay. Standover merchants, who operated outside the law, and were very effective. Not that he’d been privy to any direct knowledge. But he’d never forgotten his shock when Duncan had let it slip once.
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ he said, realising George was expecting some kind of response. ‘She’s reasonable enough. We spoke after court, and she’s agreed to an urgent mediation. Throwing our weight around could do more harm than good.’
‘Hmmm.’ George raised the lighter and re-lit his cigar. ‘Well, keep me informed on that, will you?’
Evan stayed quiet, a cold weight settling like a stone in his gut.
‘What happened to your hand?’ George asked suddenly.
Evan spread out his fingers and turned his hand over. ‘I touched something hot.’
‘A woman, I hope?’ George put down the lighter and laughed at his own joke.
‘A stove.’
Evan lifted his glass and drained the last of his Cognac.
It was the first time he’d ever lied to George Peyton.
Chapter Ten
1:30 p.m. Tuesday
Laila worked on the Peyton case from home, documents spread over the kitchen table, coffee pot at arm’s reach. Having the file in her briefcase had proved to be the one bright spot in a dark twenty-four hours.
Now she pressed on, determined to get as much work completed while she waited to hear from the building manager and the police.
Bringing the dictation handset close to her mouth, she finished the letter to Evan. ‘We confirm we have spoken to our client, who is agreeable to an early mediation of the proceedings. New paragraph. Accordingly, we look forward to hearing from you further, regarding a suitable date and time. Yours faithfully. Now Mike, if you could let me know immediately we hear back from Poole Greenwood. I’ll need to advise Scarlett of that date as soon as possible. That’s all for now.’
Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection Page 50
