Читать книгу Rules Of Engagement - Jamie Denton Ann - Страница 9

HE HAD TO BE the most gorgeous man on the face of the earth, his well-honed athletic body nothing short of a virtuoso’s work of art. Faded jeans hugged strong thighs and a knit polo shirt stretched over a wide chest and lean belly. Raisin-colored sleeves molded and emphasized sculpted, muscular biceps capable of making a girl’s heart go all fluttery.

He was also extremely irritated.

Jill Cassidy considered closing the door to her office, but with Mr. Tall, Dark and Gorgeous raising his voice at her boss right outside, the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself and perhaps embarrass her boss.

“I do apologize, Morgan,” her boss said calmly. “But calendar conflicts make it impossible. I just have no one available to handle such a minor offense.”

The Adonis glanced her way. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her mouth suddenly felt drier than the California desert. Hair as black as midnight highlighted eyes the color of thunderclouds, holding her spellbound. High cheekbones and a firm, square jaw added to the sculpted magnificence of his appearance. Even though his features were hardened by his obvious frustration, masculine appeal still radiated from him in waves.

Her feminine senses went on red alert.

Jill’s gaze dipped to his mouth, zeroing in on the sensuality of his full lower lip. Forbidden images of touching her lips to his sent a surge of heat racing through her.

Shocked by her reaction to a complete stranger, no matter how gorgeous, she shifted her attention back to the open book on her desk and the case law she needed for a motion to suppress evidence she’d been researching most of the afternoon. Before she looked away, she caught a glimpse of something else in his eyes, something that touched her deep inside. A hint of desperation—an emotion she was far too acquainted with to discount.

“There has to be something you can do,” Mr. Wonderful said, his tone calmer. “Someone you can spare.”

“It’s only a minor offense. Just let the public defender’s office handle it if this guy can’t afford an attorney,” Nick offered. “You can’t save them all, Morgan.”

Jill shook her head. A public defender was a sure guarantee of a conviction. She knew, since she’d spent six months in the PD’s office before landing a job in Lowell and Montgomery’s criminal department two years ago. From her experience in the government office, she’d quickly learned that most of the once bright-eyed lawyers were overworked, underpaid and jaded by the revolving-door policy of the criminal justice system.

“He’s a good kid, Nick, and I want him to have a good lawyer,” Morgan insisted. “He doesn’t need one mistake haunting him for the rest of his life.”

Jill agreed, even if she had no idea who needed an attorney or what crime had been committed. Everyone deserved a good lawyer.

“He’s my best foreman,” he added, shoving a large hand through his jet-black hair, “and I need him back on the job site as soon as possible. It’s important.”

Nick shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said. “I wish I could help, but we just don’t have anyone to spare. If it was a bigger case, I could see about shifting some things around to make room on the calendar. Look, if the final decision was mine, you know we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but I do have other senior partners to answer to.”

Jill sensed Morgan’s frustration when he shook hands with her boss, then said something she couldn’t hear before spinning on his booted heel and heading down the corridor. Which was just as well, she decided. She had her own personal problem for which she still hadn’t found a resolution, and panting after a handsome stranger was hardly a way to solve it.

Or was it?

Jill bit her lip as Nick walked into her small, windowless office, his hands shoved in the front pockets of his trousers. “How’s the motion coming along?” he asked, stopping in front of her desk.

“Good,” she said, her mind whirring with possibilities she couldn’t seem to shake. She dropped her pen on the desk, certain she was truly desperate to even consider propositioning a perfect stranger. “What was that all about?”

Nick shook his head again, compassion lighting his distinguished features. “One of his employees tied one on for his twenty-first birthday, got a little out of hand and now he’s facing a drunk-and-disorderly charge,” he said, dropping into the chair opposite her desk. “I’d like to help, but…well, you heard. Montgomery’s been on a rampage lately because he’s had more beans in the debt column and less in the income column. If I shifted a bigger case for something small like this, I’d be wearing his wing tips in a very uncomfortable place.”

She suppressed a grin and settled back into the hunter-green executive chair. “Can’t you take on his case pro bono, and not involve the firm?”

Nick propped his foot over his knee. “I wish I could, but with the Simmons trial in two days and the Martinez trial in another week…. Well, you know what’s it been like around here. How many billable hours have you put in the past month on those two cases alone? Montgomery’s managing partner for a reason,” he said with a heartfelt chuckle.

Jill did understand. Just that morning all of the associates had been called into a meeting with Mr. Montgomery for the semiannual “billable hours are down again” lecture. The firm was in business to make a profit, but the softer side of her, which wasn’t completely jaded by the legal system, wanted desperately to reach out to the most stunning man she’d ever laid eyes on and do something to help him.

And it had nothing to do with her physical reaction to Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous, she told herself firmly, or the ludicrous idea that had taken hold and wouldn’t let go.

Jill quashed the silly notion flirting on the edges of her mind as not only insane, but certifiable. She leaned forward again, bracing her elbows on the desk. “The firm can’t take on his case, right?”

Nick shook his head. “Not unless I want to send Montgomery into an apoplectic fit.”

The idea wouldn’t be nudged, shoved or quashed. “But if you took on his case pro bono, you’d have to assign it to another associate, right?”

Nick’s brows pulled together in a frown. “No, Jill,” he said firmly, knowing exactly where she was headed with her line of questioning. “Morgan Price is a friend. I want to help him, but there’s no way the firm can afford to spare you right now. We’ve got two tough cases—”

“I can handle this case for him.”

She probably should have her head examined. Not for offering to handle a simple drunk-and-disorderly charge, but for the direction her thoughts had taken. Morgan Price was the perfect solution to her problem. She needed a favor, and he wanted a criminal lawyer for his employee. Who said the barter system wasn’t alive and well, even if this was Los Angeles?

“The firm won’t allow it.”

She wasn’t about to be dissuaded. Not when she finally had a plan capable of resolving her own problem. All she had to do was convince the guy who stirred her senses to agree with her terms. “I’m not talking about the firm, Nick. Me. I could do it.”

“Were you not in the associates’ meeting this morning?” he asked rhetorically. “You can’t take on another case and still manage your current caseload, especially since I need you to second-chair two big trials.”

Undaunted, she stood and circled the desk. “I can do it, Nick,” she said again, propping her hip against the elegant mahogany. “It’s a simple case. It won’t take me but a morning or an afternoon out of the office.”

Nick regarded her speculatively. “What’s in it for you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I just feel for the guy, that’s all,” she hedged, wondering if what she was seriously considering breached the wall of ethical legal practices.

Nick stood and looked at her, a slight grin tugging his lips. “Okay, you win. One day, Jill. That’s all. And the firm is not to be associated with this case whatsoever. You’ll have to do whatever prep work is necessary on your own time.”

She smiled, hoping her plan worked. “Thanks, Nick.”

His grin was rueful at best. “Don’t thank me yet. You wrap this up, and quick.”

“I can handle it,” she said again, straightening.

“I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, Jill. Morgan is a good friend, but he’s got a serious problem.”

Oh great, she thought and frowned. She was about to proposition a lunatic. “Problem?”

Nick nodded. “Morgan’s the quintessential nice guy. He can’t say no to anyone in need.”

Her frown quickly faded. She’d finally found a solution to her own problem, and in time to fly home to Homer, Illinois for her little sister’s wedding at the end of the month.

Morgan Price needed a criminal lawyer.

She needed a fiancé.

And her intended was a guy who couldn’t say no.

As far as she was concerned, it was a match made in heaven.

MORGAN COULDN’T get those big sapphire eyes out of his mind. Or that honey-blond hair, swept up into a complicated style that he’d itched to touch and let slide through his fingers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d reacted so strongly to a woman. Especially one he didn’t know and doubted he’d ever see again.

He strode through the doors of Price Construction, unable to shake the image of the blue-eyed angel from his mind. She was pretty, he thought, in a cute way. And damned if he couldn’t help wondering if she was petite and curvy or long and lithesome. About the only things he did know were there’d been no ring proclaiming her as another’s territory, and she’d certainly snagged his attention to the point of heavenly distraction.

Morgan frowned. He had more immediate concerns. Like finding a lawyer for his employee. He’d been called out to another job site and had been in the neighborhood, so driving into downtown Los Angeles to see if his friend Nick could help, hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

You’re wasting it now, thinking about a woman you’ll probably never see again.

Sylvia, his all-around right arm, hung up the phone when he stopped in front of her desk. “Thank heavens you’re back,” she said, her usually calm voice tinged with exasperation.

“What’s wrong now?” Morgan slid a stack of pink slips from the holder, forcing himself to concentrate on business instead of wondering if the angel had long hair that teased her waist.

He flipped through the messages, frowning when he saw “urgent” marked on one from his sister, Raina. Right behind it was one from the business office of the college she attended. Fortunately, a check for her summer tuition and one for her dorm and living expenses had been mailed—something he’d finally taken care of that morning.

Sylvia slipped her pencil behind her ear and looked up at him, her dark brown eyes filled with concern. “The superintendent on the MasCon job has called four times in the past three hours. The guys never came back after lunch, and Dan Castle is fuming, threatening to pull us off the job for good this time if there isn’t a stable crew on site first thing in the morning.”

Morgan’s frown deepened. He didn’t need this, not with the huge bonus at stake that MasCon would pay if the job was completed early. Not only could he reward his men for all their hard work, but the extra cash would go a long way toward helping with his brother and sister’s college expenses. “Do you know where they are?”

The frown tugging her peppery brows together expressed her own irritation. “They went to see if they could bail Eddie out of jail.”

Morgan shoved his hand through his hair and blew out a stream of breath that did little to ebb his growing annoyance. “I told Steve this morning when he called that I was taking care of it.”

“When Eddie didn’t show up for work by lunch, the guys decided to take matters into their own hands.” Sylvia shrugged. “I tried to talk them into waiting, but they feel responsible for what happened to Eddie last night and they wanted to help.”

“Son of a—”

The phone rang and Sylvia grabbed it. “Price Construction.” Her professional tone conveyed none of her earlier frustration. “Yes, Mr. Castle, he just arrived. One moment please.”

She tapped the hold button and gave him a sympathetic grin. “It’s Dan Castle. Again.”

For all of two seconds, Morgan thought about asking Sylvia to tell Castle the problem would be resolved immediately, but he’d never been one to shirk his responsibilities, and he wasn’t about to start now with something as important as the future of his company at stake.

He nodded abruptly and crossed the open space to the small office in the back. Dropping into the chair behind his desk, he took in a deep breath and lifted the receiver, hoping he could placate the job superintendent enough to salvage his company’s reputation.

“Hello, Dan,” he said, slipping a pen from the drawer. “I just found out about the crew, and I apologize. I’ll have the men on site first thing tomorrow.”

“Because your guys left, we’re now a day and a half behind schedule,” Dan Castle roared into the phone. “How do you expect the ceiling crew to install grid or the electricians to do their job if I don’t have any walls for them to work with?”

Morgan checked his watch and nearly groaned. It was after five, so offering to send a new crew was useless. “They’ll be there, Dan.”

“They’d better be. I’ve got an uptight safety inspector threatening to red-tag the site because some cub installer wore tennis shoes to the job, and this guy’s coming back tomorrow. I don’t need this kind of aggravation, Price.”

“Dan, I promise you, the men will be on the job tomorrow. Six o’clock sharp.” And he’d personally ensure they were up to every safety code in the book before they left the shop and headed out to the site. The last thing he needed was for his men to be responsible for a red-tag shutdown. “We’ll bring the job in on time. You have my word on it.”

“Right now your word doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot,” Dan complained.

Morgan cringed. MasCon was an important contract, not only because of the money he’d make on the current project, but he had a half-dozen more big jobs lined up with the general contractor, which would provide his men with steady work well into the following year. If they were pulled from the job and their future contracts canceled, word would spread that Price Construction was unreliable. That was something he couldn’t afford, especially with the construction industry in a major slump.

“They’ll be there,” Morgan said. If he had to personally man the job, he’d do it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d put his tool belt back on to bring a job in on time.

“They’d better be,” Dan threatened, “or don’t bother coming back. And for every day the job is in the hole, you can bet you’ll be hit with the penalties.”

Before Morgan could offer a reply, the line went dead. He hung up the phone and scrubbed a hand down his face. God, he didn’t need this now.

Sylvia walked into his sparsely furnished office and set another phone message on his desk, this one from a supplier promising to have material delivered to another job site the following day. “Steve just called,” she told him, planting her hands on her ample hips. “They managed to bail Eddie out of jail, but the kid’s got an arraignment at ten tomorrow morning.”

Morgan reached for the phone. He had to call the guys and let them know they needed to be in the shop early. Then he’d let them know that he wasn’t happy with the stunt they’d pulled today.

“Don’t bother,” she said as he flipped through the Rolodex file for Steve’s number. “Steve said the four of them won’t be at work tomorrow.”

“What? I need them on that job, Sylvia.” If he had no crew on site as promised, he could kiss the future of Price Construction, and that of his kid brother and sister, goodbye. People were depending on him—not only the family he’d taken care of for as long as he could remember, but there were other drywall carpenters banking on him to keep them from the unemployment lines.

“I told Steve they’d better show,” she said. “They’re on their way in now to talk to you. Steve said since you didn’t get Eddie the lawyer like you promised, the guys are planning to go to court with him in the morning.”

“And do what? Plead stupidity for getting Eddie drunk on his twenty-first birthday?” he complained irritably.

Sylvia shrugged, her gaze filled with sympathy. “They feel responsible, Morgan.”

“How responsible are they going to feel if we don’t have any work?” he muttered, retrieving the telephone book from the bottom desk drawer. How he was going to find a lawyer at this time of the evening, he didn’t know.

Twenty minutes later, he shoved the phone book away in disgust. He still hadn’t found an attorney willing to take a minor drunk and disorderly charge at the last minute. And he’d only been able to find two lawyers in their offices past five o’clock.

Visions of expressive sapphire eyes and honey-blond hair drifted through his mind unbidden. He needed a miracle. And he couldn’t find one if he kept thinking about the blue-eyed angel and wondering if the rest of her was just as inspirational.

MIRACLES CAME in all shapes and sizes, her great-grandmother, Ethel Cassidy, used to tell her great-granddaughters. Jill was convinced her miracle was six foot two with fierce gray eyes and a body made for sin.

She pulled over to the curb to study the guide map again. Most of her time was spent in Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley, so she was unfamiliar with the Inland Empire and having serious doubts of ever finding Morgan Price’s home.

Unwilling to give up hope, she flipped off the overhead light and continued farther up Canyon Crest Boulevard, finally locating the street she’d been searching for for the better part of an hour. After a series of twists and turns on curving and hilly side streets and a couple of cul-de-sacs, she found the house.

Malibu lights illuminated a concrete path from the driveway to the front door of a modest, single-story tract house with a neatly trimmed lawn and a few newly planted evergreens that would eventually grow into decent sized shrubbery. An older model Ford Explorer parked in the driveway in front of a two-car garage and a light shining in the living room window convinced her that her miracle was home. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t driven for two and a half hours through a sea of red taillights for nothing, and cut the engine of her Dodge Intrepid. Pulling her briefcase from the passenger seat, she gathered her courage and marched to the door before she could change her mind.

Jill rang the bell and waited. She had no guarantee that he’d even agree to her terms, and hoped that hint of desperation she’d detected in his eyes had been for real. Mostly, she hoped that Nick was right—that Morgan Price was indeed a guy who couldn’t say no to someone in need.

The door swung open and her heart stuttered behind her ribs, followed by an odd unfurling of heat in her middle. The man was simply too handsome for words.

She stared at him like a starstruck fool, paying silent homage to his astonishing good looks. Light spilled onto the porch, and he looked like an avenging angel. His raven-black hair was mussed, giving him a lived-in look she found far too sexy for her peace of mind. Her gaze slipped over him, down the wide chest that tapered to a slim waist she was convinced was as hard as granite, past lean hips and long legs she imagined were powerful and muscular, to bare feet.

Good grief, even his feet were sexy!

“Can I help you?” he asked after her moment of silence.

Her gaze drifted lazily back to his, and she prayed he hadn’t seen her reverent inspection of his masculine perfection. Since he hadn’t flipped on the porch light, she was hopeful.

“Mr. Price, I’m Jill Cassidy. I’m an attorney from Lowell and Montgomery.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her, towering well over her five-foot-six height. “Nick have a change of heart?”

He had a pleasant voice, deep and soothing. The kind that would no doubt whisper seductively in a woman’s ear and send her pulse careening out of control.

“Not exactly,” she said, concentrating on her purpose for coming to see him. “May I come in?”

Relief swept through her when he stepped back to let her into the house. He showed her into a small living room, tastefully but inexpensively furnished.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, ushering her toward a blue plaid sofa.

“A glass of water would be nice,” she said, smiling up at him.

He nodded absently, then strolled out of the living room, giving her an opportunity to take in her surroundings. A plant in desperate need of attention sat atop an oval end table beside a tall brass lamp. More plants, also lacking tender loving care, were placed on the mantel above a small brick fireplace. Newspapers cluttered the edge of the coffee table, and a collection of magazines were strewn haphazardly beside a worn leather recliner with a remote control resting on the arm.

She eased out a puff of breath. The gods were smiling on her, because her miracle was single. The plants said there might have been a woman in his life at some point. She wasn’t planning to have an affair with him; she just needed him to pretend to be her fiancé for a brief period of time.

He returned with her water, then moved to sit across from her on the matching love seat. “So what’s this all about? If Nick didn’t change his mind, what are you doing here?”

“I can help you, Mr. Price—”

“Morgan,” he interrupted, his storm-cloud eyes dipping to her mouth, making her heart beat just a tad faster. “Isn’t this a little unusual? I didn’t know the partners at Lowell and Montgomery allowed their associates to moonlight.”

She smoothed her moist palms down her navy linen skirt. “They don’t,” she said, offering him a brief smile. “Not as a rule, anyway. I’m not here on behalf of the firm.”

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, giving her a level stare. “Then what are you doing here?”

She set the glass on the coffee table. “Mr. Pr—Morgan. I was hoping we could help each other.”

He regarded her skeptically, but the hopeful light in his eyes boosted her waning confidence slightly. “I’m listening,” he prompted, his brows pulling into a frown.

“In exchange for my providing legal services for your employee, I’d like something in return.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her with those piercing gray eyes.

“I need…”

Oh, why was this suddenly so difficult? She’d planned her speech down to the last detail during her two-hour drive in evening traffic.

“I need a few days of your time,” she hedged.

His brows pulled deeper together. “When?”

“The end of the month. My sister is getting married and I need…a…date.”

“For a few days?”

She let out a breath that did little to calm her case of nerves. “The wedding is in Illinois. In the town where I grew up.”

Regret filled his eyes and her heart sank. “I have to be honest with you, Ms. Cassidy, I’m not sure I can afford—”

“Jill,” she said. “And don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay for everything.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to be out of town,” he said, leaning back on the love seat and crossing his arms over that gloriously wide chest. He propped his foot on his knee. “I have a business to run.”

“Five days,” she said, feeling her only hope slipping away. If Morgan Price didn’t agree, she didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d been evading the issue with her family for months, coming up with one excuse after another as to why her fiancé hadn’t been able to come with her on her last two trips back to Homer, Illinois. She hadn’t meant to lie to them, but everything had spun out of control and now she was backed into a corner and desperate enough to use whatever means at her disposal to convince Mr. Sinfully Sexy to compound her fabrication.

“A few in exchange for decent legal representation for your employee?” she asked, hating the hesitancy in her voice, but under his piercing stare she was lucky her voice worked properly.

He regarded her with a great deal of caution, and she really couldn’t blame him. Her plan was more than ludicrous, it was insane.

“This is blackmail, you know,” he said after a moment, his gaze softened by a slight quirk of his mouth.

Relief, combined with a stirring of something much more elemental, rippled through her. “I was thinking more in terms of the medieval economic system. You need a lawyer and I need something in return.”

“How do I know you’re any good?”

Why did that perfectly innocent question cause gooseflesh to break out all over her skin? “I’m very good. You won’t be disappointed.”

The grin that transformed his granite features was filled with sin. “You don’t leave me much choice.”

She smiled and used every ounce of self-control she possessed not to jump up and squeal with delight. “I was hoping you’d say that. So we have a deal?”

“Tell me something. Why resort to blackmailing for a date to a wedding?”

She reached for the water, taking a drink in hopes of putting out the slow burn in her tummy caused by her precedent-setting case of nerves. “Actually,” she said, setting the glass back on the table, “I need a little more than just a date.”

At his silence, she summoned her nerve and blurted, “I need you to be my fiancé.”