Читать книгу Ungentlemanly Behaviour - Маргарет Майо - Страница 8

ABBY hoped and prayed that she would see nothing more of Gregory Lane’s father. She was completely confused by the feelings he had aroused in her—angry with him for daring to kiss her, but even more so with herself for allowing it in the first place. The whole sequence of events had stirred her emotions to such an extent that she could not stop thinking about him.

She found Hallam Lane so undeniably attractive that it was the biggest pity in the world that he felt the way he did about career women. He was the sort of man she could have fallen for, the first one ever to make her sit up and take notice, who had sent her red blood corpuscles into a dizzying spin.

And unfortunately—for her peace of mind at any rate—he did not keep out of her life. He attended the initial court hearing and he also accompanied Greg the next time he came to see her.

When the two of them walked into her office Abby felt everything inside her flutter into chaos—every nerve-end, every pulse, each heartbeat. Determinedly, however, she stiffened her spine, hardened her tone and went straight into the attack. ‘I think you should let Greg handle his own affairs, Mr Lane.’

Today she was wearing a dusky pink skirt and matching silk blouse that should have clashed outrageously with her hair but somehow didn’t. Instead she managed to look deliciously feminine. She had taken her hair back into her nape with a big pink and gold slide, and gold hoop earrings hung from her ears.

Had she known that Greg’s father intended putting in an appearance she would most definitely have put on a plain dark suit and probably even a pair of tortoiseshell glasses! Anything to give herself a more professional image. Though, she had the uncomfortable feeling that nothing she wore would make one iota of difference where this man was concerned.

Black eyes locked into hers after they had made their now customary appraisal—during which time every single one of Abby’s senses raced into action. It was alarming the way her body reacted to him and she wished there was something she could do about it.

‘I happen to think,’ he said evenly, ‘that there is every need for me to be present’ His eyes continued to war with hers. ‘And I shall continue to attend until I’ve satisfied myself that you have sufficient experience to deal with my son’s case.’

He sounded so officious, so arrogant, so pompous that hostility prickled Abby’s spine now, all sensuous feelings flying, and she drew herself up tall, prepared to do battle. ‘Perhaps you’d like a word with one of my partners?’ she queried tartly. ‘I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to vouch for me.’

Greg stood at his father’s side, fidgeting and looking acutely uncomfortable. Abby felt sorry for him. He was caught in their crossfire and it couldn’t be good for his morale. It was such a pity that his father found it essential to interfere.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Hallam Lane answered evenly, as she had somehow expected he might. ‘But I would like Greg to leave us; I want a few words with you alone.’

Greg looked suddenly both startled and apprehensive, as she was herself, and he glanced at her hesitantly, as if asking what he should do.

Abby saw no reason why he should go out of the room, and she could not think what Hallam Lane had to say that could not be said in front of his son, but she also knew that the man would not go until he had got off his chest whatever was bothering him, so she gave Greg a slight nod and a faint smile, trying to reassure him.

When they were alone she stood tall, chin high, green eyes wary, her fingertips on the edge of the desk, and waited to hear what he had to say. Hallam Lane wore a navy suit and blue silk shirt and tie this morning, which seemed to emphasise his height and breadth. He looked every inch as dynamically attractive as before. Abby found her mouth growing dry simply by her looking at him.

‘Did Greg tell you that he has been in trouble before?’ he asked abruptly.

With an effort Abby dragged her attention away from the man and back to the business in hand. ‘As a matter of fact, no. But he is here again today so that we can further discuss—’

‘He wouldn’t have told you,’ he cut in, a faint harshness in his tone that told her how disappointed he was in his son.

‘I beg to differ,’ she said quickly and decisively. ‘Once I’ve built up a rapport with Greg, once he realises the importance of my knowing everything, I’m sure he will keep nothing from me. You should have faith in your son, Mr Lane.’

‘I must admit the boy seems to have taken a liking to you,’ he admitted grudgingly, his narrowed eyes watchful on hers.

‘It is important that he should,’ Abby replied, surprised and rather pleased by his statement. ‘And as a matter of fact I think that you’re insulting his intelligence by accompanying him everywhere he goes.’ She determinedly held his gaze. ‘Why don’t you give him some breathing space?’

‘Has he complained?’ His tone was suddenly sharpedged, his eyes suspicious.

Abby had not thought Hallam Lane would put this interpretation on her words and instantly shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

‘But you think that you’re in a position to tell me what to do?’ he rasped, stepping swiftly forward until only her desk was between them, coal-black eyes boring threateningly into green, using the full power of his body to intimidate her.

Or, at least, that was what it felt like to Abby. ‘Of course not,’ she said guardedly and quietly. ‘It just seems to me that—’

‘I’d thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ he growled. ‘How I—’ At that moment the telephone on Abby’s desk rang and as she lifted the receiver Hallam was compelled to stand in silence while she dealt with her call.

She was uncomfortably aware that he never once took his eyes off her, that he observed closely the porcelain quality of her skin with its scattering of freckles, her almond-shaped green eyes and tiny straight nose, her wide mouth and small, delicate ears.

And as if that wasn’t enough he allowed his eyes to slide down the slender column of her throat and rake over her breasts which were accentuated by the gentle silk of her blouse. And he made it perfectly clear that he was seeing her rounded curves beneath and not the actual clothes that she wore.

Abby felt her skin grow warm. She tried to ignore him, concentrate on her phone call. She even turned her back on him but it made no difference. He still watched and she still felt the full power of this male animal who had made such an impact on her.

She hated herself for acknowledging his intense sensuality, for letting it affect her the way it did, and as soon as she had finished her call Abby glanced briskly and pointedly at her watch. ‘I’d like to speak with your son now, Mr Lane. I have another client to see in half an hour.’

Thick dark brows rose. ‘No one dismisses me, Sommers, until I am ready to go.’ His voice was at its most pompous.

She tossed her head, beautiful eyes flashing disdainfully. ‘The more time you spend talking, the less time Greg will have.’

A thoughtful expression crossed the man’s face; a gleam appeared in the jet-black eyes. ‘Perhaps you should come to the house and talk to him. How about Friday evening? Come for a meal and—’

Abby stopped him with a quick gesture of her hand, appalled by the very idea. Go to his house? Sit through a meal with him? Suffer some more? ‘No, thank you, Mr Lane,’ she said hastily. ‘You would obviously want to put in your two pennies’ worth and that wouldn’t help matters at all. It would be much better if I saw Greg here—and alone.’ She paused a moment and then added softly, ‘As a matter of fact I think you intimidate him.’

Hallam Lane frowned swiftly and harshly, black brows drawing together in disbelief. ‘Intimidated? Greg? By me?’ He was obviously totally shocked by the suggestion. ‘What complete and utter nonsense. What on earth put that idea into your head?’

Abby shrugged expressively. ‘It was the impression I got.’

‘Impressions, impressions,’ he jeered. ‘I thought solicitors dealt in fact, not supposition. I’m telling you, Sommers, that if my son wasn’t so insistent that he wanted you to defend him then I wouldn’t waste a second of my breath talking to you.’

Abby’s chin lifted. ‘The feeling’s mutual, Mr Lane. That’s why I don’t think it would be a very good idea, my coming to your house.’ Or was it her own feelings that she was scared of—the fact that he had this amazing ability to draw some sort of unwanted response from her? Was she afraid of what might happen if she ventured into the Lane household?

He came round the desk towards her then, and she felt the threat of dangerous magnetism. ‘How else are you going to allow my son enough of your time?’ he questioned, his face pushed up close to hers, so that she could see every pore in his skin, the clear whites of his eyes, inhale the male scent of him. ‘Half an hour is less than adequate,’ he growled. ‘It’s nothing at all.’

‘We could have got through quite a lot if you hadn’t insisted on speaking to me first,’ she told him abruptly, standing her ground, refusing to back away, although she would have liked to. His powerful virility was again disturbing her pulses to such an extent that she felt sure he must see them leaping. ‘You’ve already wasted a good ten minutes.’

‘Which I’ve no doubt you will charge me for.’ Hard eyes locked into hers.

‘No doubt,’ she returned, determined that she would not be the first to look away.

‘Then—since I’m paying for your time—I’m afraid I’m going to insist that you interview my son in the privacy of his own home where there will be no interruptions and no time limit.’

‘You’ll be charged extra out of office hours,’ she told him levelly.

‘I understand that.’

‘And I shall still wish to see him alone.’

Black eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits in his harshly angular face—glittering slits staring out at her from between lashes which were ridiculously long on so masculine a man.

‘I insist,’ she said firmly.

Finally the big shoulders shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. Shall we say eight o’clock? I’ll send a car for you.’

‘No, thanks,’ she retorted hastily. ‘I’ll drive myself there.’

‘You can have a drink if you don’t drive.’

‘I never drink.’

Thick brows rose. ‘Not at all?’

‘Maybe a little wine on occasions,’ she admitted. But she had to be careful; even a little alcohol made her light-headed—and Abby liked to be in control at all times.

‘And I imagine, from the lack of an ashtray in this room, that you don’t smoke either. What a virtuous female we have here.’ There was scorn in his voice and Abby was about to come back with some biting retort when he added, ‘Why aren’t you married?’

She was startled by his question and her chin came up again. ‘Let’s say I’ve never met the right man.’ There had never been anyone even remotely serious for that matter, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Her mother said she was too fussy, but she couldn’t see any harm in it. She certainly had no intention of marrying a man who would constantly try to demoralise her, and they all did that—at least, the ones she had met did. And Hallam Lane was no different!

‘If you’re not careful,’ he warned, ‘you’ll turn into an embittered old spinster. And that would be a terrible shame for someone as—’ he reached out and stroked the back of a finger down her cheek ‘—beautiful as you.’ His tone had gone an octave lower, to a deeply sensual growl that shivered through Abby’s bloodstream.

She jerked her head away, but not soon enough, not before she had felt the searing heat of his fingers. Lord help her if this was going to happen each time they met! ‘Please get out of my office,’ she said through gritted teeth.

A disturbing smile flickered at the corners of his sensual mouth and he did not move an inch. ‘Maybe,’ he muttered, ‘it would be interesting to find out exactly what makes you tick.’

Abby stiffened and glared, desperately wishing that she had never been approached to take Greg’s case. When fathers attended with their sons they did not normally take over as this man was doing, and certainly none of them had ever affected her pulse rate!

‘You’re an intriguing female, Sommers.’ The deep, sexy growl was still there, at complete odds with the harsh tones he had used earlier. ‘I shall look forward to our next meeting.’ And with that, both to her surprise and her intense relief, Hallam Lane finally moved, finally opened the door, leaving Abby with an oddly beating heart and a sense of total confusion.

Greg looked as bewildered as she felt when his father led him away, and in the days that followed she pondered over this older Lane who had got through to her as no one else ever had, and who seemed to find a great deal of pleasure in taunting her.

As a consequence she was discovering a sensual side to her nature that had not seen the light of day since her first, exploratory relationships before she had qualified as a solicitor. And her feelings then had certainly been nothing like this!

It was a worrying reaction under the circumstances, and if there had been a way out of going to his house she would have taken it. She had a sneaky feeling that Hallam Lane would not leave her and Greg alone, even though he had promised.

On Friday Abby was in court; it was a trying and tiring day and she would have given anything to be able to spend the evening relaxing alone. She felt drained and washed out and not in the least like another confrontation.

Nevertheless, at five minutes to the appointed hour she halted her car outside the wrought-iron gates. A camera, which she had not noticed before, detected her presence and the gates were opened, presumably by Hallam Lane from inside the house. On her previous visit she had been compelled to announce her presence through an intercom system set into the wall next to the gates.

She drew her Rover to a halt in front of the magnificent red brick mansion that must have cost a fortune, and turned off the ignition. But before she could open the door Hallam Lane was doing it for her.

He had appeared out of nowhere and she looked at him in shocked surprise; then as she met the piercing blackness of his eyes Abby felt a further unexpected and unwanted jolt to her senses.

‘You’re on time. Good—I like that.’ He was dressed casually this evening in a pale blue knitted silk shirt, open-necked and short-sleeved, with a pair of darker blue linen trousers. It was the first time Abby had seen him in anything other than dark colours and she thought how well the blue suited him. In fact he looked even more breathtaking than before and she knew it was going to be a difficult evening.

Abby herself had chosen to wear a chocolate-brown skirt and jacket with a cream blouse—very plain and very businesslike—her hair pinned on top of her head, no make-up at all on her face. She did not feel very comfortable; she never did when she wore such sombre clothes—they were so much against her nature—but she had not wanted Hallam Lane to get any more wrong ideas.

It was unfortunate that her skirt rode up over her knees as she climbed out and typical of Hallam Lane not to miss a thing. In fact his eyes stayed on her legs for far longer than was necessary, and when Abby bent inside to retrieve her briefcase she knew that he was studying her posterior.

His bold inspection sent her temperature soaring, and, as if in denial of the heated feelings that ran through her, Abby held her head that little bit higher as she accompanied him into the house.

He led her through to the same pleasant sitting-room that overlooked the expertly landscaped grounds at the back—and there was no sign of the younger Lane. She presumed he would be joining them shortly.

‘A drink, Sommers?’ he asked, indicating with a movement of his hand that she should sit on one of the linen-covered armchairs near the French windows.

She shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Of course,’ came the mocking response as he poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘I’d forgotten you were an abstainer.’

Abby doubted it; he struck her as the type of man who forgot nothing. ‘Where’s Greg?’ she asked. She had no intention of sitting around wasting time when there was work to be done.

‘He’ll be joining us later.’ Hallam Lane moved over to the white marble fireplace, where he rested his elbow on the mantelpiece and surveyed her indolently.

‘Later?’ Abby questioned with a frown, at the same time registering the way his close-fitting trousers hid none of the muscular strength of his thighs. He had to be the most potent male specimen she had ever seen, and it took her a second or two to drag her eyes back to his face and remember what they were talking about. ‘What do you mean, later?’ she questioned, her eyes sparking with irritation. ‘Our appointment was for eight.’

‘He’s been detained.’ There was curious pleasure in Hallam’s voice as he made his announcement, and his dark eyes were watchful on hers, registering every change in her expression.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Abby jumped up and crossed the room to face him. ‘If Greg’s not here then there’s no point in my staying.’

A secret smile played about his generous lips. ‘I thought we could spend a little while getting to—know each other,’ he said softly, an innuendo in his tone that was distinctly disturbing.

‘Then you thought wrong,’ she retorted firmly. ‘I have much better things I could do with my time than make small talk with you.’

He took a slow sip of the amber liquid, watching her closely as he did so, an enigmatic expression narrowing his beautiful dark eyes. ‘I’d like to talk about you. I’m curious as to why you chose law as a profession. With your looks and figure I would have thought you’d choose something more glamorous.’

Abby looked at him cool and hard. ‘The answer’s easy: I’m following in my father’s footsteps.’ When her parent had had a sudden and fatal heart attack a few years ago it had devastated her, her mother also, and they had consoled each other as best they could. Now her mother had a new boyfriend and she had her career and a place of her own. She was quite content.

‘And you’re happy without a man in your life?’ There was a deliberate lift to his brows. ‘Or is there someone? You see, I know so little about you.’

‘My private life’s private, and that’s the way I’d like it to stay,’ retorted Abby sharply. She had no intention of discussing her personal life with this man. ‘I’m here to find out about your son, not for you to find out about me,’ she told him. ‘How long is he likely to be?’

Hallam Lane swallowed a further drop of whisky, savouring the smooth golden liquid to the full, before saying with what seemed like deliberate vagueness, ‘I really have no idea.’

‘No idea?’ she countered, green eyes feverishly bright. ‘This really is most irregular, Mr Lane. Is he upstairs? Can’t you give him a call? I—’

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ he cut in quietly, his black eyes suddenly locked into hers, the suspicion of a smile curling his lips. ‘Greg is not at home.’ There was a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice.

Abby looked at him sharply and suspiciously. ‘You didn’t tell him about our appointment, did you? You deliberately let me come here, knowing that your son would be out.’ Anger, fierce and swift, flooded her and she cursed herself for being so foolish. She should have known that she could not trust him.

Hallam Lane lifted his broad shoulders in acknowledgement, not in the least disconcerted. ‘I can answer your questions myself.’

‘You know exactly what happened on the night in question?’ she asked, chin lifted, eyes blazing. Lord, what an idiot she had been.

‘I know what my son told me.’

‘Which need not necessarily be the whole truth,’ she pointed out coolly.

Hallam Lane frowned. ‘Why would he lie?’

‘I’m not saying he’s lied,’ she retorted, ‘but he could have quite easily held something back. Your son respects you, Mr Lane; I don’t know whether you realise that. He wouldn’t want to hurt you more than necessary.’

She recalled her younger brother—now married and living in the USA—getting into trouble on several occasions, but he’d never told his father every single detail, for the simple reason that he had not wanted to upset his father unduly—or incur further wrath!

Hallam shook his head, as though denying that this could be the case. ‘I don’t believe for one moment that my son would be so foolish.’ And with an abrupt change of subject he added, ‘I think it’s time we ate.’

Abby stiffened, her finely shaped brows drawing together into a disbelieving frown.

‘I did invite you for dinner,’ he reminded her drily, a faint quirk to his lips.

‘And I distinctly remember refusing,’ she riposted. ‘And since Greg is not at home then I see no point in staying.’ She headed towards the door.

His voice stopped her. ‘It’s all ready; it would be uncivil of you to waste good food. And—there’s always the chance that Greg will be back before we’ve finished,’ he added softly.

He must have known that this would persuade her. She heaved a sigh and finally turned, to discover uneasily that he had moved away from the fireplace and was only a pace behind her. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I guess I am hungry,’ she said reluctantly—actually she had eaten nothing since breakfast. ‘But the instant we’ve finished—if Greg isn’t here—I shall go.’

He smiled and, taking her elbow, led her out of the room. At his touch her stomach tied itself into knots, every pulse raced, and Abby wished that she had not been so quick to agree.

If Hallam Lane did not approve of her as his son’s solicitor then why did he bother to entertain her? She wished she knew what thoughts were going through his mind, and she wished to goodness that she had spoken to Greg himself when he’d visited her office, so that this mix-up would not have happened.

The dining-room was next door, still overlooking the fine grounds. The rosewood table was laid with a cream damask cloth and cream napkins with a wine-coloured embroidered border. The candles were of the same deep red, as was the central single rose. There were two place settings only! Abby was furious. ‘You had this arranged all along,’ she declared, her voice shrill with accusation.

‘What pretty girl doesn’t like to be wined and dined?’ he asked, a look of smug satisfaction on his handsome face—a look that told her everything was going according to plan—his plan!

She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘It looks set for a seduction scene to me, Mr Lane, and I can assure you I want no part of it. I refuse to sit here and eat with you and pretend that we like each other.’

‘I’m not asking that you like me, Sommers.’ There was a sudden crisp edge to his tone. ‘I simply believe that it would be to our mutual advantage to spend a little time discussing my son.’ A minute ago he had said he wanted to talk about her! ‘That’s an excuse and you know it,’ she cried, her eyes flashing her hostility, and she turned to head out of the room.

Hallam Lane’s fingers closed about her arm. ‘You’re not running out on me now,’ he growled, twisting her round to face him.

‘If you think that you can force me into staying you’re making a big mistake,’ Abby gritted, struggling in vain to free herself. ‘I should have known you had an ulterior motive.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ he told her firmly. ‘And I have no intention of forcing you.’ His black eyes met and held her luminous green ones. ‘But there are certain events relating to my son’s earlier years that I think are distinctly relevant to the trouble he’s in now. I’d like to tell you about them.’

Again Abby was left with no choice. But why the devil couldn’t he have told her all this in the office instead of using it as an excuse to entertain her in his own home? She eyed him warily, making it perfectly clear that she did not approve. ‘Very well,’ she said with a great show of reluctance.

‘Good.’ He let go her arm with a satisfied smile. ‘Let me take your jacket.’

Unhappily Abby allowed him to slide it from her shoulders. She would have preferred to take it off herself but he had already made the move and she was compelled to endure the proximity of his hard-muscled body.

It shouldn’t have disturbed her—she ought not to have allowed it to—but somehow it sent a tremor down her spine. And when he held out a chair for her his hands touched her shoulders; it was just a light brush, but nevertheless a further uneasy quiver ran through her.

Was this an omen of what was to come? Had she made a dangerous mistake? Ought she to get out now before anything further happened to upset her peace of mind?