Читать книгу Marrying a Delacourt - Sherryl Woods - Страница 8

Grace could hardly wait to hear what had caused Michael Delacourt to condescend to beg her for help. As annoyed as she was at being imperiously summoned across the state on a Friday night, her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

And contrary to what she had deliberately led him to believe, he had not caught her in the middle of a pressing engagement. A long, boring weekend had stretched out ahead of her, so Michael’s call had been a welcome diversion, a chance to break out of the rut she’d fallen into in recent months. She slaved like crazy in court all week long, then did more of the same on weekends so she wouldn’t notice how truly barren her social life had become.

But even better than a break in routine, the promised chance to hold this over the man’s arrogant, egotistical head for the rest of their lives had been an irresistible lure. Given the number of court cases on which they found themselves on opposing sides, it was an edge she couldn’t ignore.

There was more to it, of course. There had been a time in the distant past when she had almost allowed herself to think about a future with Michael. But then she’d realized she would always play second fiddle to the family business. It was a role she flatly refused to accept.

Grace had already spent an entire childhood trying to figure out why she hadn’t been smart enough or pretty enough for her father to love her. Norman Foster had left her and her mom when Grace was barely five. The unexplained departure of her adored father had all but destroyed her self-esteem. It had taken years to restore it, to accept that his going had had nothing at all to do with her. She wasn’t going to waste the rest of her life wondering why she didn’t have another man’s full attention.

She had broken off with Michael the same day she’d graduated from law school. She’d had clues from the beginning of their relationship that work came first with him, but his failure to appear at the important graduation ceremony had made it all too evident where she fit into his priorities. Even his profuse apologies and a barrage of expensive gifts—all of which she’d returned—hadn’t convinced her he would ever be able to change.

After pursuing her with flattering determination for a few weeks, he had accepted that the breakup was final. When he’d actually stopped calling, she’d suffered a few serious twinges of regret, but on balance she knew she’d done what she had to. She knew better than to think a man would change.

That didn’t mean that she couldn’t thoroughly enjoy the occasional sparring match with Michael. He was, after all, exceptionally smart, exceptionally sexy and, when he allowed himself to forget about work, highly entertaining. It gave her a great deal of pleasure, however, to remind him from time to time that he wasn’t God’s gift to women. She figured she had at least a little credibility since she was one of the few who’d ever walked away from him.

Over the years she had observed his pattern from a nice, safe distance. Most of the women he dated were eventually abandoned by him through benign neglect, never in an explosion of passionate fireworks. She suspected that most of those relationships contained less passion than some of the occasional conversations she and Michael had over legal matters. In the deep, dark middle of the night, she took a certain comfort in that.

Tonight as she settled into the fancy Delacourt corporate jet, she glanced around at the posh interior and smiled. Of course Michael expected her to be impressed by the bottle of chilled champagne, the little plate of hot hors d’oeuvres. No doubt he still thought of her as the small-town girl who’d been wide-eyed the first time he’d taken her on a trip in this very same plane.

They had gone from Austin, where she’d been in school, to Houston for a visit to the family mansion. Michael had wanted to introduce her to his family, especially his charismatic, much-idolized father. She had been stunned, if not impressed, by the evidence of their wealth. Even with Michael at her side, she had wondered if she would ever truly fit in there.

These days it took a lot more than champagne and canapés to impress her. Apparently Michael had forgotten that in recent years she’d worked for a lot of people every bit as rich as the Delacourts. In fact, she’d prided herself on taking quite a bit of money away from them.

Oh, yes, she thought with anticipation, this little trip to Los-wherever-Texas held a lot of promise. For Michael to be anywhere other than in his office or at some gala where he could network was so rare that the explanation was bound to be a doozy. She could hardly wait to hear it.

The flight didn’t take long. When they landed, a car was waiting for her at the airport and the pilot gave her very thorough written and verbal directions, then regarded her anxiously.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to drive you, Ms. Foster? I don’t mind, and Mr. Delacourt suggested that would be best.”

Grace understood the insulting implications of that. She drew herself up to her full five-foot-two-inch height.

“Thanks, Paul, but I am perfectly capable of driving a few miles,” she said coolly. Beyond his low regard for her driving skills, she knew what Michael was up to. He wanted her wherever he was at his beck and call, with no car available for a speedy exit. “Thank you, though. You can let Mr. Delacourt know that I am on my way.”

The pilot, who’d been around during the days of their stormy relationship, grinned at her display of defiance. “Whatever you say, Ms. Foster. Nice seeing you again.”

“You, too, Paul.”

Satisfied that she had won that round, Grace got behind the wheel of the rental car, studied the directions one last time and tried not to panic. The truth was, she had a very unfortunate sense of direction. To top it off, the sky was pitch-black, the moon little more than a distant, shimmering sliver of silver. And it wasn’t as if there were a lot of street signs out here in the middle of nowhere.

“I can do this,” she told herself staunchly.

Twenty minutes later she was forced to concede that she was hopelessly lost. She drove around for another ten minutes trying to extricate herself from the tangle of rural roads that apparently led nowhere close to where she wanted to go. By the time she finally abandoned her pride, she was highly irritated. With great reluctance, she called Michael at the number the pilot had discreetly written at the bottom of the page.

“The plane landed forty-five minutes ago. Where the devil are you?” Michael demanded.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be calling.”

He moaned. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself lost.”

“It wasn’t me,” she protested. “It was these stupid directions. Whoever heard of telling somebody to turn at a blasted pine forest? I saw a pine tree, I turned. Now I seem to be staring at a pasture. There are cattle in the pasture, and I am not amused.”

He chuckled.

“It’s not funny. Laugh again and I’ll be back at the airport and out of here.”

“Not likely,” he muttered.

“Michael,” she said, her tone a warning.

“Sorry. It’s just that this is one of your many charms,” he said. “For a woman who has a law degree and a thriving practice in a major metropolitan area, you are absolutely pitiful when it comes to getting from one place to the next. I am amazed you ever make it to court on time.”

“Will you just tell me how to get from here to there?” she snapped. She was not about to tell him that only years of practice and sticking to the same, precise route assured her of getting to the courthouse. Unanticipated detours gave her hives.

“Sweetheart, you’re in a ranching area,” he said, pointing out the obvious with what sounded like a little too much glee. “There are a lot of cows. Can’t you just back up, turn around and get right back on the highway where you made the wrong turn?”

“You stay on the phone,” she instructed. “I’ll be back to you for further instructions when I am facing the highway.”

It took another frustrating twenty minutes to backtrack and finally make her way to the turnoff Michael assured her would lead to where he was.

When she found him waiting for her on the front porch of a spectacular house with two boys sound asleep in the rocking chairs flanking him, her annoyance promptly gave way to amazement. This was obviously going to be a whole lot more fascinating than the weekend she’d anticipated spending with her case files and her law books.

“Whose house is this and why are you here?” Grace asked as she and Michael settled in the living room with the cup of tea she’d insisted she preferred over wine. She wanted all her wits about her for this conversation.

“My brother-in-law built it for Trish,” Michael explained. “And I’m here because I’ve got a whole family of conspirators.”

“Another forced vacation?” She’d heard all about the last one. The tale had circled the Houston grapevine before landing in the society column of the daily paper. Imagining Michael’s indignation, she had laughed out loud at the story, but she was wise enough to stifle a similar urge now.

“You don’t have to look so amused,” he said, his own expression thoroughly disgruntled.

“I guess even the high-and-mighty Michael Delacourt has someone he has to answer to on occasion.”

“If you’re going to start taking potshots, I’m going to regret calling you.”

“It’s all part of the package,” she informed him. “But let’s get down to business.”

She gestured toward the stairs. The boys had been awakened and sent off to bed in a guest room. Since they’d barely been alert enough to acknowledge her existence, she imagined they were sleeping soundly again by now.

“Who are they?” she asked.

Michael appeared not to have heard her. They were alone in a cozy room that had been designed for the comfort of big men. He was sprawled in an oversized chair, looking frazzled. Even here he was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open. No jeans and T-shirts for this man. No wonder he made the society pages so often. He always looked like a million bucks.

Grace liked her power suits as well as the next person, but on the weekends, she settled into shorts or comfortable, well-worn jeans, faded, shapeless T-shirts, and sandals. She’d deliberately worn her weekend wardrobe to demonstrate how unimpressed she’d been by this out-of-the-blue invitation.

Now, with her shoes kicked off, she was curled up in a matching chair opposite Michael regretting the fact that she’d left all those power suits at home. She could feel the tensions of the week easing away, right along with her defenses.

This was just a little too cozy. She’d barely resisted the urge to flip on every light in the room, so it was bathed only in the glow of a single lamp in the corner. The atmosphere was disturbingly romantic and Michael was enchantingly rumpled for a man who usually looked like he’d just stepped out of an ad for Armani suits. She had to force herself to concentrate on the topic at hand.

“Michael, who are they?” she asked again, when she realized his attention was focused intently on her. He looked as if he were trying to memorize every little detail about her. Under other circumstances it might have been flattering. Under these circumstances, it rattled her in a way she didn’t want to be rattled.

His gaze finally snapped up. “Jamie and Josh,” he replied. “Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. They refused to disclose a last name.”

“Smart kids. It’ll slow you down tracing where they belong. Any idea where that might be?”

“Not a one. I found them in the barn.”

She was relieved to be able to finally slip into lawyer mode. “Like a couple of stray cats?” she asked. “Or burgling the place?”

“Looking for a place to sleep, they said.”

“Did you believe them?”

“I believe they weren’t there to steal anything. I also believe they’re in some sort of trouble. They wouldn’t give me a clue about where they came from, wouldn’t let me call anyone to let them know they were okay. They claimed to be visiting in the area, but they wouldn’t give me a name.”

“Runaways,” Grace deduced, her heart aching. She’d seen the sorry state of their clothes. More than that, she’d detected the worry in their eyes that not even being half-asleep could disguise. They had to be exhausted if they were risking sleep. Otherwise they’d probably be at the top of the stairs eavesdropping or slipping out an upstairs window as she and Michael discussed their fate.

“Looks that way to me,” Michael agreed.

“Have you checked the local paper, turned on TV to see if they’ve been reported missing?”

“No, I just called you.”

“Why?” she asked, bewildered by him turning to her. She would have expected him to go straight to his family. With the Delacourt resources, including a private eye for a brother, wouldn’t that have made more sense? Even if he was ticked at most of them at the moment, they were the closest, most obvious people to call.

“What about Dylan?” she asked. “Isn’t he living over here now?”

“He’s away.”

“And Trish? Maybe she knew about the boys hiding out in the barn but didn’t say anything.”

“I can’t imagine Trish going off and leaving two runaways behind. She’d have brought them in and mothered them to death,” he said wryly.

“Maybe you should call her and ask.”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

A scowl settled on his face again. “Because, if you must know, I have no idea where she is. She deliberately kept me in the dark about her destination. Made up a bunch of hogwash that turned out not to be true.”

“So that makes me what? Third choice after Dylan and Trish?”

“Nope, first,” he insisted. “Like I told you on the phone, this is right up your alley. You know about all this family law stuff. You’re compassionate. You’re a woman.”

“And your sister-in-law, Dylan’s wife, is what?” she asked wryly. Because the Delacourts were big news in Houston, she’d been able to keep up. She knew all about their marriages.

Michael shrugged off the question, as if it wasn’t worthy of a response.

“Unreachable by phone?” she suggested. “Out in the hinterlands delivering a baby, perhaps?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t try. Look, Grace, I know this is an imposition, but you’re the best. Face it, I’m out of my element. When that happens, I know enough to call in an expert.”

If she’d been on her feet, she’d probably have fainted at the admission. “That has to be a first,” she commented.

“What?”

“You admitting you’re at a loss.”

He regarded her evenly. “I’m not blind to my faults, Grace.”

“Just not interested in correcting them?” she surmised.

His gaze narrowed. “Do you really want to take that particular walk down memory lane?”

Her cheeks burned. She swallowed hard and shook her head, reminding herself that his calling her wasn’t personal. He hadn’t dragged her over here because he’d been pining away for her for the past few years. It was about those two scared boys upstairs. Nothing else. Period. She had to keep that in mind. It would be way too easy to get caught up in all of this, to imagine that they were partners, a team…a family.

No sooner had that thought slammed into her head, than she jerked herself sternly back to reality. They were nothing to each other. Nothing. Old friends, at best. And this weekend was nothing more than a tiny, last-gasp blip on their flat-lined relationship. It was not evidence that there was life in it.

“No, of course not,” she said briskly.

“I thought not.” He studied her intently. “So, what do I do with them?”

He sounded genuinely perplexed, as if the decision-making king of the business world had finally butted up against a problem he couldn’t solve with a snap of his fingers or a flurry of memos. Grace found the uncertainty more appealing than she cared to admit. For Michael Delacourt to show his vulnerability, especially to her, was something worth noting.

“What options have you considered?” she asked, curious to know exactly where he was coming from. “And speaking of experts, why didn’t you just call the police and let them deal with the situation?”

To her relief, he looked genuinely appalled by the suggestion.

“They’re a couple of scared kids. How could I call the police? They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“They’ve run away for starters, and you don’t know that they haven’t done more,” she pointed out realistically. “They could have been roaming around for weeks breaking into places, stealing food, jewelry and who knows what else.”

“If they were stealing food, they weren’t much good at it. They were starved,” he said, ignoring the rest.

“Think back, Michael. All boys that age are starved at least a half-dozen times a day,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

She was still mystified by what he expected. “Look, Michael, what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Talk to them. Handle it. Figure out what’s going on. Get them back home.” He raked his hand through his thick, dark brown hair in a gesture of frustration that pretty much destroyed the usual neat style. “I don’t know.”

She found that appealing, too. Because her reaction irritated her, she snapped, “Just get them off your plate and onto mine, I suppose.”

His expression brightened. “Exactly.”

“Sorry, pal,” she said, getting to her feet. She needed to get out of here before she succumbed to Michael’s charm and the very real distress of those two boys. This was heartache she didn’t need. There were plenty of other people around who could step in here and solve this, professionals with nothing at stake except doing their jobs.

“I think handling a couple of kids ought to be a piece of cake for a man who controls a multinational corporation,” she said. “You’ll be good for each other. Consider it your good deed for the century. Just think, you’ll have it out of the way right at the start.”

With the pointed barb delivered, she skirted past him and aimed for the door. Conveniently, her overnight bag was still there. She’d barely made a grab for it, though, when he stepped into her path. Even though Michael went through life with an economy of movements, he had always been able to move as swiftly as a panther when he chose to. Apparently right now he was highly motivated.

“You can’t leave,” he protested.

“Oh, but I can.”

“Grace, don’t do this to me. You’re a lawyer. You know how to cut through red tape, get things done.”

She regarded him with amusement. “And you don’t? Please. Compared to convincing a foreign government to let you steal mineral rights, this is just a little inconvenience. Deal with it.”

“Do you want me to beg?”

She grinned at the prospect, then regarded him curiously. “An interesting possibility. Are you any good at it?”

“Let me give it a shot.”

He reached for her hand, pressed a kiss against her knuckles that sent shockwaves cavorting right through her. It wasn’t exactly begging, but she had to admit it was an excellent start. Something inside her was melting right along with her resolve.

“Please, Grace. Stick around through the weekend at least. Help me get a straight story out of those kids. Once we’ve figured out what to do, you can race straight back to Houston and I won’t bother you again for another half-dozen years or so.”

She withdrew her hand, because she didn’t like the sensations his touch was kicking off. “Nice try, but I’m not convinced yet that you really need me. Any old lawyer would do. Doesn’t Delacourt Oil have a slew of them on retainer?”

He frowned at that. “None like you.”

She regarded him with surprise. “I almost believe you mean that.”

“Believe me, Grace, I have never meant anything more, never needed you more,” he said with convincing solemnity. “Never.”

There was a time when those words would have made her pulse ricochet wildly. Unfortunately, they still had a disconcerting effect. Ignoring it, she shook her head and took another step back, a step toward putting a safe emotional distance between them.

“Maybe this will be good for you, Michael. Put you in touch with real human beings for a change.”

He appeared genuinely offended by the implication. “I deal with real human beings all the time.”

“You just don’t find them nearly as interesting as the bottom line, is that it?”

“You’re not being fair.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “But we both know life isn’t always fair.”

His gaze locked on hers. “But you are, Grace. Fairness is what you’re all about. You fight for the underdog. Nobody knows that better than I do. I’ve seen you take some of my friends to the cleaners to make sure their ex-wives get what they deserve. Hell, you’ve taken me apart on the witness stand to pry out some ugly truths about friends of mine. We both know how tough you are when it matters. You handled that situation for Jeb’s wife when you thought the company was misjudging her. If it hadn’t been straightened out to your satisfaction, you would have fought like a tiger for her.”

“You lucked out. Brianna was in love with Jeb and he was smart enough to go to bat for her in the end. Otherwise we would have sued your pants off and won.”

He grinned. “That’s what I mean. You don’t care who you go up against, if you think the cause is just.”

“There’s a difference this time,” she said.

“What’s different?”

“You and I would be on the same side. I think I like it better when we’re battling on opposite sides,” she admitted candidly.

“Safer that way?” he inquired, an all-too-knowing glint in his eyes.

She was surprised that he could read her so well. “Smarter,” she corrected.

He regarded her with amusement. “You don’t still have a thing for me, do you, Grace? Being here with me isn’t dredging up old memories, is it?”

She bristled at the suggestion. “Of course not.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” he said, clearly laying down a challenge. “We’ll leave the past off-limits, stick strictly to the situation at hand.”

It rankled that he thought it would be so easy to avoid rekindling their old passion. But if he could spend this weekend with her and keep it impersonal, then she certainly could…or she would die trying.

“Fine,” she said, picking up her bag again, this time turning toward the stairs. “Okay, where’s my room? Since I’m staying, I’m obviously too beat to think straight. We’ll tackle this in the morning.”

And in the morning, maybe she’d be able to figure out why Michael Delacourt was the only male on earth who could still twist her right around his finger without even trying.