A Legal Affair (3 page)

Daniela groaned. “Words can’t begin to describe. And let’s not even talk about his voice.”

“No, let’s,” Janie urged.

Daniela grinned. “Deep, dark, smooth as honey. Like liquid sex.”

Janie shrieked with laughter, then clapped a hand to her mouth, belatedly remembering that her mother-in-law was fast asleep in a bedroom down the hall.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Daniela confessed when her own mirth had finally subsided. “Just between you and me, I already feel like I’m in over my head. You know I don’t do the whole femme fatale thing.”

“Bull. I’ve seen you bat those long eyelashes and toss that pretty hair when you want something badly enough—like that antique rug resting beneath your feet.” She chuckled at Daniela’s sheepish expression. “Seriously, El, I don’t think you’ll have to become a seductress in order to accomplish your mission. Think about it. Smart, good-looking men like Caleb Thorne get hit on all the time. He’s probably been slipped more thongs and been the victim of more tawdry pickup lines than he can stomach. Stand out from the crowd. Be yourself. Something tells me Caleb Thorne won’t be able to resist getting to know the real you.”

“As much as that’s possible, considering I came into his life under false pretenses.” Daniela pulled in a deep breath, suppressing a pang of guilt over the duplicitous role she’d been asked, and had agreed, to play.

Janie gave her a sympathetic look, understanding her predicament. She glanced at the diamond-encrusted wristwatch that had been a tenth-anniversary gift from Kenneth, then rose from the sofa, stretching her limbs with the fluid grace of a gymnast—which she’d been in another lifetime. “I have to go pick up the kids from school. They won’t appreciate Mommy being late on the first day—or any day, for that matter.”

Daniela smiled softly, thinking of her seven-year-old niece and nephew, fraternal twins who’d both inherited their mother’s intolerance for tardiness. “Give KJ and Lourdes my love. And thank you so much for coming to the rescue with Mom today, and for agreeing to come back tomorrow. I really appreciate it.”

Janie waved off the gratitude. “Believe me, looking after your mom, flu and all, beats picking up after the twins
any
day of the week.” A wistful note in her tone made Daniela wonder, not for the first time, whether Janie Roarke regretted her decision to quit her job in exchange for full-time motherhood. With an MBA from the Wharton School of Business, Janie had been climbing the ranks at a top advertising firm when she learned she was pregnant—with twins, no less. She and Kenneth had decided it was best for one parent to stay home with the children, and Janie had been the unanimous choice.

She hugged Daniela, retrieved her purse and paperback, then moved toward the front door. “Oh, that reminds me,” she said over her shoulder, “call Kenny whenever you can. He’s been trying to reach you all day—he wants to know, of course, how everything went this morning. He kept complaining because you weren’t answering your cell phone. Guess that’s because you accidentally left it on the kitchen counter this morning.” Janie’s wicked grin told Daniela that she’d enjoyed making her husband sweat it out.

Daniela chuckled, getting up to follow Janie to the door. “Serves him right. If he thinks I’m going to be checking in with him every minute of the day like we’re on some episode of
Charlie’s Angels
, he’s got another think coming.”

Janie laughed all the way to her white SUV parked in the driveway.

Long after she left, Daniela stood at the window thinking about Caleb Thorne and the impossible mission she’d embarked upon. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Janie that she felt like she was in over her head. A man like Caleb would
not
be easy prey, despite what she may have secretly hoped. He was shrewd, tough and powerfully seductive. When he looked at her with those midnight eyes, she could hardly remember who was supposed to be the hunter, and who the hunted. Her attraction to him was a weakness she couldn’t afford.

One way or another, she’d have to find a way to keep sight of her goal. Buying a dream ranch for her mother was the goal. Falling victim to Caleb Thorne’s animal magnetism was
not
.

As long as she stayed the course and remained focused, she would escape from this mission unscathed.

Failure was not an option—not when her mother’s future happiness hinged on the successful outcome.

I
t was after seven o’clock by the time Caleb Thorne steered his black Dodge Durango through the heavy iron gates of the C&C Ranch.

His last class had ended before two, and although today marked only the first day of the semester, his office had seen a steady flow of foot traffic from students seeking everything from academic counseling to career advice. There had been a few “suspect” visitors, girls who seemed more interested in perfecting their come-hither looks than actually tapping into Caleb’s legal expertise.

Afterward he’d hung around a little longer than his scheduled office hours dictated, telling himself his reasons had nothing whatsoever to do with a certain dark-eyed, exotic beauty whose image had invaded his thoughts more times than he cared to admit.

Scowling, Caleb shoved aside the unsettling reminder and downshifted. The sturdy rig climbed uphill, the grind of wheels against gravel sending clouds of dust through the open windows. Once outside city limits, Caleb never ran the air conditioner. He preferred—no,
needed
—to soak it all in as he drove: the scent of earth and pine from the mountains, the call of elk grazing in pastures so lush and green they seemed artificial, the shimmering hues of ponds and lakes he knew firsthand were stocked with largemouth bass and black catfish.

Crandall Thorne had purchased the property years ago, long before South Texas brush country was discovered by out-of-state billionaires seeking a recreational paradise in what many considered the last frontier. The invasion of affluent buyers and investors had driven up the price of the ranches, so that even Crandall Thorne would have been hard-pressed to afford the Hill Country home he now claimed as his primary residence.

Caleb slowed the Durango as the road steepened in elevation, and after several more minutes his father’s sprawling estate rolled into view. Built of stucco and covered with red-tiled Spanish roofs, the hacienda-style ranch was situated atop a five-hundred-foot bluff that boasted stunning panoramic views of the surrounding valley. The property included three barns, three silos specifically for storing grain and feed, two outbuildings and a large roping arena. The main house had six bedrooms with wood-burning fireplaces, a large great room, a guest wing separated from the family living areas and featuring its own private porch and three detached garages.

Caleb nosed his truck into an unoccupied unit and killed the engine. Bypassing the front door entirely—and knowing he’d catch hell for it from his father’s longtime housekeeper, Rita—Caleb headed straight toward the covered patio spanning the rear of the house.

He knew Crandall Thorne would be waiting for him, seated in his favorite Adirondack chair facing east of the mountain range, where he wouldn’t miss the setting sun. After twenty-five years of pouring blood, sweat and tears into building a successful law practice, Crandall Thorne had finally learned to appreciate sunsets.

It was amazing how a brush with mortality could change a man.

“Didn’t know if you’d be coming today.” Crandall Thorne spoke without glancing over his shoulder.

Caleb crossed the stained-concrete patio to claim the chair next to his father’s. “Might be the only chance I’ll get this week,” he replied, “now that the semester has started.”

Crandall nodded slowly. His profile displayed craggy brows sprinkled with salt and pepper to match the full thatch of hair on his head. Dark eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate revealed the shrewdness of a man who missed nothing and had seen just about everything in his lifetime, a shrewdness that had served him well both in and out of the courtroom. His nose was strong, almost aristocratic, and a neatly trimmed mustache framed firm, no-nonsense lips. Whether seated at the head of a boardroom or lounging on his patio, Crandall Thorne exuded an innate confidence and power that was hard to reckon with. Few tried.

Caleb had always been the exception.

“How many classes are you teaching this semester?” his father asked. A thick afghan was draped across his lap to ward off the evening chill, a concession he’d made only to keep the women of his household—the housekeeper, cook and a private nurse—off his back while he enjoyed the outdoors.

“Three,” answered Caleb, stretching out his long, booted legs. “Two civil procedure classes three days a week, and a two-hour advanced criminal law course on Tuesdays.”

“I see. And what do you do with the rest of your time?”

Caleb slanted his father an amused look, knowing where this particular line of questioning would lead. “I’ve been teaching at St. Mary’s for five years. You know damned well what I do with the rest of my time.”

A grim smile curved one corner of Crandall Thorne’s mouth. “You don’t belong in academia, son. You belong in the courtroom, challenging the system and taking no prisoners. Academicians don’t have killer instincts.
You
do.”

Caleb shook his head, chuckling softly. “I know you still find this hard to believe, Dad, but I actually enjoy teaching.”

“You enjoy playing God,” Crandall corrected. “You enjoy dispensing your knowledge and wisdom and holding the fate of those kids’ futures in your hand.”

“And where would
you
be without the law professors who shared their ‘knowledge and wisdom’ with you?”

“Touché,” the old man murmured in a voice tinged with admiration for the adept comeback. He turned his head and studied Caleb’s face in the lengthening shadows of twilight. “You need a shave.”

Absently Caleb stroked a hand down his stubbled chin. “I’ll get around to it. Eventually.” A lifetime ago, when he’d worked at his father’s law firm, he’d prided himself on his impeccable appearance.
That
Caleb, with the knife-blade creases in his trousers and professionally pressed shirts, would never have gone a full day without shaving, because his father had always drilled into him the importance of setting a tone from the moment he stepped foot in the courtroom.

“You only get one shot at making a good first impression,” Crandall Thorne had lectured on numerous occasions. “You’d be surprised how much damage an untucked shirt or a cheap pair of shoes can do. Don’t do your clients a disservice by showing up to court looking any ol’ kind of way. Dress for success, and others will sit up and take notice and know that you mean business.”

Caleb’s walk-in closet at home was filled with three-piece Armani suits he hadn’t worn in years. Five years, to be exact, when he’d walked away from the firm, a lucrative career and the only way of life he’d ever known.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day when I would be reduced to running the firm from afar. Not now, not at the age of sixty-two.” Crandall’s voice was laced with the bitterness that had plagued him since being diagnosed with acute renal failure three months ago. The severity of his condition had necessitated a complete lifestyle change—the first “casualty” had been his workaholic schedule. In virulent denial, he’d sought second, third and fourth opinions, consulting the best physicians money could buy in the vain hope of receiving a different verdict. But each time he was given the same prognosis: either scale back on the workload or face the very real possibility of developing end-stage renal disease, which, in most cases, led to death.

Crandall had grudgingly submitted to his doctor’s decree, as well as the prescribed dialysis treatments, but not a day passed that he didn’t bemoan the cruel blow fate had dealt him.

“My father worked until he was eighty-five,” Crandall sullenly continued. “Never missed a day of work in his life. What would he say if he could see me now, reduced to running board meetings through a video monitor and conducting business from the confines of my own home?”

“Where I come from,” Caleb drawled sardonically, “what you’ve just described is called videoconferencing and telecommuting. Some people actually appreciate the modern conveniences made possible by living in the twenty-first century.”

“Well, I ain’t one of ’em.” A large fist clenched on the arm of the cypress chair as Crandall’s familiar anger and frustration thrummed in the air around him.

Caleb said nothing, knowing better than to offer any words of solace that would only make his father feel coddled or patronized—two things Crandall Thorne would never tolerate.

Silence lingered between father and son as daylight eased into night. From a treetop somewhere above, an eagle took flight, its piercing cry cutting across the fabric of the evening like a razor. From somewhere else, another bird of prey responded.

At length, Crandall spoke again. “I don’t have to tell you how much it would mean to me if you considered returning to the firm,” he said quietly. “Your mother would want the same thing, too.”

A muscle tightened in Caleb’s jaw. “Don’t go there, Dad,” he warned in a low voice. “You and I both know that was the last thing she would have wanted.”

Crandall turned his profile to Caleb once again and stared off into the distance at the lush, rolling terrain that surrounded them from their high perch on the mountain. His impassive expression gave nothing away and at the same time hinted at many deeper truths than those on the surface of his next words.

“You’re right,” he said simply.

Caleb made no reply, instead steering his thoughts away from the painful memories that threatened to shatter the peaceful calm of the evening.

After a few more minutes, he rose from the chair, stomping dirt and gravel from his scuffed leather boots. “I’m going inside to say hello to everyone. I know you have them under strict orders not to disturb you while you’re out here, but they won’t appreciate finding out that I was here for an entire hour without greeting them.”

“You’re right about that.” Crandall gazed up at his only son with an imploring expression he didn’t bother to disguise. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? Gloria made enough food to feed an army. I think she was hoping you’d stop by.”

Caleb hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I’ll stay. Got nothing but cold leftovers at home anyway.”

Daniela should have known she was making a mistake when she decided to walk back to her car between classes on Tuesday. The late-morning sky had turned a gunmetal-gray and the clouds seemed swollen with the threat of rain. But there’d been no mention of showers in the weather forecast, and she wanted to retrieve her cell phone from her car in case her mother, or Janie, needed to reach her for any reason.

She’d barely locked the car door behind her when she felt the first fat drops of rain. Hoisting her backpack over her head, she began sprinting for cover. But by the time she reached the Sarita Kenedy East Law Library, where she’d been headed next anyway, her fitted T-shirt and dark jeans were half-soaked. Her hot pink flip-flops made a loud squishing noise as she ducked inside the elegant, modern building.

“Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” she asked the woman seated behind the wide circulation desk.

“Around the corner to your right.”

Two boys standing nearby glanced over at Daniela and stared, their mouths hanging open before they exchanged lewd grins.

Daniela looked down at herself and grimaced. Her pink T-shirt was plastered to the front of her body, and the black lacy bra she wore was no match against the rain and the frigid temperature of the library. Her nipples puckered rebelliously against the now-translucent fabric.

Clutching her backpack protectively to her chest, Daniela headed in the direction the librarian had indicated. Head bent, shoulders hunched forward in an attempt to conceal her dilemma, she hurried around the corner and ran headlong into something solid and immovable.

Her backpack dropped to the floor as she lost her balance and stumbled backward. A pair of steely arms came up to steady her as she lifted her eyes, embarrassed, to mumble an apology. Her breath lodged in her throat when she found herself staring into the darkly handsome face of Caleb Thorne.

The apology died on her lips, and her hands stilled against his wide chest, where they’d landed during the collision. The warmth and solidness of muscled flesh beneath her splayed fingers sent heat crashing through her body.

“Miss Moreau,” he murmured in that deep, hypnotic voice that had whispered through her dreams all night long.

She swallowed hard and silently ordered herself to get a grip. She’d never be able to carry out her mission if she got tongue-tied every time the man was near. “Sorry about bumping into you, Professor Thorne. I was sort of in a hurry.”

“You don’t say.” Slowly he knelt and picked up her backpack. As he straightened, his midnight-black eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her wet T-shirt and the outline of full, rounded breasts protruding against a flimsy layer of cotton. His gaze darkened for a moment, coaxing a shiver from Daniela that had nothing to do with the cool air circulating through the building.

“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting her backpack from him. This time their fingers did not touch during the transfer.

Daniela didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Caleb glanced over the top of her head toward the windows at the front of the library. His sensuous mouth quirked at the corners. “Guess it’s raining outside.”

“Yeah,” she grumbled, cradling her soggy backpack to her chest. “You’d think those meteorologists could have given us a little warning.”

His amused gaze returned to hers. “No umbrella?”

“Left it at home.” She pushed at a lock of wet hair that fell into her right eye, and wondered if she was only imagining Caleb’s reluctance to part company with her.

As if reading her mind, he took a step backward. “I’d better let you go…dry off. See you in class tomorrow.”

“Um, yeah. Sure.”
Wait! Don’t go! It’ll only take me a few minutes to lose the drowned-rat look and make myself presentable again.

But she only turned and continued on her way to the restroom, telling herself she’d have better luck next time.

Caleb stood watching as Daniela walked away from him, damp black curls hanging heavy between her shoulder blades, clothes plastered against her hourglass body to flaunt a tiny waist that flared into an eat-your-heart-out-Beyoncé rump. The sight of her apple-round bottom and long, curvy legs poured into painted-on denim made Caleb’s mouth water. He drew in a deep, ragged breath and slowly made his way back to the table in a private corner of the library where he’d been studying before the encounter with Daniela Moreau.