скачать книгу бесплатно
The morning was spent on household chores, and clearing the detritus of a hectic week. Wielding a very careful paintbrush, she completed the finishing touches to the remaining windowsills and two architraves.
Strong paint fumes provided a reason to escape the house for an hour or two, and she took the car to the nearest supermarket and stocked up on essential groceries. On her return she swiftly changed into old jeans and top, and spent time tending her garden. It wasn’t a chore, for she loved the smell of freshly-turned soil, the caring work that produced a fine vegetable patch, the neatly trimmed ornamental shrubbery, and her pride…several herbs in terracotta pots.
Lisane liked to cook, and her kitchen bore all the necessary utensils needed for almost every dish in her late mother’s repertoire of fine cuisine.
Who would have thought such a serious law student would thrive on domesticity? Or choose an aged, rundown cottage instead of high-rise apartment-living?
It probably had everything to do with her inherited French gene pool, she mused as she showered and washed her hair before pulling on shorts and a fresh top, then fixing an omelette stuffed with mushrooms, chives and a hint of garlic for her evening meal.
Afterwards she slotted in a DVD, watched it to the end, then climbed into bed and fell asleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow.
Sunday morning was divided between the gym, fixing decorative borders on the walls in the guest bedroom, then adding the white embroidered bedcover with its numerous ruffles and matching pillow covers.
It looked great, the numerous sewing hours necessary in its making well worthwhile.
Initially, she’d made allowances to cover tradesmen’s expenses, for, although she could take care of the painting and most of the finishing touches, the kitchen had been in serious need of a complete overhaul and the acquisition of new electrical appliances. The bathroom and laundry also required new fittings. Electrical wiring replaced, the plumbing checked…
In many ways, it had been a mission. But now, twelve months down the track, she could honestly say she was pleased with the result, aware that the money spent had added measurably to the property’s market value.
Lisane spent the afternoon completing the remaining architraves, then she cleaned up, took her laptop out to the small table and chair set beneath a magnificent jacaranda tree and caught up on work she needed to review in preparation for the following day.
Dinner was a mixed salad and smoked salmon, a bowl of fresh fruit, and she had just finished dispensing with the dishes when her cellphone rang.
She quickly dried her hands and picked up.
‘Lisane…Solene.’
It wasn’t seven already, surely? ‘I was going to call you.’ A quick glance at her watch assured it was a few minutes past the hour. ‘How are all the wedding preparations?’
Her sister gave a faintly hollow laugh. ‘We’re contemplating an elopement.’
Lisane crossed into the lounge and sank into a comfortable chair. ‘That bad, hmm?’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’
It didn’t take three guesses to determine the source. ‘Jean-Claude’s beloved maman?’
‘Uh-huh. Two weeks before the wedding she wants to change floral arrangements for the church…again.’
Two months ago it had been orchids, only to be discarded last month for cream roses.
‘It gets worse,’ Solene lamented. ‘She thinks ivory would complement my gown, rather than pale pink, for the flower-girl, when the dressmaker has already finished the dress.’ Solene gave a heartfelt groan in despair. ‘I’m about ready to scream.’
Oh, dear. ‘You’ve tried diplomacy?’
A significantly eloquent sigh echoed down the line. ‘Been there, done that.’
Jean-Claude’s mother had taken both Lisane and Solene beneath her maternal wing when they lost their own mother a few years ago, wistfully looking upon them as the daughters she’d never had. A kindly woman, with good intentions. Except for one slight flaw…she liked to be in control.
‘It’s your wedding,’ Lisane pointed out gently.
‘Hah!’
‘Jean-Claude—’
‘Issued an ultimatum this afternoon.’
‘And?’
There was a few seconds’ silence. ‘Tears, apologies, more tears.’
She could imagine just how it went, and how distressed her sister had been. Wedding preparations should be pleasurable and exciting…not fraught with nervous tension.
‘Two more weeks, Solene, then you can relax.’
‘You think?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Your dress is gorgeous.’
They’d shared images via email, decided on colour, and as they were the same height and dress size it had been a simple matter for Solene to take Lisane’s place with fittings.
‘Can’t wait to see you.’
Solene’s faintly wistful response brought a slight lump to Lisane’s throat. ‘Me, too.’ Weekly phone calls and email contact didn’t cut it. ‘Saturday.’ She relayed her flight details, then ended the call.
Monday soon proved to be one of those days when whatever could go wrong…did.
Lisane woke late, saw the red digits blinking on her digital alarm, cursed the electrical fault through the night and hit the floor running to complete the fastest shower on record. Once dressed, she filched a cereal bar from its packet, collected her briefcase, laptop, and unlocked her garage.
She could still make it into the city on time if the traffic flow was unhindered by roadworks…
Lisane slid in behind the wheel of her VW Golf, ignited the engine, reversed out onto the street, navigated it, only to groan out loud minutes later as she saw the long stream of vehicles stretching as far as the eye could see.
When at last the endless convoy began to inch forward, no one seemed inclined to allow her to ease into the flow of traffic. Desperate measures were called for, and minutes later she made it amidst a cacophony of irate car horns accompanied by a few graphic hand gestures and mouthed blasphemy.
Why would the city council choose peak-hour traffic to conduct road repairs? Although, to be fair, this particular stretch bore heavy traffic all through the day and into the night.
She extracted her cellphone, activated the loudspeaker function and called work, notified her superior she’d be late, then continued the crawl-like pace into the central city.
Arriving late involved some serious catch-up time, and she examined the day’s agenda, liaised with the police prosecutor, went through case notes, consulted with her client prior to his appearance in court—and, despite her cleverly structured questioning of the witness, the magistrate deemed in conclusion that there was sufficient evidence for the case to be heard in a higher court before a judge and jury at a future date.
It wasn’t the result her client had hoped for, but, given his prior conviction and the strength of the witness’s testimony, she could only reiterate fact and arrange a debriefing consultation.
Lunch was a chicken and salad sandwich followed by fresh fruit eaten at her desk, after which she made several phone calls and outlined pertinent points on her case notes prior to a late-afternoon consultation with a solicitor and his client, involving documented injuries incurred in an accident, which should conclude in a reasonable financial settlement for the client.
It was after five when Lisane saved all data to disk, closed down her laptop and pushed paperwork into her briefcase.
Home sounded good. She’d shower, don comfortable clothes, eat, then put in a few hours reviewing documentation in regard to a consultation scheduled for the following day.
An hour later she checked the contents of her refrigerator, decided she wasn’t in the mood for food just yet and crossed to the small second bedroom which housed a desk, bookshelves filled with law books, her sewing machine and a dressmaker’s dummy bedecked in a partly finished gown.
She could already ‘see’ the completed garment, the total picture with stiletto heels and evening bag, and her fingers began to itch as she viewed the soft drape of silk chiffon.
It wouldn’t take much…
Within minutes she was attaching the requisite tacking, and she soon became lost to everything but the artistry of creation as she fed the chiffon carefully through the machine.
The thin spaghetti straps required a steady hand, and she measured the length, then fitted both.
There was immense satisfaction in the knowledge that only the fine hand-stitching remained, and she switched off the machine then stretched her arms high to ease the slight kink in her shoulders.
Food seemed a sensible option, and she fixed a tuna salad, filched bottled water from the refrigerator and ate while scanning the day’s newspaper headlines.
It was after nine when she opened her briefcase and began reading documentation.
At some stage the burr of her cellphone intruded, and she picked up to discover Zac on the line.
‘Hi.’
His soft chuckle curled round her nerve-ends and tugged a little. ‘You sound distracted. Bad day?’
‘It could have been better.’
There was a slight pause. ‘Want to talk about it?’
What was the point? ‘Not really.’
She could almost see the way his deep brown eyes darkened, the hard acceptance beneath a degree of cynicism. Criminal law dealt on occasion with the underbelly of society, people who possessed few if any scruples and some who committed unspeakable acts.
‘All we can do is our best.’
Lisane gave a slight grimace. ‘And when the best isn’t good enough?’
‘For whom? The client whose prior record makes him a threat to the community?’
It wasn’t about winning, but representing the law within the parameters of a legal system designed to seek justice for all.
Her lips curved into a faint smile. ‘OK, now you’ve made me feel better…how was your day?’
‘I could come tell you in person.’
She was tempted. Seriously tempted. Terrific sex, and afterwards strong, warm arms to cradle her close. For a moment the image was overwhelming, and she queried lightly, ‘Are you waiting for an invitation?’
‘No.’
A bubble of laughter escaped her throat at the faint mockery in his voice, and she voiced teasingly, ‘See you in fifteen.’
Fourteen, Lisane determined as headlights threw a sweeping beam across the front of her cottage, followed seconds later by the faint snick of a car door closing.
Lisane met him on the front porch, her eyes wide and faintly luminous in the dimmed light as he framed her face.
His mouth brushed hers, felt her lips part in welcome, and he angled his head and went in deep, savouring the taste and the scent of her. Wanting, needing her warmth, her touch.
Dammit, all of her.
He was aware of her arms reaching to encircle his neck, and felt her fingers weave into the thickness of his hair, sensed their soothing movement against his scalp and he feathered a light path down the length of her spine to cup her bottom, bringing her against the thick hardness of his desire.
He could take her now, dispense with her clothes, his own…the effect she had on him was a sorcery both sweet and carnal.
For a moment he’d neglected to remember where they were, clearly visible in the dim porch light to anyone who chanced a look.
Zac eased back a little, and reluctantly relinquished her mouth as he leant his forehead against her own.
She was incapable of saying a word as he shaped her shoulders, then he let his hands slide down her arms to thread his fingers through her own.
‘Let’s take this indoors, hmm?’
The cottage design was simple. A wide hallway separated the lounge on one side from the main bedroom opposite. From there the hallway opened into a large living area, with two small bedrooms to the left. The kitchen, bathroom and utility room stretched across the rear of the cottage.
Silently she turned at his direction and together they entered the hallway and closed the door behind them.
Zac lifted a hand and trailed fingers down her cheek. ‘Are you done with work for the night?’
It would be easy to say yes, only for honesty to win out. ‘Not quite.’
His thumb pressed against the centre of her lower lip, and his smile held a tinge of amusement as he released her. ‘I’ll go make coffee.’
Lisane watched him turn towards the kitchen, and she let her gaze linger on the wide expanse of shoulder, aware of the powerful musculature beneath the fine chambray shirt. The taut waist and the tight butt moulded by figure-fitting black jeans.
Just looking at him made her heart rhythm accelerate to a faster beat. And that was only part of it! Her nerves flared and took on a life of their own, almost humming with the anticipation of his touch…his possession.
To be so attuned to him scared her a little. It was as if he was a part of her, attached but not bound.
There were times when she could tell what he was thinking, predict how he would react in a given situation.
Then just as she thought she could read him, he would surprise her…as he did now.
Coffee?
He’d disappear calmly into the kitchen and do coffee, when she could have sworn he’d sweep an arm beneath her knees and carry her into the bedroom?
Sure, she could follow him, wind her arms round his neck, pull his face down to hers…and invite him to continue from where he’d left off.
It was what she wanted to do.
Instead she settled down, found her place in the documentation and continued reading, pausing occasionally to make notes.
