The Hamiltons: Laws of Love

“You’re one to talk.”

“Hypocrisy is my middle name.”

That got him. He grinned. She grinned back. The moment lengthened into an interlude so delicious it was almost unbearable.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He thought about how his day started in the usual manner―yawn worthy―and how exciting she’d made it when he least expected it. He thought about how interesting and beautiful she was, and how she’d already made him smile more this morning than he had in the past week or so, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

She intrigued him more than any woman he’d met in a long time.

A long time.

What if he hadn’t literally stumbled on to her here in Starbucks?

What if his attraction was one-sided?

He didn’t think so, though. Her eyes were too bright and her color too high.

And he’d been around long enough to know when a woman responded to him.

She turned away first, running an unsteady hand through her hair. “Well...”

He cleared his throat, which felt tight with a sudden longing that was all out of proportion with the occasion. Sharing coffee and a breakfast treat with a complete stranger shouldn’t tie him up in knots, he knew, no matter how sexy she was.

Tell that to his raging hormones.

“Well,” he said.

With her head bent low, she flipped a couple pages forward in her book, and then flipped back again. Ultimately, she pushed away the book and pulled the laptop closer, tapping a couple keys. He had the idea she was as flustered as he was, which made him feel a whole lot better, because he was a sudden mass of nerves, desire and uncertainty.

“I should get back to studying.” She tipped up her face just enough for him to see deepening frown lines between her brows. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

Ah, man. Was he a jerk, or what? He rolled his shoulders, trying to release some of his spiking tension. “Sorry. I’m saying that to you a lot, aren’t I?”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “It was fun talking to you. But the being-knocked-on-my-butt part? Not so fun.”

He snorted out a laugh.

“But I liked the scone. Thanks for introducing me to something new.”

He slid back his chair with a loud scrape that echoed his frustration. “I’ll just...go on back to my own table and leave you in peace.”

“Give a yell if you get lost.”

The teasing undid him. He wanted more of it. More of her.

The words came out in a rush. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Her head came up, and she hit him with that intense gaze and eyes that were round and shocked. “Excuse me?”

His hopes crashed and burned via a sickening swoop in his belly. “I knew it. You’re with someone, aren’t you?”

“What? No, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Do you?”

“Dinner is always a good idea. You have food, maybe some wine, you get nourishment—it’s great.”

“Don’t you think both our lives are complicated enough without rocking the boat?”

“I thrive on complications.”

“I don’t, though,” she said flatly. “I thrive on smooth sailing.”

Jake took a minute to regroup, thinking hard. He’d asked her out, she’d said no, end of story. He wasn’t in the habit of begging women to be with him, and his pride wouldn’t let him start now. She wasn’t the only woman in Philly, and if she wasn’t interested in him, well, then screw her. Her loss.

So why did he feel like the biggest loser? Why did he have the uncomfortable certainty that something special was slipping through his fingers?

He stared at her, trying to manage his disappointment. “How can I change your mind? I’m just talking dinner here. You have my permission to walk out on me if you’re not having fun. You can duck into the ladies’ room and never come back.”

For a minute, she wavered, dimpling, and he thought he had her.

But then her expression hardened and she shook her head. “I’m not going out with you. You shouldn’t even be asking me.” She gave him a little wave. “Buh-bye.”

Shouldn’t even be asking?

Okay. Why was he getting the feeling he was missing something?

“Why shouldn’t I be ask—”

“Wow,” said a new voice. A mocking female voice, to be exact. “Some things never change, do they? I should have known.”

Hang on. He knew that voice. Jake looked up and— Aah, shit.

Speaking of unneeded complications.

“Avery.” He kept his expression cool. “What’re you doing here?”

Avery, a pretty brunette he’d met at the gym and with whom he’d shared a couple—no, three—memorable interludes at her place, loomed over the table. Apparently she’d also just come from working out, because she had a duffel slung over her shoulder and was wearing shorts and a sports top.

She looked pissed. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips were thin and one manicured hand was firmly planted on a hip. The killing glare she leveled on him warned that she’d be overturning tables and kicking asses in a minute.

His gorgeous companion, meanwhile, had a single brow raised and was watching for his reaction.

“I stopped in for some juice,” Avery said. “But while I’m here, maybe you could explain why you haven’t been returning my texts. Is she the reason? What am I saying? Of course she is.”

A couple nearby heads swiveled in their direction, probably because Avery’s volume was on the increase. As always, when someone was upset, he kept his tone low and reasonable.

“Avery, I told you I wouldn’t be seeing you anymore,” he reminded her.

“No, jackass. What you said was that you were busy at work and would call me in a few days. That was three weeks ago.”

His conscience squirmed guiltily. That did sound like something he’d say.

He opened his mouth with no real idea of how he could smooth things over.

Avery saved him the trouble by dumping her cup of juice in his lap.

Iced juice.

Yelping, he leaped to his feet, dimly aware of the gasps and snickers all around him. Ashley the barista, in particular, gave a loud snort, which he did not appreciate.

Ah, but Avery wasn’t done with him yet.

“Great glasses,” Avery said to Gorgeous. “Dolce & Gabbana?”

Gorgeous, looking startled, touched her frames. “Uh, yes. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Avery hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and gave the woman a rueful smile. “Let me give you a piece of advice, girlfriend. This one?” She jabbed a finger in Jake’s direction; he winced. “He’s good for about three orgasms for about three nights.”

“Avery,” he growled.

“So enjoy it while it lasts,” Avery continued. “But don’t get your feelings involved. Okay? Gotta go, people. Bye.”

Avery wheeled around and swept through the glass door—thank the Good Lord—but the damage was done. Not that he’d been on firm footing with Gorgeous anyway.

Looking grim, she was gathering up her books and laptop and cramming them back into her bag with jerky movements. “I’m leaving, too.”

Fully aware of how ridiculous he looked with the juice stain down his crotch, he tried to do some major damage control. If she walked out of here now, he was certain both that he’d never see her again and that her memory would haunt him for a good long time.

“That’s never happened to me before,” he said quickly.

“Right,” she said, yanking her bag’s zipper closed. “Whatever you say.”

“I know that looked bad,” he continued, lowering his voice because he was anxious not to give the avid onlookers anything else to laugh about, “but we never had a, uh, real relationship. We just, uh, hooked up.”

“It’s none of my business.”

She turned to go. He gave it one last shot. That was his nature. He fought for the important things in life. And he knew, on some instinctual and inexplicable level, that she was important.

“Wait,” he called after her, not caring who was listening. What was a little more humiliation on top of what he’d already endured? “At least tell me your name.”

She swung back around and gaped at him with more horror than he thought was necessary under the circumstances. “Oh, my God. You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

He froze, thinking hard and fast.

Had they met before? And, if so, how could he ever have forgotten her?

“No,” he admitted. “Who are you?”

Her eyes, which were now a definite and stormy gray, flashed so much ice at him that he felt his veins constrict with the cold.

“Someone you’ll never be hooking up with, buddy. You can count on that.”

Chapter 2

This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

Charlotte Evans tried to regulate her panicked breathing the following Monday morning, which wasn’t easy while sprinting up the back staircase of Hamilton, Hamilton and Clark. In a pencil skirt and heels.

She should be sitting at her cubicle on the lower level―affectionately known as The Dungeon—of the law firm’s redbrick building, with all the other typing pool peons. She should be keeping her head down and tapping out ninety words per minute so that the work in her inbox didn’t continue to multiply until it smothered her.

Now was no time for a personal crisis.

The appellate brief she was currently working on needed to be filed with the Third Circuit by noon.

N-O-O-N. Which was―she checked her watch―less than three hours from now. Three short hours! How in God’s name was she going to decipher all the microscopic red edits by then? And how was she going to finish―

Later for that alarming thought. Reaching the firm’s reception area, which was on the fourth floor, she took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt and crept through the heavy fire door.

As usual, the stately leather and mahogany made her feel like a clumsy little kid again, as though her mother would show up and smack away her hands if she touched anything too expensive or precious. Which was pretty much anything in the reception area, where clients had their first impression of the firm. There were oversize windows framed by striped silk drapes, potted palms in every corner, Oriental lamps and rugs that probably cost more than her beat-up used car was worth, and a crystal chandelier that sparkled like flawless diamonds against the carved ceiling moldings.

Meredith, the receptionist, gatekeeper and queen of all she surveyed up here, sat at her post behind the granite counter. Her headset was in place and her phone-answering voice was singsong perfect.

“Good morning. Thank you for calling Hamilton, Hamilton and Clark,” she was murmuring into her mic. “How may I direct your call?”

The only thing out of place on this floor that showcased the extreme elegance of one of Philadelphia’s most prestigious law firms, Charlotte thought, was―

“Mommy!”

Right over there. The two-year-old boy taking the M&M’s out of the Waterford crystal candy jar on the nearest coffee table and alternately eating them and hiding them in the dried moss in one of the palm’s pots.

Wonderful.

“Hi, cutie.” Grinning and stooping, she caught Harry, her shrieking son, as he sprinted across the seating area. “Shhh,” she told him, even though she knew it was a useless exercise, because Harry only had one volume, which was loud, and one speed, which was fast. “We use our quiet voice and walking feet at Mommy’s work, okay?”

“I am using my quiet voice!” Harry informed her, his gray eyes wide and affronted.

Ignoring the disapproving glance from Meredith, who was still talking into her headset and pushing buttons on her phone, Charlotte settled Harry on her hip and gave him a discreet mother’s once-over.

The first thing she noticed, due to the telltale area of flattened black curls in the back, was that his hair hadn’t been combed. So that was a demerit right there. On the plus side, he’d brushed his teeth. On the minus side, though, he was sporting dried toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. Oh, and a swath of what looked like dried syrup on one chipmunk cheek. Nice.

Continuing on to the clothes front, there was bad news: he was wearing his Bugs Bunny pajamas. With the feet. Which might explain why his Velcro gym shoes were on the wrong feet, but, then again, might not.

The bottom line? Her adorable and generally clean son had returned from a night with his father looking like a refugee.

Typical.

Still, this two-year-old ragamuffin was the love of her life, and she was glad to see him, even if this was a very bad time. Nuzzling his chubby little face, she turned to his father, whom she was not glad to see.

Roger Miller stood there in blue scrubs and athletic shoes, furiously thumbing buttons on his smartphone.

Also typical.

For the last year of their relationship, which had ended about a year ago, the only parts of Roger she’d seen were the top of his head as he texted and answered emails, and the back of him, as he left to go back to the hospital, which was the love of his life.

She was not in the mood for waiting for the oh-so-important surgical resident to acknowledge her, but she hid her irritation behind a pleasant voice for Harry’s sake.

“What’s going on, Roger? You know I’m working.”

Lowering the phone, he glanced up at her with those brown eyes and managed to look moderately rueful. “I know, but I’m on call, and they called me. I have to get to the hospital in half an hour and scrub in. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But, Roger,” she said, as sweetly as she could with her spiking temper, “I’m also working. As you can see.”

He waved a hand. “Why can’t you get one of the other secretaries to cover for you until you can take him to day care after lunch? How big a deal could that be?”

Okay. Forget sweet.

“A very big deal.”

They glared at each other across the top of Harry’s head, and then Meredith intervened.

“I’m going to the kitchen for a snack,” she called over the counter. “Does anyone out there want a cookie?”

“Me!” Vaulting out of Charlotte’s arms like an Olympic gymnast in training, Harry ran across the reception area on his tiny little mismatched feet and took Meredith’s hand when she offered it to him. “And I want a double cappuccino iced tea, too!”

Meredith’s laughter disappeared down the long hallway to the kitchen. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Meredith,” Charlotte called.

Meredith waved.

Charlotte turned back to Roger and took a long minute to wrestle her temper under control. They were a team, and she needed to remember that. A united team with a single crucial goal: to raise Harry into a happy and contributing member of society. As a team, they needed to negotiate and compromise, and as a mother, she needed to not throttle her baby daddy.

No matter how hard said baby daddy made it on her at times.

“I can’t take him right now, Roger.”

A look of absolute befuddlement crossed over Roger’s features, giving Charlotte the feeling that she’d really challenged his imagination by suggesting that anything about her lowly job could matter to anyone.

There went her self-esteem, slipping another several notches.

As though Jake Hamilton hadn’t done enough of a job on it the other day by not remembering her from work. The whole time they were chatting it up at Starbucks, he’d had no idea that she was one of his employees.

None.

True, they worked on separate floors and had only interacted, in passing, at the firm’s occasional staff appreciation luncheons. He wasn’t involved in the firm’s hiring process and had probably never had the need to come to the catacombs, where she worked. True, she hadn’t laid eyes on him in several months, probably since the last staff Christmas party, and then only from a distance across the crowded conference room.

But, still.

How could she feel good about herself when she’d made such a non-impression on him? When she recognized not only him, but all the other Hamiltons who worked at the firm, because she made it her business to know the faces of the people who put food on her table? The bottom line was that she’d been here at the firm for years and he didn’t recognize her or know that he and his family were her employers.

He did not, in short, know her from Adam or Eve.

Yeah. That had been a swift kick to the solar plexus. Especially because she was so exquisitely aware of who he was and had been since the second she first laid eyes on him. She’d been a brand-new employee the day that he strode out of the elevator and gave her a crisp nod as she was getting on.

She’d been stunned.

What woman wouldn’t be?

And now, two days after their interlude at Starbucks, she was still deflated and agitated, her poor stupid head filled with images of the unexpected heat she’d seen in Jake’s eyes, and Jake probably hadn’t given her a second thought. He’d probably hooked up with Ashley the barista, Avery the disgruntled sex buddy, or any one of the dozens of women he probably kept dangling at any given time.

The jerk.

A sexy jerk, yeah, but still a jerk.

Anyway, the issue now wasn’t Jake Hamilton, or how much he’d seemed into her the other day, or how he’d asked her out to dinner, or how he was, in fact, nothing but an inveterate player who’d probably only hit on her at Starbucks because it was a reflex with him, like coughing when his throat was dry.

The issue was her self-esteem, which had been in a steady decline for ages, ever since she told Roger about her accidental pregnancy (ripped condom) and saw the look of absolute horror on his face. It was as though the only thing worse than having an unplanned baby at that point in his life was having an unplanned baby with her.

Then there’d been the breakup, which wasn’t quite as brutal as the one in that old movie The War of the Roses but had been tough nonetheless. Then they’d gone to court to establish everyone’s parental responsibilities, and then she’d shelved her plans to go to law school full-time because she had to also work and support a child.

Roger, meanwhile, had blithely continued with his education and career because his daddy had more money than God and was happy to foot the bill.

Must be nice, eh?

Now she was a typing drone in the secretarial pool, a single mother juggling diapers, toddler tantrums, unscheduled illnesses and pediatric visits, and a part-time law student managing a class a semester. He, on the other hand, was deep into his residency and well on his way to becoming a real-life Dr. McDreamy.

Not that she was bitter, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. Much.

But at the rate she was going, he’d be a millionaire with a thriving practice and his first yacht while she was still trying to finish a first-year law student’s course load.

Was it any wonder she felt invisible half the time?

Well, she was sick of it. Sick of being a second-class citizen—and an invisible one, at that. If she didn’t stand up for herself and her needs, who would? Roger? Please.

She was tired of being a doormat, and it was going to stop.

Right now.

Roger seemed to have given up on trying to understand how her job was relevant, and moved on to the only important thing in any conversation, as far as he was concerned: his wants and needs and any petty annoyances that might inconvenience him.

“Why can’t you call your mother to come pick Harry up?” he asked, a note of challenge in his voice now.

“Well, first of all, since today is your day with Harry, it’s your responsibility to care for him. Not mine,” she reminded him. He scowled. “Second, even if I wanted to call her, my mother is in doctor’s appointments and physical therapy for most of the day.”

“Shit,” Roger muttered, mostly to himself. “What am I going to do now?”

His narcissism was really amazing, she thought. True and pure, as unadulterated as winter’s first snow.

“Mom’s doing pretty well, by the way. Thanks for asking. She has much more energy after the heart procedure.”

Roger’s lips thinned with growing annoyance. “Glad to hear it. I always liked her.”

“Right.” She checked her watch and saw how much of her precious time had ticked away. That brief wasn’t going to type itself. Not to mention the fact that this was the floor Jake Hamilton worked on, and the longer she hung out here, the greater her chances of running into him, which would be awkward, to say the least. So she and Roger needed to wrap this up so she could go back to the basement, where she belonged.

“You need to take Harry and go, okay? Drop him off at your mother’s or something. She’s always glad to see—”

“I can’t,” Roger said flatly. “I don’t want to interrupt her spa day. You’ll have to—”

Sentences that began with you’ll have to always ended badly. It was a rule.

Accordingly, she marched up to Roger and got in his face. So much for being a team.

“Kindly do not tell me what I need to do,” she began, keeping her voice low, because he would not reduce her to a banshee here at her place of employment. Thank God there was no one else around at the moment to see this developing scene; the last thing she needed was gossip. She always took great pains to keep her private life private, and the other staff would have a field day with any little tidbit about her personal life. “You need to call in to the hospital and tell them that—”

Roger loomed over her, his features contorted with anger. “I can’t just—”

“Is there a problem?” asked a cool male voice behind her.

Oh, God.

Charlotte stiffened with sudden paralysis, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach like a stone, probably landing somewhere deep in Philly’s sewer system.

She knew that voice. That voice belonged to the absolute last person she wanted to see. That voice, like the person who owned it, was nothing but trouble.

Roger’s arrogant gaze flickered past her shoulder, and his voice, when he spoke, was so condescending that she wanted to dropkick him into next year.

“I don’t believe anyone asked for your input, my brother.”

Apparently Jake Hamilton felt the same way about harming Roger. His frigid tone, when he responded, was like being assaulted with ice chards.

“I’m afraid you’re getting my input, my brother. Since you’re standing in my building and badgering a woman, you’ll be getting a lot of my input.”

Roger’s face turned a blotchy and angry purple.

Uh-oh.

“It’s okay,” Charlotte said quickly, trying to defuse the situation before these two badasses decided to take their dispute outside or something. Embracing her inner coward, she kept her back to Jake and hoped he didn’t recognize her voice. “We were just having a—”

That was as far as she got before Jake swooped in, clamped a hand on her upper arm and spun her to face him. She spluttered a protest; he ignored it. His intent gaze locked in on her face, skating over all her features as though he needed to double- and triple-check to make sure it was really her, and his emotions were raw and as readable as a Times Square billboard.

Surprise. Excitement. Wide-eyed delight.

“It’s you,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted, trying to calm her racing pulse.

Charlotte knew better than to let this man under her skin. Well, farther under her skin, anyway. She knew he wasn’t for her under any circumstances. He was one of her bosses, for one. He was a womanizer, for another. Most importantly, she had a child to raise, a mother with dicey health to care for, a law degree to finish and no time for nonsense.

A fling with a man who, from all appearances, flirted with anything with boobs, definitely qualified as nonsense.

Duh.

And yet, as she stared into the vivid brown flash of his eyes and saw the color rise over his cheekbones, it was hard to remember any of her concerns.

Jake Hamilton was breathtaking.

On Saturday, he’d been boyish and accessible, his loose-limbed body tall, muscular and athletic in those knit shorts and shirt. She’d been arrested by the span of his shoulders, the sinew of his arms and legs and the unmistakable roundness of his butt.