banner banner banner
Ungentlemanly Behaviour
Ungentlemanly Behaviour
Оценить:
Рейтинг: 0

Полная версия:

Абонемент 399.00 ₽
Купить
Электронная книга 451.39 ₽
Купить

Ungentlemanly Behaviour

скачать книгу бесплатно


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?

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_7f04c902-00fe-565d-a6ac-53721f9b3513)

FACING the window, Abby had an excellent view of the garden, but Hallam himself sat with his back to it, throwing his face into shadow. It put her at a definite disadvantage, she decided; it would have been much better if they had both sat sideways on to the window. Had he done it deliberately?

She looked beyond him. ‘You have a nice garden, Mr Lane.’ Mundane words, but she needed to say something—anything—to dispel her inner tension. She could accept that maybe he did want to talk about Greg but there had to be something more. Otherwise why the candles and the exquisite china? Why go to all this trouble?

It could be that he was trying to find out exactly what sort of a person she was. Perhaps he thought she expected this wine-and-roses treatment. Perhaps he thought all women expected it.

She recalled her unfortunate response to his kiss that first time he’d come to her office—could she have given him the wrong impression? Had he thought then that she was any man’s for the taking? It was definitely a disquieting thought.

When she looked back at Hallam he was watching her, a faint, cynical smile playing about his lips. Abby had the troubled feeling that he was aware of every thought passing through her mind.

‘Yes, I’m extremely pleased with the way the grounds have developed,’ he said. ‘They’re very different from when I first moved in, far less austere. We can take a walk afterwards if you like and I’ll show you some of the changes I’ve had made.’

‘I don’t think so,’ answered Abby coolly. ‘I won’t be here that long—unless, of course, Greg returns, though somehow I don’t think he will. I think you’ve arranged this whole evening deliberately, though why I cannot imagine.’

A brow lifted but before he could make any response a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you ready for dinner now, Mr Lane?’

Abby gave a start of surprise. The door was behind her and she had not heard any footsteps.

‘As ready as we’ll ever be, Emily,’ he answered pleasantly.

The woman came further into the room. ‘You’re Neville Sommers’ daughter, aren’t you?’ she asked, peering at Abby closely. ‘I thought it was you the other day but I couldn’t be sure.’ She was a thin, neat woman with short grey hair and a cheerful expression.

‘That’s right. Did you know him?’ asked Abby.

‘He looked after my late husband’s affairs,’ confessed the woman. ‘You’re very much like him, do you know that? There’s no mistaking that you’re father and daughter. I was sorry to hear he had passed away; he was very good to me.’

Abby gave a wistful smile, pleased to hear this woman’s kind words. ‘I miss him a lot.’

‘And now you’ve stepped into his shoes,’ said Emily briskly. ‘Good for you, Miss Sommers. If you’re anything like your father young Greg couldn’t have chosen anyone better.’

Abby glanced at Hallam Lane out of the corner of her eye. His lips were pursed disapprovingly. ‘Food, Emily,’ he said peremptorily. ‘I’m starving.’

The woman immediately scuttled away and he looked at Abby curiously. ‘I wasn’t aware that Mrs Renfrew knew your father.’

‘Does it make any difference?’ she asked, sitting back in her chair and looking at him directly. ‘Or is the issue still that you don’t like to think I could be good at my job, especially as good as my father?’

‘I know you’re good,’ he told her surprisingly, a quirk to his eyebrow as he spoke, ‘or I would never have let Greg have his wish.’