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“Have you been crying on my brother’s shoulder?” he asked suddenly.
She sat down heavily, gaping at him. “Sir?”
“You heard me. He asked me this morning if I minded letting up on you.”
Her chin came up. “I slay my own dragons,” she returned. “I don’t need help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered? Yesterday I was a frog, today I’m a dragon...”
“I didn’t call you a frog, Mr. Cole,” she reminded him.
“At any rate, that’s the wrong fairy tale. I’ve got something in mind for you, Cinderella,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened, and he made an impatient sound. “Good God, I’m not that desperate for a woman,” he growled, and she flushed angrily. “At any rate, this isn’t the time to discuss it. Take a letter, Miss Dean...”
It took only fifteen minutes to finish the dictation, but she was almost shaking when she started out the door.
“Just a minute,” Regan said behind her, his voice curt to the point of rudeness. “Denny’s taking Friday off. Did he mention it to you?”
She swallowed. “Yes, he did.”
“Then presumably he told you why?” he added with narrowed eyes.
She only nodded.
“I’ll be out of the office for a couple of days. But I’ll expect you here Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp. We’re going to talk.”
“About what?” she asked curtly.
“Well, Miss Dean,” he said, leaning back again with his lips pursed, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’d like those letters as soon as they’re typed. I have a case this morning.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and forced herself to walk out without asking any more questions.
Denny was sympathetic when she told him that Regan wouldn’t let her off.
“I guess it’s that criminal case he’s handling.” He sighed. “Well, that’s the breaks,” he added with a sheepish grin. “We tried.”
“We tried,” she agreed, and her eyes clung lovingly to his handsome face. It was so pleasant to sit and look at him, to be with him. Oh, if only she were beautiful like Margo.
“By the way,” he said, “would you call the florist and have them send Margo a dozen red roses?”
She jotted it down, keeping her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see the sudden pain in them. “Red, hmmm?” she teased, putting up a brave front.
“Red, for love.” He laughed. “She’s a tiger, my Margo. Spicy and passionate, every man’s dream.”
“Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” she murmured, and stiffened as she waited for the answer.
He sighed, toying with a pencil on the desk blotter. “That would depend on the lady,” he murmured. “She’s not much for cages. But speaking for myself, I’m more than ready to put a ring on her finger. I’ve never known anyone like her.”
She wanted to scream and throw things. Instead, she smiled and reminded him about a letter they needed to get out on a case that they’d just won. He grinned and started dictating. And if his secretary’s face was strained and paler than usual, he didn’t notice.
Chapter Two
She wore the frontier outfit deliberately Friday morning just to irritate Regan, because she knew he didn’t like it. If he thought he was going to dominate her like he dominated everything and everybody else around him, he had another think coming.
She hung up her light coat and turned on her computer, grumbling steadily. Since Denny was out of the office—she didn’t want to think about where—she’d have to get the mail only for Regan. But he’d want it yesterday, so she headed for the door and in her haste almost collided with Regan, who was coming through it.
He lifted a bushy eyebrow at the quick rush of color that tinted her high cheekbones.
“Do you do it deliberately?” he asked her, unblinking, unsmiling, blocking her path with his cowhide attaché case.
“Do what...deliberately?” she asked.
“Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”
It was the first time she’d ever raised her hand to a man in her life. But she took a swing at him with all her frustration and wounded pride behind it.
He caught her wrist before she connected, jerking her back into the office and booting the door closed with his foot. Without breaking stride, ignoring her faint struggles, he half dragged her into his own office and slammed the door behind them.
She felt the clasp of his fingers with a sense of wonder at the new, unfamiliar sensations his touch was causing. She’d never tingled like that. Perhaps it was temper, but then why was her breathing so shallow? She disliked the surge of emotion, and her eyes narrowed angrily as she glared up at him.
He dropped the attaché case on the floor and caught her other wrist as well, just holding her there in front of him until she stopped struggling and stood still, panting with smothered rage.
When he saw that she was through swinging, he dropped her wrists and glared down his formidable nose at her.
“If you ever lift your hand to me again, it’ll be the last time,” he warned in his courtroom voice, deep and cold.
Her lower lip trembled briefly with the suppressed hatred that filled her stiff body. “If you ever insult me like that again, it’ll be the last time, too, counselor,” she tossed back, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll walk out the door, and you can find some stacked blonde with knee-deep cleavage to replace me, and see if she can type your contracts and your briefs and your petitions in between polishing her nails!”
“Calm down, Kenna,” he said after a minute. “Sit down, honey.”
He pushed her gently down into a big leather armchair and perched himself on the edge of the huge polished wood desk. He gave her time to gather herself together, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep draw.
“Don’t call me honey,” she bit off.
“Denny does. So do half the attorneys who walk in that door. Why not me?”
“Because...” She stared up at him, her lips parting as she tried to picture Regan ever saying the word and meaning it, with his dark eyes blazing with passion. Her own thoughts embarrassed her and she caught a deep breath, looking at his black leather shoes instead. “Oh, never mind.”
“He’s getting involved with Margo,” he said quietly. “And I don’t just mean involved in bed. It looks as if he’s thinking about marriage, and I don’t want him married to her.”
She felt sick all over again as he confirmed what Denny had already admitted. Denny, married! The thought was more than she could bear.
“Stop looking like the heroine of a Victorian melodrama, for God’s sake.” He spoke so sharply that she sat straight up. “He isn’t married yet!”
“How are you going to stop him?” she asked miserably.
“I’m not. You are.”
She blinked. “Excuse me, I’m always dim before I’ve had my morning coffee and my supply of razor blades.”
His mouth tugged up, a rare show of amusement that made her feel strange when she saw it. “You’re going to save him from Margo.”
She cocked her head and studied him blatantly. “You don’t look like the fairy godmother to me, Mr. Internationally Famous Trial Lawyer. And I don’t have a pumpkin to my name. And if you’ll take a good, long look at me several things will immediately occur to you. The first is that I’m drab,” she admitted painfully, “the second is that I have no looks to speak of and the third is that I’ve been here almost two years and the most intimate thing your brother has ever said to me is, ‘Kenna, how about a cup of coffee?’”
He didn’t laugh. He took another draw from the cigarette, and his eyes were busy, bold and slow as they took her apart from the face down.
“Taking inventory?” she muttered.
“In a manner of speaking.” His eyes fell on the too-ruffled blouse. “Do you wear a bra?”
She caught her breath at the sheer impudence of the question.
“And do, please, try not to faint while you’re thinking up an answer, Cinders,” he said with a mocking smile. “I’m trying to find out if you’re naturally flat-chested, or if you simply overlook the fact that breasts need support to be noticed.”
Her face was bloodred and she stood up. “Mr. Cole...”
“My housekeeper calls me that.” He caught her shoulder and jerked her against him, bending her arm back so that she was helpless. “Tell me, or I’ll find out for myself,” he threatened, and his free hand came up to hover over her blouse.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she squeaked. “All right, I don’t wear one!”
He let her go, watching with amusement as she hid behind the chair and then gaped at him over it.
“Are you crazy?” she burst out.
“No, but you sure as hell are repressed,” he replied. “Twenty-five, isn’t it?”
“We aren’t all wildly permissive,” she said, choking.
“I begin to get the picture.” He nodded. “Not much of a social life, I’ll bet.”
“I date!” she threw back.
He blinked. “Date what? You don’t look as if you’ve ever been kissed...or did you think that would get you pregnant?” he asked with an outrageous smile.
She glanced at the trash can, measuring it for his head. He followed her gaze and chuckled softly.
“Go ahead, honey,” he dared her in a soft voice. “Try it.”
“I wish I were a man—I’d cream you!” she burst out.
“Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?” he asked casually. “Men aren’t supposed to be superior anymore. Come on, honey, throw a punch at me.”
“Do I look stupid?” she asked, taking in the sheer size of the man. “On second thought, if I were a man, I wouldn’t come at you with anything less than a bazooka!”
“That might be wise,” he agreed. He leaned back against the desk, unusually attractive in his navy blue pinstripe suit. She always noticed his clothes; he had a flair for picking styles and colors that gave him a towering elegance.
“Anyway,” he continued, bending to crush out his cigarette, an action that strained the material across his muscular arms and his broad back, “what I have in mind is transforming you.”
She stared at him warily. “I’m not sure I want to be transformed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do.” He glanced up and down at what he could see of her figure behind the tall chair. “First order of business is going to be a haircut. I know long hair is supposed to be sexy, but yours looks like barbed wire most of the time.”
“Oh, you’re just great for my ego,” she ground out.
“And the second order of business is a bra,” he continued, unabashed, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you know that the worst thing you can do is sag?”
“There’s not enough of me to sag,” she said miserably, avoiding his eyes.
“I’d bet there is,” he returned, not unkindly. “You’re tall, and you have nice legs. You have a natural elegance of carriage that could work well for you. And with the right makeup, the right clothes...” He pursed his lips, nodding. “I think you might be more than enough to catch my brother’s wandering eye.”
“You’ve forgotten something,” she advised.
He cocked a bushy eyebrow. “What? Your teeth are all right,” he began.
“Oh, thanks, and they’re all my own, too!”
He chuckled softly. “You’ll do. Well? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life, or do you want to take a chance?”
“I can’t,” she said, exasperated, as she came reluctantly around the chair. “What you’re talking about costs money, and I’m not independently wealthy. All I have is my salary, and out of it has to come my rent, utilities, groceries, clothes...”
“I’ll take care of it,” he told her.
“Like fun you will,” she tossed back, her eyes flaring up.
“I said I’ll take care of it,” he replied. “It was my idea, and it’s my brother I’m trying to save from that Latin temptress. I don’t want a money-hungry tramp in my family.”
“No, you’d rather have a secretary with no money, no connections, no social position...”
“Do I look like a snob?” he asked incredulously.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she confessed. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Anyway, what’s Denny going to think if he knows you’re footing the bill?”
“He won’t know,” he promised, “because we’re not going to tell him. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at your apartment, and we’ll get started. Make yourself an appointment with Frederickson’s downtown.”
“But they’re horribly expensive!” she protested.
“Make the appointment early,” he continued, “because when we finish there, we’re going to Almon’s to have you outfitted.”
Almon’s was a charming boutique with a resident designer and some of the trendiest new styles in the country. She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“You’ll go to the ball, Cinderella,” he promised. “Even if you have to ride in a Mercedes instead of a coach drawn by white horses.”
“There isn’t a ball...”
“There most certainly is, next Saturday night at the Biltmore, and I’m taking you.” He shot back his white cuff and looked at his watch. “And that’s all the time we have this morning. Get back to your ashes, and don’t breathe a word to Denny next week. I’m going to have a photographer along just to capture his expression when he sees the new you.”
“Could he get my expression while he’s at it?” she asked hopefully. “I’ll need something to convince me I’m not dreaming.”
