That Man Matthews. Ann Evans

attorney advises me not to discuss the details of the case.”

      She frowned, unable to hide her surprise. “Mr. Matthews—”

      “I’m kidding,” he said with a laugh. “You need to lighten up, Miss Paxton. Are you always so serious?”

      The teasing glint disappeared from his blue eyes, and for a moment she was stunned by the curious intimacy of his gaze. It reminded her of those moments at the table when her hand had been on his arm. She felt the power of physical awareness arc between them, a temptation to reckless things. It was gone in an instant.

      Unsettled, she found her voice, wishing him a safe trip back to Texas.

      “Pack for hot weather,” he instructed.

      She nodded blindly, but just as she was closing the door behind him, he snagged the edge of it with his hand. “One more thing,” he added, and an unholy grin laced his features with subtle mischief. “This belt buckle is special. It was a gift from my daughter, so I wouldn’t advise telling her what you really think of it.”

      He was gone before she could ask what he meant by that. Scowling, she leaned against the door. While she didn’t like that silly buckle, she’d never said a word to him about it, had she? She’d only—

      The blood drained from Joan’s cheeks. The list. All his flaws itemized on paper. What had she done with it? She hurried to the dining-room table where the papers Cody Matthews had retrieved from the floor now lay neatly stacked.

      Two envelopes down, right beneath the electric bill, lay the list she’d compiled—What Makes Cody Matthews So Obnoxious. The words practically leaped off the page. “Poor taste in clothes—especially belt buckles!”

      Scathing.

      Satisfyingly petty.

      And listed right below it, where he could not have failed to read it, “Beautiful bedroom eyes.”