things in order satisfying
‘PULL together the files on the Simmons case, will you?’ Daniel watched as Sarah, his junior, jerked up from contemplating her computer screen.
‘I’m going to work off site for a few hours. Maybe a few days.’ He could keep an eye on what was happening down at the club—just to be sure Lucy was going to be able to do the job she said she could.
‘Off site?’Sarah echoed in disbelief. ‘As in not in your office?’
He grimaced, her incredulity hitting a nerve. So he spent long hours in his office. Month after month he racked up the most billable hours in the firm. On top of that he did his pro bono work. Then he tutored and guest lectured at the university—they were nagging him to join the faculty full-time. He achieved—at a cost. The price was long days, every weekend. But he’d made the decision years ago to dedicate his energy to his career.
Sarah gathered the relevant documents while he ensured his laptop had the data necessary. He could always download more remotely if he had to.
‘Are you needing me to come with you?’ Sarah looked right into his face. He had the suspicion those brown eyes of hers were offering a little more than her legal services. He grimaced again. No. Daniel never needed a woman. He might want one, in which case he’d have her, and then he’d move on, certainly never stopping to develop anything resembling a relationship. His parents had pointedly proved there was no such thing as for ever. No such thing as dependability or reliability. So Daniel had chosen career. He was focused and loving it.
He shook his head at Sarah. ‘I can email you with any requests I may have.’
Early evening he climbed the stairs to the club, with an increasing sense of trepidation. She appeared at the top before he’d hit halfway. The hint of anxiety tightening her face faded as she saw it was him.
He raised his brows. ‘Everything OK?’
She nodded. ‘Staff are all organised and I’m just starting the clean-up.’
‘You want a hand with that?’
She looked amazed.
He clarified. ‘You could call in one of the bartenders to help you.’
‘No. It’s not that big a job and if I do it myself then I know it’s done and I know exactly what’s there and where it is.’
He heaved his bag onto the corner of the bar. It landed with a thud. ‘A good manager delegates.’
‘A good manager leads by example and is capable of doing everything herself that she asks her staff to do.’
She was in position behind the bar and he had to admit it looked as if she were made for it. Her hair hung almost to her waist. Long brown locks streaked with sun-kissed honey strands. Neither straight nor curly, it seemed in imminent danger of turning into DIY dreadlocks. It looked as if she’d been swimming for hours and then let it dry in the sun without bothering to brush it through. He had the crazy urge to reach out and grab it, wanting to see if it did smell of sea and salt and holiday. Behind the bar she was as relaxed as if she’d been parked on a beach all her life. Given her tan she probably had.
She picked up a cleaning cloth. He leaned over the bar and he saw the bucket of soapy water on the floor. Steam rose from it together with the smell of lemon-scented cleaning product. She looked at the bag he’d put on the bar, the files spilling from it.
‘So you’re a lawyer.’
He nodded.
‘Commercial or criminal?’
‘Criminal.’
‘Prosecution or defence?’
He started to wonder if she’d had up-close experience with either. ‘Defence.’
‘So you’re out to fight the cause for the wrongly accused. Justice for the underdog—’
‘No.’ He stopped her mid-flight. ‘Actually, sometimes my clients are guilty. But they’re still entitled to decent representation.’
‘You’re an idealist—the Atticus Finch of Wellington.’ She caught his flash of surprise before he masked it. ‘What, you think I can’t read?’
‘Why would I think that? You have a university degree. I know you can read. Whether you can think and apply is another matter.’
She gave him an evil stare. ‘I’ll have you know To Kill a Mockingbird was one of my favourite books in school.’
‘So underneath all the mouth you’re the idealist.’
She looked put out.
‘What were your other favourite books?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t remember.’
She turned to the glass shelves behind the bar and reached up on tiptoe to empty the top one of its bottles. Her body showed off to perfection as she stretched it out, only just getting her fingers round the base of the bottles. He couldn’t stand to watch it.
‘I’ll get those for you.’
Her eyes flashed surprise but she said nothing.
It took him only a minute to get the bottles down for her.
Every cell in his body aware of how close she was as she worked to clear the next shelf down. He stood back and rested against the bar behind him, unashamedly appreciating her tanned figure. Broad shoulders framed a generous bust, tapering to a trim waist before flaring out again to round hips and a bottom that begged to be used as a cushion. Shapely thighs closely clad in faded denim—also perfect for cushioning a lover. She’d be soft, and hot and…he really shouldn’t be thinking this way.
He couldn’t stop.
He looked back down to her feet again. The cowboy boots amused him. Then he amused himself further by slowly looking back up her body with appreciation. While she wasn’t plump, she certainly wasn’t a stick figure—soft in all the right places. Smooth curves. Daniel liked curves.
The speed with which she spun round caught him by surprise. The move brought her closer and he found himself staring right at her breasts.
Oh. Yes.
He blinked and with a little reluctance brought his focus up to her face.
She looked defensive. ‘You don’t think I can do this, do you?’
‘Why would I have given you the job if I thought that?’
‘You tell me.’ Her chin was tilted high in a challenge and all he could do was admire the long column of her neck—smooth, olive skin leading down to collar bones that begged to be kissed.
‘You think I fancy you?’ Damn. He did. He’d have to bluff. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, darling, but you’re not my type.’ That was the truth. Really. She wasn’t.
‘Really?’
‘I prefer a more…finished…look.’
‘You mean plastic. Petite. Perfect. Arm candy for the hotshot lawyer.’
He didn’t even try to argue. She could think what she liked so long as he was covered. And, yeah, maybe his dates usually were pretty perfect-looking things.
‘Rankles, does it?’ He leaned closer, resisting the urge to get close enough to touch her. Hell, he really wanted to grab and haul her to him. Regressing to prehistoric man minute by minute. Irritated, he went a step too far. ‘By finished, I mean at least combed.’
The flash of hurt in her eyes had him instantly regretting it. Since when was he mean? He was like a kid in school picking on the girl he secretly fancied. God, he was never usually so gauche.
She blocked his glimpse to her soul by lowering her eyelids to half-mast, but her smart mouth and tilted chin were firmly up again. ‘For