of his feelings on the issue didn’t show.
And he ignored Shallis Duncan’s cool tone, because he understood the reasons for it all too well. No doubt about it, he’d behaved very badly in the past. To Melinda Duncan—Linnie—and to Shallis, her baby sister. More than once. He didn’t like those memories.
“Thinking about a couple of opportunities,” he continued. “I don’t want to commit myself to the wrong choice.”
He knew that many people in Hyattville wouldn’t believe him on this. There was an element in the town that would love to see him crash and burn, and would interpret his return home as a signal that it was about to happen, big-time. He expected rumors about shady dealings, massive debts, financial scandals, or disbarment from the future practice of law.
That was the downside to being a self-proclaimed high flier, in a place like this, and unfortunately his ambition and his arrogance had led him into a few poor choices in the past, which would make the rumors more plausible.
Yep, no doubt about it, at times he’d been a jerk and he made sure he never forgot the fact. Grandpa Abe had put a slew of Jared’s old golfing and racquetball trophies on the breakfront shelves, “to put your own stamp on this office, since it’s yours, now.” Jared had added a trophy of his own—the fake one that a couple of old law school buddies had presented him with a few years ago.
Sore Loser it read, in beautiful copperplate engraving. The really telling point about the trophy was that when his friends had made the mock presentation, he hadn’t been able to laugh. Three years on, the trophy was the first touch of personality he gave to a space any time he shifted offices, and he laughed at himself a lot more often now.
The only thing he could do about his reputation, he knew, was to get his head down, take heart from his own growth and his family’s faith in him, and prove everyone else wrong.
No, not everyone.
Just the people who mattered.
The impossibly beautiful Shallis Duncan shouldn’t be one of them, and yet without a doubt she was. Six years since he’d last seen her face-to-face, and he still hadn’t been able to get her out of his head.
She stood up, and instinctively so did he. “Banks and Moore has a good reputation,” she said.
Her golden-blond hair bounced around her face, and her blue eyes looked as big and clear as pools of sea water. Her suit was neat and conservative and plain, but on her curvy, long-legged frame it somehow managed to look as pretty and feminine as a lace negligee.
She appeared to have almost no makeup on at all, apart from a translucent sheen across her lips, but her skin was so clear and fine and her coloring so perfect that Jared preferred her with the natural look, and every molecule of testosterone in his body refused to leave the subject alone.
“Your secretary will be able to arrange to have the files sent over to them, I assume?” Shallis finished.
Jared felt his stomach drop an uncomfortable couple of inches.
Shoot. Drat. Darn.
Or words to that effect.
She’d called his bluff.
Well, no, she didn’t look at it like that, of course, and neither should he. She was simply taking the perfectly reasonable way out he’d just offered her—but he might not have offered it if he’d thought she’d catch hold of it so smoothly.
Helplessly he let the rest of their short conversation unravel like a piece of yarn… I mean, sure, if she wanted, yes, she should go over to Carrollton, to Banks and Moore… And it wasn’t until she’d closed the outer office door behind her that the real Jared Starke took control of his actions again.
Jared Starke the winner.
Jared Starke the fourth generation lawyer.
Jared Starke who heard the word, “No,” the same way a bull saw a red rag.
Jared Starke who could laugh at his Sore Loser trophy now, but who still wasn’t going to let what would surely be his last chance to make something work out right with the Duncan family just walk out of his grandfather’s law practice on those sexy pale gray heels, while he stood here rooted to the floor, imprisoned by an agonizing rush of physical need as tangible as iron bands.
Chapter Two
“W ait!” said Jared’s voice, overtaking Shallis as she went back along the street toward her car, which was still parked in the drugstore’s lot.
She stopped and turned reluctantly, watching him catch up to her. His stride lengthened, strong and full of purpose, and then he stopped short, keeping safely out of her body space.
But whose safety was he concerned for, here?
“Do you really have to do this?” he said.
His voice stayed low, in an instinctive bid for privacy that Shallis appreciated. The intimacy that it seemed to weave around them she appreciated a lot less.
“It’s a half hour drive to Carrollton,” he went on. “Banks and Moore’s billing rate is considerably higher than my grandfather’s, and they have no familiarity with your family’s legal affairs. I’m not sure what’s making you so reluctant—”
She threw him a look that said, “Oh, really?” and his face changed.
“Okay. You got me.” He spread his hands, then he sighed.
His voice had gone husky, suddenly. Deeper, too. Its masculine notes curled around her legs and misted upward, as sneaky as the smoke from the cigarettes Shallis had tried a few times at fourteen.
“I know exactly what’s making you so reluctant, don’t I?” he said. “But this is a simple business relationship and I’m a good lawyer. My grandfather wouldn’t have handed the practice over to me if I wasn’t. I wouldn’t be considering partnership offers from three major Chicago law firms if I wasn’t.”
He stepped a little closer, and Shallis didn’t know if it was deliberate or not. She did know that she was far too aware of the movement, and of its results. She could see the tiny chips of gold deep in his brown eyes, now, and a couple of equally tiny freckles just above the corner of his mouth.
She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together, but couldn’t close off the effect he had on her. The effect he’d always had.
“At least let’s go through with our appointment this morning,” he continued. “We can set things in motion regarding your grandmother’s estate. You can talk it over with your mother later. And if either of you still has a problem about my involvement, I’m sure my grandfather will agree to handle the next phase when he gets back from his fishing trip, since your family has been with him for so long.”
“When is he getting back?”
Soon. Please let it be soon, so that I don’t have to deal with this. Again.
“He wouldn’t commit himself, unfortunately. I’d imagine it’s going to be at least a month, judging by the huge pile of gear and supplies in the back of his pickup when he left.”
