Damn. This was totally illogical.
She took a deep breath and tried to keep her tone as even and professional as possible as she looked at his ruggedly handsome face.
“Sure, Damian. Not a problem.”
But, once again, the sound of his first name passing her lips set off a warm hum inside her mouth that made her self-conscious. She dropped her eyes to the papers on the table in front of her.
Damian smiled as Kay turned away. Always the careful lawyer. She assiduously kept her position on the professional side of the line.
If Damian hadn’t been trained to observe and interpret unconscious movements so well, he never would have noted her tugging at her right earlobe whenever he prolonged eye contact, or the way she crossed her legs three different times in succession whenever they sat in proximity to each other.
He knew he disturbed her on a subconscious level and the knowledge excited him. Still, he was content to leave it alone.
No, content was the wrong word. Reconciled was definitely a more appropriate choice. If he had needed an additional reminder as to why professional relationships had to remain professional, he’d gotten just that on Wednesday in that final confrontation with Dr. Priscilla Payton.
What a mess. Still, as angry as Priscilla was with him, he had a hard time believing she was behind that note he’d found on his car and the second note he’d found in the mail this morning. Surely a psychologist couldn’t be that petty and unstable? But if Priscilla wasn’t behind it, who was? And why?
“You do seem to be concerned about something,” Kay said as her eyes swept his face.
Damian deliberately unfurrowed his forehead and unclenched his jaw. He had no intention of burdening Kay with this. Still, he would have to watch his every facial expression around his attorney. She didn’t miss much.
“I’m not fond of waiting,” he said to mislead her.
She nodded, accepting his evasion. She’d been perusing the preliminary motion she’d forwarded to the judge earlier that week. She went back to her reading.
She was sitting to his right, looking cool and collected in a blue-mint linen suit. He was close enough to feel her warmth and inhale the light, sweet scent of her skin and hair. She was very alluring. A lot of men must make a play for her. Still, he doubted she had very satisfying or enduring love affairs.
If he had to guess, he’d say that the kind of men who pursued her soft and beckoning femininity soon found themselves unexpectedly coming face-to-face with the strong woman beneath. He also guessed it wouldn’t be a happy surprise.
There was just something about a man’s short, stubby Y chromosome that had a habit of short-circuiting his brain cells every time he found himself in the presence of such a delectable female. Made it hard for a male to think at all, much less think straight about the fact that the female could be appreciated in ways other than the physical.
Damian found himself staring at the honey-gold strands at the back of her slim white neck. Images of those glistening strands falling long and loose and free across bare, milk-white shoulders stole into his mind. She was so deliciously feminine, so tantalizingly close. He could feel his circuits overloading.
Damn that stubby Y chromosome. He rubbed his suddenly moist palms across his slacks beneath the table. He hoped they’d be able to put this legal suit to bed in the next few minutes.
To bed. Unfortunate phraseology. Freud would have been delighted with the slip and the immediate x-rated images it brought to mind.
Damian tore his eyes from Kay and let them sweep over the large lady clerk and thin lady court reporter, both of whom waited at their positions. Behind the court reporter stood a burly biceped bailiff with a stiff black smudge of a mustache and a grim look. The clerk, court reporter and the bailiff were the only others present in the courtroom.
Damian glanced at his watch, no longer needing to feign impatience. “It’s nine twenty-five. Any idea why Mrs. Nye and her attorney aren’t here yet?”
“They might be caught in traffic.”
Damian’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Traffic? May I remind you, it’s a sunny, seventy-degree Friday morning in June in Seattle. The only traffic to speak of is heading out to the recreational areas.”
She looked up and flashed him a small rueful smile. “You’re right, of course. I spoke without thinking.”
Damian liked the way she easily admitted her mistakes, almost as much as he liked her sunny, infrequent smiles. He found himself fascinated by these glimpses of genuine warmth beneath her cool facade. He wondered what she would be like if she ever stepped totally out of her legal persona.
“Do you wish you were heading out to one of those recreational areas for a head start on the weekend, too?” he asked.
She quickly extinguished the smile, reestablishing her emotional distance and refocusing her eyes on her reading. “Not particularly.”
“To you, work is fun, isn’t it?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d...”
Her voice trailed off uncertainly. It wasn’t difficult for him to guess what she had left unsaid. “Understand?”
“Yes, that’s what I was going to say.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because, frankly, I didn’t think a psychologist could ever view work as fun.”
“I often view my work as fun, Kay. Exploring the mind is an exciting adventure. And helping people to get in touch with their happier feelings is the greatest high I know.”
Her eyes shone as she looked off into a mental distance. “I know that high. Sometimes when I’m addressing a jury, and I know the logic of my argument is indisputable, and I can see the understanding dawning on their faces, it’s like—it’s like my birthday and Christmas and the Fourth of July all rolled into one.”
“Looking for that high in your work is what makes you good at it.”
Her returning smile was small but possessed genuine warmth. Then she began to look uncomfortable at the prolonged eye contact and tugged at her right earlobe. Damn, it was an adorable earlobe and she looked adorable tugging at it.
“Is your first name really Kay, or does the K.O. stand for something else?”
“It stands for something else.”
“What?”
“Sorry, but I limit the number of people who know that secret to my three closest friends—all of whom have given me their solemn vow of silence in a blood pact.”
He grinned. “It’s that bad, huh?”
She chuckled. “Worse.”
“You were named after a mad aunt?”
Her chuckle deepened. “Good guess. Actually, I was named by a mad aunt.”
“I
