that told her how disappointed he was in his son.
‘I beg to differ,’ she said quickly and decisively. ‘Once I’ve built up a rapport with Greg, once he realises the importance of my knowing everything, I’m sure he will keep nothing from me. You should have faith in your son, Mr Lane.’
‘I must admit the boy seems to have taken a liking to you,’ he admitted grudgingly, his narrowed eyes watchful on hers.
‘It is important that he should,’ Abby replied, surprised and rather pleased by his statement. ‘And as a matter of fact I think that you’re insulting his intelligence by accompanying him everywhere he goes.’ She determinedly held his gaze. ‘Why don’t you give him some breathing space?’
‘Has he complained?’ His tone was suddenly sharpedged, his eyes suspicious.
Abby had not thought Hallam Lane would put this interpretation on her words and instantly shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
‘But you think that you’re in a position to tell me what to do?’ he rasped, stepping swiftly forward until only her desk was between them, coal-black eyes boring threateningly into green, using the full power of his body to intimidate her.
Or, at least, that was what it felt like to Abby. ‘Of course not,’ she said guardedly and quietly. ‘It just seems to me that—’
‘I’d thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ he growled. ‘How I—’ At that moment the telephone on Abby’s desk rang and as she lifted the receiver Hallam was compelled to stand in silence while she dealt with her call.
She was uncomfortably aware that he never once took his eyes off her, that he observed closely the porcelain quality of her skin with its scattering of freckles, her almond-shaped green eyes and tiny straight nose, her wide mouth and small, delicate ears.
And as if that wasn’t enough he allowed his eyes to slide down the slender column of her throat and rake over her breasts which were accentuated by the gentle silk of her blouse. And he made it perfectly clear that he was seeing her rounded curves beneath and not the actual clothes that she wore.
Abby felt her skin grow warm. She tried to ignore him, concentrate on her phone call. She even turned her back on him but it made no difference. He still watched and she still felt the full power of this male animal who had made such an impact on her.
She hated herself for acknowledging his intense sensuality, for letting it affect her the way it did, and as soon as she had finished her call Abby glanced briskly and pointedly at her watch. ‘I’d like to speak with your son now, Mr Lane. I have another client to see in half an hour.’
Thick dark brows rose. ‘No one dismisses me, Sommers, until I am ready to go.’ His voice was at its most pompous.
She tossed her head, beautiful eyes flashing disdainfully. ‘The more time you spend talking, the less time Greg will have.’
A thoughtful expression crossed the man’s face; a gleam appeared in the jet-black eyes. ‘Perhaps you should come to the house and talk to him. How about Friday evening? Come for a meal and—’
Abby stopped him with a quick gesture of her hand, appalled by the very idea. Go to his house? Sit through a meal with him? Suffer some more? ‘No, thank you, Mr Lane,’ she said hastily. ‘You would obviously want to put in your two pennies’ worth and that wouldn’t help matters at all. It would be much better if I saw Greg here—and alone.’ She paused a moment and then added softly, ‘As a matter of fact I think you intimidate him.’
Hallam Lane frowned swiftly and harshly, black brows drawing together in disbelief. ‘Intimidated? Greg? By me?’ He was obviously totally shocked by the suggestion. ‘What complete and utter nonsense. What on earth put that idea into your head?’
Abby shrugged expressively. ‘It was the impression I got.’
‘Impressions, impressions,’ he jeered. ‘I thought solicitors dealt in fact, not supposition. I’m telling you, Sommers, that if my son wasn’t so insistent that he wanted you to defend him then I wouldn’t waste a second of my breath talking to you.’
Abby’s chin lifted. ‘The feeling’s mutual, Mr Lane. That’s why I don’t think it would be a very good idea, my coming to your house.’ Or was it her own feelings that she was scared of—the fact that he had this amazing ability to draw some sort of unwanted response from her? Was she afraid of what might happen if she ventured into the Lane household?
He came round the desk towards her then, and she felt the threat of dangerous magnetism. ‘How else are you going to allow my son enough of your time?’ he questioned, his face pushed up close to hers, so that she could see every pore in his skin, the clear whites of his eyes, inhale the male scent of him. ‘Half an hour is less than adequate,’ he growled. ‘It’s nothing at all.’
‘We could have got through quite a lot if you hadn’t insisted on speaking to me first,’ she told him abruptly, standing her ground, refusing to back away, although she would have liked to. His powerful virility was again disturbing her pulses to such an extent that she felt sure he must see them leaping. ‘You’ve already wasted a good ten minutes.’
‘Which I’ve no doubt you will charge me for.’ Hard eyes locked into hers.
‘No doubt,’ she returned, determined that she would not be the first to look away.
‘Then—since I’m paying for your time—I’m afraid I’m going to insist that you interview my son in the privacy of his own home where there will be no interruptions and no time limit.’
‘You’ll be charged extra out of office hours,’ she told him levelly.
‘I understand that.’
‘And I shall still wish to see him alone.’
Black eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits in his harshly angular face—glittering slits staring out at her from between lashes which were ridiculously long on so masculine a man.
‘I insist,’ she said firmly.
Finally the big shoulders shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. Shall we say eight o’clock? I’ll send a car for you.’
‘No, thanks,’ she retorted hastily. ‘I’ll drive myself there.’
‘You can have a drink if you don’t drive.’
‘I never drink.’
Thick brows rose. ‘Not at all?’
‘Maybe a little wine on occasions,’ she admitted. But she had to be careful; even a little alcohol made her light-headed—and Abby liked to be in control at all times.
‘And I imagine, from the lack of an ashtray in this room, that you don’t smoke either. What a virtuous female we have here.’ There was scorn in his voice and Abby was about to come back with some biting retort when he added, ‘Why aren’t you married?’
She was startled by his question and her chin came up again. ‘Let’s say I’ve never met the right man.’ There had never been anyone even remotely serious for that matter, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Her mother said she was too fussy, but she couldn’t see any harm in it.
