Page 24 of Legal Seduction
She’d showered but she could still smell him on her skin. Just like he’d been in her body, he was inside her head, as well. But she wouldn’t let him into her heart. Despite what she’d said to him, she knew better than to fall for a man like Simon Kramer.
He would break her heart for certain. But hell, that would probably be better than falling for some man who wanted to keep her heart. Or her...
Like the men for whom her mom and sister had fallen. Dad had forced Mom to give up all her dreams and live his as the preacher of a small-town church. Her mother had once been wild and full of fun. But Bette had never seen that except in the old photo albums her mother had hidden where she hadn’t thought anyone would look.
Her sister should have known better, but she’d fallen for a man just like their self-righteous father. A youth minister—and she lived the same quiet, boring life their mother lived.
Bette shook her head in disgust of their choices. Of course they acted like they were disgusted with hers, especially her father. He’d disowned her years ago. At least Mom and Sissy still sent her cards on her birthday.
Carrying her heels, she hurried out of her bedroom. She needed to get to the office quickly or Simon might return for her. But apparently, he hadn’t left because she found him standing over her coffee table. She dropped her shoes and pressed a hand against her madly pounding heart. “You scared me!” she said.
He glanced up as if he’d been caught unawares, too. And he almost looked guilty. What had he been doing while she’d been showering? She’d left the employment contract lying out on the coffee table. But he wouldn’t have to read that over; he’d written it.
That wasn’t all she’d left out in the living room, though. Her purse was lying beside the table. But he wouldn’t have been going through that. Would he? It wasn’t as if Simon Kramer needed to steal any cash from her wallet. She didn’t carry much else in it but some makeup and her checkbook.
She hadn’t shaken all of her damn old-fashioned, small-town upbringing because she was too cautious to do everything online. Or maybe she needed the checkbook because she needed the peace of mind of keeping track of everything she spent and earned. And finally, after years of barely getting by in the city, she was getting those things in the right order. She was finally earning more than she spent.
“I thought you left,” she said. “I told you I would meet you at the office.”
“And I thought I better wait for you,” he said.
For what? Another romp on her couch? Her heart flipped at the thought but then she noticed his face. There was no disarming grin. No teasing twinkle in his blue eyes. He didn’t trust her for some reason and she felt that it was more than her calling in sick.
“You didn’t need to do that,” she said. “I know you’re busy.”
He was so busy that she was surprised he’d taken the time to track down where she was, let alone wait for her after he’d done that—after he’d done her.
“I am busy,” he said. “That’s why I needed to make sure you didn’t have a sudden relapse of whatever illness you claimed was keeping you from coming into the office today.”
She faked a cough, then laughed as he glared at her. Unintimidated, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I am feeling a little warm still...” But that was because of him, because even though he’d dressed, she could still see him gloriously naked. He was so damn good-looking. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t.
“Don’t try to con a con,” he warned her, and his eyes were as cold and hard as they’d been the day he’d found her leaving the resignation letter in his office.
“Con?” she uneasily repeated as a chill chased down her spine. “Are you admitting that you’re a con artist?”
Was he not even really a lawyer? She’d seen his college degree and law license framed on his office wall. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t been forged. As infamous as Street Legal was, someone would have discovered if the managing partner was a con artist. Wouldn’t they?
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t call myself a con artist,” he said. “Not anymore. But I still recognize a con.”
She smiled and assured him, “I’m not trying to con you.” But could he say the same?
What exactly would he have to con out of her, though? Sex? She’d given that freely enough. No con required. He hadn’t even had to pile on the charm very much, except for the compliments he’d given her.
“When were you a con artist?” she asked. “And why would you tell me that?” Obviously, he was onto her little game of pretending to fall for him. But now he’d made it a challenge for her to be able to convince him.
He shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret that my partners and I were teenage runaways. To survive on the streets, I had to run a con or two.”
Shock gripped her. “You really did grow up on the streets?”
He nodded.
“I thought that was just a story that PR firm concocted to make you guys sound glamorous.”
Over the past two years, she’d personally witnessed how fast and loose McCann Public Relations, and Allison McCann in particular, played with the truth.
Simon laughed now. “Glamorous? There was nothing glamorous about that life. But we weren’t going to lie about where we came from, so Allison decided it would be smarter to make the most of it.”
Allison.
