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Her background had a lot to do with shaping her dream of making life better for other children. Particularly those coping with lack of available and adequate housing, uncooperative slumlords, insufficient food and, God forbid, abusive parents. Folding her dish towel and setting it atop a spotless counter, Susan realized just how far down the road this man’s case was from her original goal. Defending millionaires was hardly championing the cause of the poor. In a system in which “justice” too often could be bought, she couldn’t help but wonder why someone with Seb’s resources would bother taking a chance on her skills as a lawyer.
But reminding herself how desperately she needed to win this case to resuscitate her floundering dream, she refused to second-guess her host. Determined not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, she promised simply do her best and prove herself worthy of Seb’s trust.
Citing the need to go to the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen a few moments later carrying her briefcase. “Would it be all right to work in here?” Susan asked, setting it on the table. “Or would you rather we moved into the den?”
“Here is fine,” Seb agreed amicably, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table himself.
Susan noticed him looking at the battered leather case and briefly considered explaining that it had been a gift from her parents when she graduated from law school. More than just one of her colleagues had hinted that she should invest in a new briefcase, but this particular one held more than just papers. In it resided her parents’ pride and her own aspirations. Every nick and scratch in its surface represented her hard-fought battle for independence. Once she had actually used it as a shield when, in a childish temper tantrum, Joe had thrown his drink across the room at her, demanding she give up this foolishness and drop out of school altogether. As the man of the house, he was deeply insulted that his wife felt the need to contribute financially to their marriage.
Vainly attempting to brush aside the memory, like someone fanning the air to rid it of the lingering smell of cigar smoke, Susan readjusted her professional face before addressing Sebastian again.
“Let’s get started then, shall we?”
Pleased that he offered no protest to the suggestion, Susan got down to business. Sunset had reluctantly given way to twilight, and pale purple light filtered in through the windows, reminding Susan of her broken promise to stay but a couple of hours, tops. Taking out a yellow legal pad, she began asking rapid-fire questions.
Pausing a moment to jot down an important note, she told him, “I hope you don’t feel like you’re being interrogated, but I’ve got to warn you, this is nothing compared to what the prosecution will do if they ever get you on the stand.”
“I expect you to call the shots as you see them, Counselor,” Seb assured her.
Warmth flooded through Susan’s entire being at the comment. Impressed by the intelligence and charm to which she’d been subjected all evening, she found herself toying with the idea of extending their professional relationship to include a personal friendship. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s company so much without worrying about whether he was coming on to her.
Not that she would ever expect a man like Sebastian Wescott to consider her anything more than an amusing diversion. Susan didn’t doubt that he could have his pick of rich, sophisticated women at the snap of his fingers. But she didn’t much cotton to the idea of being the flavor of the month. She reminded herself that it was nothing more than circumstances that had brought them together.
“Are you married?” she asked, starting out with a standard set of questions intended not only to give her necessary background information but also to ease clients into the inquiry process itself. “And do you have any children?”
“No to both questions,” Seb replied with a trace of regret in his voice. “Someday if the right woman were to come along, I’d like to remedy that. Nothing could make me happier than to fill this house with the sound of children playing.”
It wasn’t the response she expected. Susan wondered if Seb noticed that her pen remained poised over her note pad. She could no more make it obey than she could explain why it was suddenly so hard remembering how to breathe.
“How about you?” Seb asked smoothly, switching the topic of conversation from him to her.
Susan swallowed. A private person by nature, she was reticent about sharing personal information with a client. Particularly one accused of murder. Nonetheless, the question was harmless enough, and every good lawyer understood the need to establish rapport with the person he or she was hired to represent.
“Not any more,” she answered succinctly, hoping to bring his inquiries to an end with no more explanation than the bare facts.
“Any children?”
“Thankfully no.”
Though the words sounded harsh to her own ears, something in the way Seb’s eyes softened invitingly encouraged her to continue.
“I’ve witnessed too many ugly custody battles to believe that children survive unscathed. I don’t think it’s fair to them.”
“I don’t, either,” Seb replied.
His gaze collided with hers, establishing a tacit understanding that surpassed logical explanation. Susan wondered if his conviction lay in the devastation of living in a broken home as a child himself—or in something far bigger than personal experience alone. She couldn’t help but wonder what secrets were hidden in the depths of those arresting gray eyes.
Clicking her pen, she reminded herself that she was not here on a social visit.
“We might as well get down to business,” she said, dispensing of any pretense for further conversation outside the bounds of the case at hand. “Let’s start by establishing your alibi. Where were you the night of the murder and who would be willing to testify as to your whereabouts?”
“Was your ex-husband fond of children?”
“Only in marketing campaigns promoting any product he was peddling,” Susan replied, not missing a beat. “Where exactly did you say you were on the night in question?”
Seb grinned at her, and she caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a child with chocolate smeared around his mouth and a cookie jar lid hidden behind his back.
“I didn’t. Right now I’m far more interested in you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the company of such a fascinating woman. I want to know what makes you tick.”
Caught off guard by his easy flattery, Susan feigned irritation.
“If I indulge your curiosity, can we proceed with the specifics of your case?”
Nodding, Seb smiled at her again. Susan wondered if she should brace herself against the edge of the table for fear of falling completely under his charm. Setting her pen down with a sigh, she propped her elbows on the table instead and cupped her chin in her hands.
“Then by all means, fire away.”
Despite her resolve to cut her answers short, she found herself compelled to respond in more than just the customary, perfunctory manner to the questions he asked. Perhaps it was just a way of paying tribute to his charisma. And to her own loneliness, Susan supposed on some level. It had been so long since anyone had shown any interest in her as a unique and fascinating individual that she was caught off guard by the attention lavished upon her.
There had been no need for Seb to ply her with liquor to get her to divulge more about her own background than she had intended. Merely by being attentive and interested in what she had to say, he gave the impression that he found her bright and funny and captivating. There was no denying that it was flattering. Indeed, such charm would be hard for the most jaded woman to shrug off.
Despite the circumstances that had brought her here, Susan was far from jaded. Somewhere deep inside of her still lived the same little girl who had vowed to make the world a better place through her own sheer determination to put the bad guys behind bars and represent those handsome fellows wearing white cowboy hats.
And yes, she had noticed a cream-colored Stetson dangling from the coatrack in the foyer on her way in.
Fortunately for her own conscience, Susan had become convinced over the course of the evening that, while Sebastian Wescott might well be a brutal businessman when circumstances warranted it, her attractive host was simply incapable of murder. Someone who named his dogs Pal and Buddy and was cowed by his housekeeper simply wasn’t capable of the heartlessness necessary to take a human life. Was he?
By the time Susan had exhausted her extensive list of questions, night had fallen. Putting a hand to the small of her back, she stretched her stiff muscles. How inviting that dip in the Jacuzzi sounded when Sebastian offered it, informing her that he had an abundance of swimsuits of all sizes if she happened to be the shy type. The thought of spending any time at all in a hot tub with this magnificent male specimen, whether naked or fully clothed, made her think it would be a whole lot easier to jump into a roaring fire than endure the hot flashes of passion that such images stirred in her.
Feigning a yawn, she said it was past her bedtime. She scheduled their next appointment into her time-planner before allowing him to escort her to her vehicle. Overhead the sky was a canopy of black velvet sprinkled with precious jewels.
“I’m afraid you missed your calling,” she said as Seb opened the car door for her.
He looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“The way you turned the tables on me tonight and had me answering more questions than you did makes me believe you would have made an excellent lawyer yourself,” she clarified.
Sebastian’s laugh was a wholesome sound, which echoed off the nearby sand hills and resonated in the chambers of Susan’s heart. It had a full-bodied quality that caused her pulse to thrum.
“Is it so hard for you to believe I just might be interested in you, Susan?” he asked, tilting up her chin so that she couldn’t avoid looking into his eyes. They were the same astonishing color as the stars above. Liquid and as feral as those of a timber wolf.
When she shivered beneath that predatory gaze, Seb asked if she was cold.
Feeling the warmth of his breath, Susan shook her head. Actually she was feeling oddly flushed. It was as if some secret part of her heart that had been frozen for a long time was beginning to thaw and sending the message to every nerve ending in her body. Tingling all over, she lowered her lashes in anticipation.
In anticipation of what? she wondered dazedly.
A kiss that would violate the sacred bond between a lawyer and client.
Reminding herself that she could scarce afford such a costly mistake, Susan maintained that she could not possibly be so stupid as to fall for another forceful man, cut from the same cloth as the man who had already left permanent scars on her heart. A man so sure of himself that he would rather rely on his own ability to problem-solve than depend on anyone else for help—hence his evasiveness about his whereabouts on the night in question.
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