Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

“Is it younger men you prefer?”

Abby’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“You said you came here because of Greg. I saw the way you were looking at each other just now. I’m not a fool, Abby, so don’t take me for one. I suppose this is the reason he was so insistent that you prepare his case. Is it mutual?”

Abby couldn’t believe she was hearing this. “You’re crazy. Me and Greg? I’m eleven years older than he is, for heaven’s sake.”

“I can’t see that making any difference.”

She let out a little hiss of anger. “If this is an indication of what the holiday is going to be like, then I’ve made a serious mistake. It will be no pleasure if you accuse me of trying to seduce your son every time I speak to him.”

“Let’s hope I’m wrong,” Hallam said loftily.

Born in the industrial heart of England, MARGARET MAYO now lives with her husband in a pretty Staffordshire canalside village. Once a secretary, she turned to writing books both at home and in exotic locations, combining her hobby of photography with her research.

Ungentlemanly Behaviour
Margaret Mayo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

FOR GILLIAN

CHAPTER ONE

HALLAM LANE was nothing as Abby had imagined. After talking to his son she had developed a picture with her mind’s eye of a stern-faced tyrant, possibly not very tall, completely lacking in warmth and affection, and showing Greg no compassion at all in his time of need.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Greg’s father was in fact well over six feet, fantastically sexy and incredibly good-looking, even though his nose was a little too aquiline, his jaw square and tough, and his dark, thickly lashed eyes had the sort of quality that could melt a woman’s bones merely by their looking at her. And at this moment he was doing just that.

For a few minutes Abby had been able to watch him unobserved. She had arrived early for her appointment and his housekeeper had shown her into a comfortable sitting-room that overlooked the vast gardens of the Lanes’ mansion home. Father and son were somewhere outside and she would fetch them, the woman had said.

A telephone call, however, had delayed her and as Abby had stood and waited, admiring the gardens through the open floor-length windows, the two men had come into view. Greg had been laughing over something his father had said and the older man’s arm had been wrapped companionably about his son’s shoulders.

Then Greg had moved away as Hallam Lane said something else, giving him a playful punch as he did so. There followed a good-natured sparring match, after which the two of them embraced and they had both still been laughing as they’d approached the house.

Upon entering the room Hallam Lane had looked slightly taken aback to see a strange young woman standing there. Now he glanced at his watch. ‘Miss Sommers, I presume? You’re early.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and to Greg, with a warm smile, added, ‘Hello again.’

He returned her smile faintly and looked vaguely uneasy, but Abby had no time to dwell on the reason why because Hallam Lane was holding out his hand. Abby took it and her five feet seven inches immediately felt dwarfed.

Velvet dark eyes studied her closely. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he said.

His voice was deep and gravelly and as sexy as his body—a toe-curling combination that added to her confusion. She had come here prepared to dislike him, to stand up for Greg against him, and already in these first few minutes she had not only seen an unexpected bonhomie between father and son but had felt a threatening attraction herself! A rare experience.

She’d had lots of dates as she’d worked her way through law school, but no serious relationships, nothing long-term, and in fact had spent most of her adult years trying to prove herself, to fight prejudice and succeed in a man’s world. And she had done just that—she didn’t take after her father for nothing. She had inherited his fighting spirit and even at the age of twenty-nine had built up quite a fierce reputation for herself.

Abby enjoyed being a solicitor: she enjoyed the variety of work; she enjoyed fighting for justice. Each case she took on was a fresh challenge, a personal challenge, and, although it had not been planned, young people had become her speciality—probably because she was still young herself and found it extremely easy to develop a rapport with them.

When Greg came to see her she had liked him on sight and immediately agreed to handle his case, but he had suggested that she meet his father first, said he would need his parent’s approval. ‘I think, when he suggested I use your firm, he thought that Sommers was a man,’ he had said wryly. ‘My father is actually very much against professional women. You’ll need to persuade him that you’re the right person.’

When she’d pointed out that at eighteen he did not need his father’s permission he had shrugged wistfully. ‘I’d rather not go against him.’

This was when Abby had drawn up a mental image of a browbeating little man. Little men were always the worst, she had found in the course of her profession; it was as though they had something to prove. Not for one fleeting moment had she expected to be confronted by this physically perfect male specimen.

He had thick black hair frosted with silver at the temples and above his ears, and beneath a black cashmere sweater and black worsted trousers was the suggestion of hard muscles—a man in the prime of his life, a man who took good care of himself.

He sat down opposite her and Greg took a seat next to his father. There was no resemblance between them; Greg had mid-brown hair, quiet grey eyes and a gentle face—he would never stop a woman’s heart just by looking at her. She presumed he took after his mother and wondered why the woman wasn’t present.

Hallam Lane, on the other hand, had ‘sexy male animal’ stamped all over him, and together with an air of wealth and authority it was enough to stop any girl dead in her tracks.

Abby found her eyes drawn to his mouth, to wide, generous lips that suggested further lethal sensuality. They were the most kissable lips she had ever seen, and as she and Hallam Lane sat there for a second or two weighing each other up she unconsciously touched the tip of her tongue to her own lips—and it was only when she saw his faint frown that she realised what she was doing and that he was putting the wrong interpretation on it.

Shaking off the alien feeling of attraction towards this big man, Abby became all businesswoman, sitting up that little bit straighter, glad she had dressed for the part today. Often, in her office, she wore something casual—young clients were not so intimidated that way—but this morning, in order to impress Greg’s father, she had put on one of her severely cut suits that she normally saved for court appearances.

Her long, deeply waved Titian hair was pinned into a French pleat so that it was tidy and out of the way. She wore no earrings—in fact nothing in the way of jewellery except a garnet ring that had belonged to her mother—and only the very minimum of make-up.

She had thought, when she’d checked in the mirror before leaving the house, that she looked every inch a conservative, responsible young woman. Greg’s father could not possibly take exception to her. Abby unfortunately had no idea that, whatever she wore, it did not hide the fact that she was an extraordinarily sensual person. Nothing she could do would ever hide it.

‘Let’s get to the point, shall we, Mr Lane?’ Her tone was brisk and completely businesslike, and there was a deliberate blankness in her expression. ‘Your son has expressed a wish that you and I meet. He seems to think it necessary to have your approval before I take on his case.’

Hallam Lane nodded slowly, his eyes penetrating hers with an intensity that was unnerving. ‘That is correct. You sound as though you find it strange?’

Abby shrugged, trying to quell the awareness that trickled through her veins. ‘He is of age,’ she pointed out levelly. ‘Parents don’t usually interfere. Although getting to know you will no doubt help me gain a better picture of Greg and his background.’

‘Interfere?’ He picked up on that one word, and thick brows drew together. ‘I am not interfering, Sommers. I merely have my son’s best interests at heart. I want to make sure that he has the best legal representation possible.’

‘Of course.’ Realising the foolishness of getting on this man’s wrong side so early in proceedings, Abby immediately apologised. ‘It was an unfortunate choice of word, Mr Lane. I assure you I meant nothing derogatory whatsoever.’

He gave a wintry smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. But the fact of the matter remains that I am not prepared to allow a woman to handle my son’s case. I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.’

‘Why ever not?’ Abby had come up against discrimination like this many times before. With her slender, willowy figure and richly coloured hair no man ever took her seriously. She had a bubbly personality, a vibrant, lively face, and walked with an unconscious sway to her hips. No one ever believed that she was a solicitor.

Now she drew her fine brows together over beautiful, wide green eyes. ‘Don’t you think your son should be the one to make that decision?’ Although Greg had warned her about his father’s prejudice it still came as something of a surprise.

‘Not when it’s my money that will be paying your bill,’ he pointed out crisply.

It was an unnecessarily sharp retort and Abby took it as a personal insult. Her chin lifted and her eyes sparked. ‘Are you under the impression that female solicitors do not do as good a job as a man?’

Unfortunately, as she spoke, Abby felt a pin fall out of the pleat in her hair and she silently cursed. If there was any occasion when she needed to look professional this was it; she needed to prove herself to this man—perhaps more so than with anyone else she had ever met. Before she’d come to the house today she had formed the opinion that he was a hard man to deal with—and already in these first few minutes he was proving her right.

As she quickly raised her hand to check that none of her hair had fallen out of place she was conscious of Hallam Lane’s dark eyes following the movement, openly and insolently appraising the way her grey jacket moulded to her breasts as they were brought into prominence by the action of her arm. It was a typical male reaction and made her blood boil.

She dropped her hand immediately but still his eyes carried on their deliberate scrutiny, moving down the entire length of her body, slow inch by slow inch, missing nothing, not stopping until they reached her narrow feet, clad in black leather court shoes.

It was not the normal, casual glance a man gave a woman—not indeed. She felt as though she had been stripped naked, every article of clothing divested from her body. She drew in a deep, angry breath. ‘If you’ve quite finished, Mr Lane, I’d like an answer to my question.’

Her clear green eyes were brightly indignant, her lashes, darkened by mascara, quivered—as did every inch of her. She was beginning to see why Greg had insisted on getting his father’s approval. He was quite a man, Hallam Lane.

Black eyes connected with hers. ‘As a matter of fact, yes, I have no faith in women solicitors. What’s happened to Neville Sommers? Has he retired?’

A shadow crossed her face. ‘My father died,’ she told him bluntly. It had been a black day in the Sommers household.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said immediately. ‘I didn’t know. He was a good man. The best.’ There was genuine compassion in his voice.

‘And I have taken his place,’ she added proudly, challenge in her green eyes.

Hallam Lane looked at her narrowly. ‘Under the circumstances I would have expected your company to suggest one of the older partners.’

More experienced, he meant—not so pretty and feminine! Her nostrils flared, further resentment beginning to feel its way into her mind. ‘And how do you know how good I am until you try me?’ It looked as though Hallam Lane was a real male chauvinist; no wonder his son had feared to make his own decision.

‘They’re too busy,’ she declared bluntly. It had taken her a long time to get where she was today—years of training with no pay, and then, after qualification, a year or two on only a pittance. She absolutely refused to let this man put her down.

An enigmatic gleam entered the velvet dark eyes; his sensual lips gave an odd quirk. ‘How old are you, Miss Sommers?’

‘Old enough,’ she declared coolly, though she knew she did not look her twenty-nine years. She never had looked her age, but no one had ever suggested that she might be too young to do her job. ‘I think that the decision should be your son’s, Mr Lane,’ she added. ‘He is more than happy to let me help him.’

Greg had sat quietly listening, but now his eyes widened and he looked at her anxiously, as if trying to warn her, but it was too late.

‘I hardly think Greg has any say in this,’ his father growled. ‘He is already in enough trouble without some incompetent female making matters worse.’

‘I disagree,’ she said, keeping her tone calm and cool and completely professional, even though she was beginning to seethe inside. ‘Greg needs to build up a rapport with whichever solicitor is chosen to represent him. I am used to teenagers and I actually feel that he and I would be able to—’

‘I don’t think so,’ the older man cut in, his voice cooling considerably.

‘But, Father, I also think that—’ It was the first time the boy had spoken and he was instantly silenced by a withering glance.

‘What you think has nothing to do with it,’ declared Hallam firmly.

‘I like Miss Sommers, though; I am sure that—’

‘Greg, let me deal with this.’

Abby could not understand why this man would not let his son speak for himself on this issue. She felt sorry for Greg, more especially when he gave her a pleading glance behind his parent’s back.

‘I believe,’ she said to Hallam Lane, trying to keep her voice reasonable, ‘that my age is something in my favour as far as your son is concerned. I can relate to young people better than, say, Grypton or Evans—’ both of whom were well into their fifties ‘—and I therefore think that it would be in Greg’s best interests if I represented him. Perhaps I could have a word with your wife? This should be a mutual decision.’

‘There is no Mrs Lane.’ His brow was suddenly as dark as a thundercloud and Abby could see that she had touched a raw nerve. Presumably his marriage had not lasted—and if he was always this chauvinistic where women were concerned then she could see why.

‘I also think it is time you went,’ he added coldly and purposefully. ‘You can tell your partners why they’ve lost my business—and if they have any sense they’ll get rid of you.’

Abby opened her mouth to object, took one look at Greg’s face pleading with her to say no more, and closed it again. If this was Hallam Lane’s decision, and his son was prepared to go along with it, then there was no point in arguing, even though she thought the elder Lane was making a big mistake. She rose to her feet, picked up her handbag and walked out of the room.

Although she did not feel like being polite, although she wanted to tell Hallam Lane exactly what she thought of him for inflicting his personal prejudices on his son, Abby nevertheless held out her hand as she reached the main entrance and smiled graciously. ‘Goodbye, Mr Lane; I’m sorry you feel this way.’

Contact with him felt like fire-water shooting through her veins. Despite his hostility towards her he was still a lethally attractive man, and she could not get her hand free quickly enough.

He gave a quietly confident smile as she snatched it away, almost as though he knew what effect he was having on her, as though she was conforming to some preconceived pattern. Unless it was her imagination.

Abby knew men reacted in many different ways when confronted with a woman solicitor, especially when that woman was attractive as well. Not that she considered herself unduly beautiful; she thought her nose too tiny, her mouth too wide. She was oblivious to the effect she really had on people.

‘Greg should have known how I felt,’ he said gruffly, eyes steady on hers. ‘He shouldn’t have wasted your time. Goodbye, Sommers.’

She looked at the boy, feeling genuinely sorry for him because he had seemed to really like her. ‘Goodbye, Greg,’ she said, and then walked out to her car, conscious of Hallam Lane watching her every inch of the way.

Once inside her metallic-blue Rover she drew in a steadying breath, fired the engine, and moved away so quickly that gravel spurted beneath her tyres. Black and gold wrought-iron gates—set into the high wall surrounding the property—opened automatically as she approached, and Abby could not help wondering uncharitably what this man had got to hide that his place was like a fortress.

Abby was not given to thinking ill of people but Hallam Lane really had struck a wrong chord with her. Apart from her totally unexpected physical response to him—something that she would need to think about later—she had found him a totally unreasonable man.

His disapproval of career women should not have entered into things since it was Greg she had been asked to represent. She felt sorry for his son. He had not been allowed to get a word in. If she hadn’t seen how well they got on together she would have retained her initial impression that he ruled his son with a rod of iron. It was all very puzzling.

When she arrived back at the discreetly elegant office buildings of Grypton, Sommers & Evans in the English county town of Shrewsbury, Abby was still frowning over the unfairness of the situation. She stripped off her jacket and tossed it impatiently onto the coatstand, threw the Lane file into her wastepaper basket—there was no point in keeping that any longer—and dropped heavily into her chair.

The more she thought about the way Hallam Lane was controlling the situation, the more annoyed she became. Maybe she ought not to have given in so quickly; maybe she ought to have stood her ground, stuck up for Greg. He had looked truly disappointed. On the other hand, as Hallam had said, he was the one paying the bills—so ultimately it was his choice.

When the telephone rang she was surprised to hear her secretary say that she had Mr Lane on the line. ‘Hallam Lane?’ she queried, not even stopping to wonder why this man came into her thoughts first.

‘No, it’s Gregory, I think,’ replied Linda.

‘I see,’ Abby said slowly. ‘Put him on.’ Perhaps he had been able to persuade his father to think again. Stranger things had happened.

‘Hello, Greg, this is unexpected,’ she said, as soon as the call was put through. ‘Has your father changed his mind?’

‘Goodness, no,’ came the immediate response. ‘But he’s gone out and I want to say how sorry I am that I got you all the way out to the house for nothing. I really did think that once he’d seen you he would—’

‘You don’t have to apologise,’ she interrupted gently. ‘I meet all sorts in this job. It was nice of you to ring, though; I appreciate it.’

There was a slight pause before he spoke again. ‘It wasn’t simply to apologise for my father; I—I really want you to represent me. Will you do it?’ There was an earnest note in his voice now.

Abby’s brain went into fast forward as she realised the full implication of what he was asking. It could cause all sorts of problems if she went against the older man’s wishes, and at the very least it would generate friction between father and son. ‘I don’t think it would be very wise,’ she said. ‘Your father—’

‘This is my own decision,’ he cut in, surprising her with his determination.

‘Why didn’t you make this stand in front of him?’ she asked, frowning faintly into the phone.

‘Because I respect him, I guess,’ he told her wryly, ‘and rarely go against his wishes—and I especially didn’t think it wise, considering the trouble I’m already in,’ he added sorrowfully. ‘But I really do want you to help me, and I thought that if I presented him with a fait accompli he would be unable to do anything about it. I didn’t do that burglary, I promise you. I was—’

‘Greg,’ she cut in firmly, her mind suddenly made up, ‘I will do it, but only on condition that your father is in agreement. Talk to him again, tell him what you’ve told me, tell him you have confidence in me, that you find it easy to relate to me—better than you would an older person—and then come and see me. Shall we say ten o’clock in the morning?’

He agreed reluctantly and after she had put down the telephone Abby sat in thoughtful silence as she tried to visualise what the next meeting between father and son would be like. Somehow she could not see Hallam Lane agreeing to her taking on his son’s case, whatever Greg said. His dislike of career women was so intense that nothing would move him. She did not expect to see Greg again.

Pressure of work soon took over and the Lanes were forgotten. It was not until the day ended and she was in bed that Abby thought about either of them, and it was, not surprisingly, the elder man who was at the forefront of her mind.

It had been a shock to feel any sort of reaction to him. She had built up an automatic barrier where men were concerned, having discovered that most of them were arrogant and domineering and downright dismissive when faced with a successful career woman. Hallam Lane was no exception.

Why, then, had she felt this instant fascination? It could be dangerous, especially if Greg did manage to persuade his father to change his mind. Just the thought of seeing Hallam Lane again sent a flurry of sensation through her limbs. Lord, it was stupid. How could such a thing have happened?

She determinedly switched her mind to Greg, wondering how long he had been without a mother. It could be part of his problem. Had he been a troublesome child? It would be up to her to find out the history of this young man who had appealed to her for help—and how better than through his father?

A few minutes before ten the next morning her secretary rang through to announce that Mr Lane was waiting to see her.

‘Send him in,’ Abby said at once, feeling pleased that Greg had somehow managed to get round his father. She had not expected that. A ready smile played on her lips as the door opened but it faded instantly when it was the senior Lane who entered her room.

Not wanting to feel at a disadvantage where this big man was concerned, she jumped immediately to her feet and there were no preliminaries on either side. She had his measure now and was ready for him. She barred from her mind any sensual thoughts.

‘If you’re here to say that you forbid me to take Greg’s case then I think you’re making a very foolish mistake,’ she said firmly and clearly. ‘Greg trusts me and wants me and—’

‘You’re wasting your breath.’

Abby dragged her fine brows together. ‘I don’t think so. I happen to believe in your son.’ Hallam Lane wore a charcoal-grey suit this morning, emphasising the lean lines of his body but hiding none of its strength. She had made no mistake in remembering how destroyingly attractive to her senses he was.

‘I’m not here to denigrate you, Sommers,’ he said surprisingly. ‘You can handle Greg’s affairs.’ Dark, long-lashed eyes watched intently for her reaction—eyes so dark that they rendered the irises invisible.

Abby’s frown deepened and for an instant she felt at a disadvantage. ‘I don’t understand.’ And she wished she had dressed differently.

She wore a softly flared cotton dress in emerald-green which matched the colour of her eyes—and made her look even younger! A fact that she was sure had not gone unnoticed by her unexpected visitor.

Her hair was also unrestrained this morning, falling in a torrent of heavy waves about her shoulders, a flame of red that caught Hallam’s eyes and made him frown at her in silence for several long seconds.

She spoke before he could. ‘What has made you change your mind?’

‘Greg reminded me he is of an age to make his own decisions,’ he commented drily. ‘Not that I am totally in agreement with that. He has made some tragic mistakes in his young life.’

Even as he spoke his eyes were making a careful study of her mouth, and then they moved slowly downwards to rest on the pert thrust of her breasts, moulded so clearly by the fine green cotton. It was yet a further deliberate appraisal, perhaps designed to see what sort of reaction he got! Abby’s hackles rose.

‘If it is your intention to use sex as a weapon you’re wasting your time,’ she told him coolly and defensively. She could not deny that she felt something, that a trickle of awareness ran through her veins, but she was most certainly not going to let him see it.

‘Who’s talking about sex?’ he asked, a sardonic curve now to his mouth, a quirk to an eyebrow.

Abby glared. ‘I don’t like the way you’re looking at me, Mr Lane. In fact I find your whole attitude extremely offensive.’

Never had Abby spoken to a prospective client—or a client’s father—in such a manner, but there was something about this man that rubbed her up the wrong way, or was it because she was trying to defend herself? Was it her own sexuality that scared her, the way he managed to arouse her without even trying?

His smile widened, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. ‘I’m a red-blooded male, Sommers, admiring a beautiful lady. If you read anything more into it then you’re living up to my expectations.’

Abby’s head jerked and she gave a swift frown. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Aren’t all women the same?’ he jeered. ‘Especially when they work in a man’s world. I guess domesticity and a few children around your feet is the last thing you want. You earn good money; you’re free to have as many affairs as you wish. I imagine some men find excitement in dating successful career women, but personally I prefer someone who behaves like a real woman.’

Abby wondered what on earth had brought this on. ‘I’m sure I didn’t ask for any of this, Mr Lane,’ she said tightly. ‘I think you’re totally out of order and I think it might be best if you left’

She realised that she was jeopardising the chance he had given her of taking Greg’s case, but, heavens, she didn’t have to put up with his insults. She marched across to the door and opened it, discovering to her astonishment that his son was hovering outside.

Before she could speak, however, before she could even venture a smile, the door was firmly closed again, taken from her by a hand that was stronger and more insistent than her own. She turned furiously. ‘What the devil do you think you’re—?’

‘Just proving a point,’ he muttered, and she was pulled against the hardness of his body, immobilised by one firm hand behind her back and another behind her head. His lips unerringly found hers.

Abby was taken so much by surprise that for the first few seconds she was frozen, simply standing there and allowing the kiss, insane though it was. When finally she came back to life and began to fight, pummelling her fists against a rock-hard body, demanding that he let her go, she was perturbed to see tiny flames of desire in the blackness of his eyes.

Also, more frightening still was her own sizzling response to his compelling sensuality. It could not be stemmed, nor could she ignore it. It was by far the most scary thing that had ever happened to her.

It seemed an age before he finally released her—a whole lifetime of drumming, throbbing heartbeats and racing pulses, of a pagan rhythm that threatened to take over her whole body.

‘Well, well, well, Sommers,’ he said, his full lips curled in confident amusement, his eyes mocking. ‘You did not let me down.’

She threw him a swift, savage glance, though in truth it was herself, her own unaccountable behaviour that she was more angry with. ‘You’re despicable!’

‘And you’re incredibly beautiful when you’re angry—and also completely predictable.’

Abby’s body shook with anger; she was furious with both him and herself. ‘You’re deeply mistaken, Mr Lane. You have no idea at all what I am like. And do you know what? I feel sorry for Greg having a father like you; you’re the one who has no morals.’

He smiled—a highly dangerous smile—appearing not in the least perturbed by her harsh words. ‘Just remember,’ he warned, a steely glint now in his eyes, ‘I want no sentence passed against my son.’

She looked at him coolly and disdainfully. ‘It depends whether he is innocent, Mr Lane.’

‘It is up to you to prove that he is,’ he reminded her tersely.

‘Is it your good name you’re thinking of?’ Abby knew she was dicing with danger but restraint had long since flown out of the window where this man was concerned.

Black eyes glittered. ‘Just do the job you’re getting paid for.’ Then he yanked the door open and motioned his son to enter. Greg glanced from one to the other and it was obvious by his worried expression that he had heard their raised voices. ‘I’ll see you later, son,’ Hallam growled as he brushed past him and left the office.

Abby could have done with a few moments to pull herself together before talking to Greg.

‘It sounded as though my father was very angry,’ said the young man quietly.

She grimaced. ‘He was.’

‘He hasn’t changed his mind about—?’

‘Of course not,’ she assured him hastily.

‘Then what—?’

Again she interrupted. ‘It doesn’t matter, Greg.’ Her tone was soft and friendly, her eyes warm. She was in control of herself again. ‘Sit down. We have a lot of talking to do.’

CHAPTER TWO

ABBY hoped and prayed that she would see nothing more of Gregory Lane’s father. She was completely confused by the feelings he had aroused in her—angry with him for daring to kiss her, but even more so with herself for allowing it in the first place. The whole sequence of events had stirred her emotions to such an extent that she could not stop thinking about him.

She found Hallam Lane so undeniably attractive that it was the biggest pity in the world that he felt the way he did about career women. He was the sort of man she could have fallen for, the first one ever to make her sit up and take notice, who had sent her red blood corpuscles into a dizzying spin.

And unfortunately—for her peace of mind at any rate—he did not keep out of her life. He attended the initial court hearing and he also accompanied Greg the next time he came to see her.

When the two of them walked into her office Abby felt everything inside her flutter into chaos—every nerve-end, every pulse, each heartbeat. Determinedly, however, she stiffened her spine, hardened her tone and went straight into the attack. ‘I think you should let Greg handle his own affairs, Mr Lane.’

Today she was wearing a dusky pink skirt and matching silk blouse that should have clashed outrageously with her hair but somehow didn’t. Instead she managed to look deliciously feminine. She had taken her hair back into her nape with a big pink and gold slide, and gold hoop earrings hung from her ears.

Had she known that Greg’s father intended putting in an appearance she would most definitely have put on a plain dark suit and probably even a pair of tortoiseshell glasses! Anything to give herself a more professional image. Though, she had the uncomfortable feeling that nothing she wore would make one iota of difference where this man was concerned.

Black eyes locked into hers after they had made their now customary appraisal—during which time every single one of Abby’s senses raced into action. It was alarming the way her body reacted to him and she wished there was something she could do about it.

‘I happen to think,’ he said evenly, ‘that there is every need for me to be present’ His eyes continued to war with hers. ‘And I shall continue to attend until I’ve satisfied myself that you have sufficient experience to deal with my son’s case.’

He sounded so officious, so arrogant, so pompous that hostility prickled Abby’s spine now, all sensuous feelings flying, and she drew herself up tall, prepared to do battle. ‘Perhaps you’d like a word with one of my partners?’ she queried tartly. ‘I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to vouch for me.’

Greg stood at his father’s side, fidgeting and looking acutely uncomfortable. Abby felt sorry for him. He was caught in their crossfire and it couldn’t be good for his morale. It was such a pity that his father found it essential to interfere.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Hallam Lane answered evenly, as she had somehow expected he might. ‘But I would like Greg to leave us; I want a few words with you alone.’

Greg looked suddenly both startled and apprehensive, as she was herself, and he glanced at her hesitantly, as if asking what he should do.

Abby saw no reason why he should go out of the room, and she could not think what Hallam Lane had to say that could not be said in front of his son, but she also knew that the man would not go until he had got off his chest whatever was bothering him, so she gave Greg a slight nod and a faint smile, trying to reassure him.

When they were alone she stood tall, chin high, green eyes wary, her fingertips on the edge of the desk, and waited to hear what he had to say. Hallam Lane wore a navy suit and blue silk shirt and tie this morning, which seemed to emphasise his height and breadth. He looked every inch as dynamically attractive as before. Abby found her mouth growing dry simply by her looking at him.

‘Did Greg tell you that he has been in trouble before?’ he asked abruptly.

With an effort Abby dragged her attention away from the man and back to the business in hand. ‘As a matter of fact, no. But he is here again today so that we can further discuss—’

‘He wouldn’t have told you,’ he cut in, a faint harshness in his tone 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. She certainly had no intention of marrying a man who would constantly try to demoralise her, and they all did that—at least, the ones she had met did. And Hallam Lane was no different!

‘If you’re not careful,’ he warned, ‘you’ll turn into an embittered old spinster. And that would be a terrible shame for someone as—’ he reached out and stroked the back of a finger down her cheek ‘—beautiful as you.’ His tone had gone an octave lower, to a deeply sensual growl that shivered through Abby’s bloodstream.

She jerked her head away, but not soon enough, not before she had felt the searing heat of his fingers. Lord help her if this was going to happen each time they met! ‘Please get out of my office,’ she said through gritted teeth.

A disturbing smile flickered at the corners of his sensual mouth and he did not move an inch. ‘Maybe,’ he muttered, ‘it would be interesting to find out exactly what makes you tick.’

Abby stiffened and glared, desperately wishing that she had never been approached to take Greg’s case. When fathers attended with their sons they did not normally take over as this man was doing, and certainly none of them had ever affected her pulse rate!

‘You’re an intriguing female, Sommers.’ The deep, sexy growl was still there, at complete odds with the harsh tones he had used earlier. ‘I shall look forward to our next meeting.’ And with that, both to her surprise and her intense relief, Hallam Lane finally moved, finally opened the door, leaving Abby with an oddly beating heart and a sense of total confusion.

Greg looked as bewildered as she felt when his father led him away, and in the days that followed she pondered over this older Lane who had got through to her as no one else ever had, and who seemed to find a great deal of pleasure in taunting her.

As a consequence she was discovering a sensual side to her nature that had not seen the light of day since her first, exploratory relationships before she had qualified as a solicitor. And her feelings then had certainly been nothing like this!

It was a worrying reaction under the circumstances, and if there had been a way out of going to his house she would have taken it. She had a sneaky feeling that Hallam Lane would not leave her and Greg alone, even though he had promised.

On Friday Abby was in court; it was a trying and tiring day and she would have given anything to be able to spend the evening relaxing alone. She felt drained and washed out and not in the least like another confrontation.

Nevertheless, at five minutes to the appointed hour she halted her car outside the wrought-iron gates. A camera, which she had not noticed before, detected her presence and the gates were opened, presumably by Hallam Lane from inside the house. On her previous visit she had been compelled to announce her presence through an intercom system set into the wall next to the gates.

She drew her Rover to a halt in front of the magnificent red brick mansion that must have cost a fortune, and turned off the ignition. But before she could open the door Hallam Lane was doing it for her.

He had appeared out of nowhere and she looked at him in shocked surprise; then as she met the piercing blackness of his eyes Abby felt a further unexpected and unwanted jolt to her senses.

‘You’re on time. Good—I like that.’ He was dressed casually this evening in a pale blue knitted silk shirt, open-necked and short-sleeved, with a pair of darker blue linen trousers. It was the first time Abby had seen him in anything other than dark colours and she thought how well the blue suited him. In fact he looked even more breathtaking than before and she knew it was going to be a difficult evening.

Abby herself had chosen to wear a chocolate-brown skirt and jacket with a cream blouse—very plain and very businesslike—her hair pinned on top of her head, no make-up at all on her face. She did not feel very comfortable; she never did when she wore such sombre clothes—they were so much against her nature—but she had not wanted Hallam Lane to get any more wrong ideas.

It was unfortunate that her skirt rode up over her knees as she climbed out and typical of Hallam Lane not to miss a thing. In fact his eyes stayed on her legs for far longer than was necessary, and when Abby bent inside to retrieve her briefcase she knew that he was studying her posterior.

His bold inspection sent her temperature soaring, and, as if in denial of the heated feelings that ran through her, Abby held her head that little bit higher as she accompanied him into the house.

He led her through to the same pleasant sitting-room that overlooked the expertly landscaped grounds at the back—and there was no sign of the younger Lane. She presumed he would be joining them shortly.

‘A drink, Sommers?’ he asked, indicating with a movement of his hand that she should sit on one of the linen-covered armchairs near the French windows.

She shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Of course,’ came the mocking response as he poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘I’d forgotten you were an abstainer.’

Abby doubted it; he struck her as the type of man who forgot nothing. ‘Where’s Greg?’ she asked. She had no intention of sitting around wasting time when there was work to be done.

‘He’ll be joining us later.’ Hallam Lane moved over to the white marble fireplace, where he rested his elbow on the mantelpiece and surveyed her indolently.

‘Later?’ Abby questioned with a frown, at the same time registering the way his close-fitting trousers hid none of the muscular strength of his thighs. He had to be the most potent male specimen she had ever seen, and it took her a second or two to drag her eyes back to his face and remember what they were talking about. ‘What do you mean, later?’ she questioned, her eyes sparking with irritation. ‘Our appointment was for eight.’

‘He’s been detained.’ There was curious pleasure in Hallam’s voice as he made his announcement, and his dark eyes were watchful on hers, registering every change in her expression.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Abby jumped up and crossed the room to face him. ‘If Greg’s not here then there’s no point in my staying.’

A secret smile played about his generous lips. ‘I thought we could spend a little while getting to—know each other,’ he said softly, an innuendo in his tone that was distinctly disturbing.

‘Then you thought wrong,’ she retorted firmly. ‘I have much better things I could do with my time than make small talk with you.’

He took a slow sip of the amber liquid, watching her closely as he did so, an enigmatic expression narrowing his beautiful dark eyes. ‘I’d like to talk about you. I’m curious as to why you chose law as a profession. With your looks and figure I would have thought you’d choose something more glamorous.’

Abby looked at him cool and hard. ‘The answer’s easy: I’m following in my father’s footsteps.’ When her parent had had a sudden and fatal heart attack a few years ago it had devastated her, her mother also, and they had consoled each other as best they could. Now her mother had a new boyfriend and she had her career and a place of her own. She was quite content.

‘And you’re happy without a man in your life?’ There was a deliberate lift to his brows. ‘Or is there someone? You see, I know so little about you.’

‘My private life’s private, and that’s the way I’d like it to stay,’ retorted Abby sharply. She had no intention of discussing her personal life with this man. ‘I’m here to find out about your son, not for you to find out about me,’ she told him. ‘How long is he likely to be?’

Hallam Lane swallowed a further drop of whisky, savouring the smooth golden liquid to the full, before saying with what seemed like deliberate vagueness, ‘I really have no idea.’

‘No idea?’ she countered, green eyes feverishly bright. ‘This really is most irregular, Mr Lane. Is he upstairs? Can’t you give him a call? I—’

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ he cut in quietly, his black eyes suddenly locked into hers, the suspicion of a smile curling his lips. ‘Greg is not at home.’ There was a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice.

Abby looked at him sharply and suspiciously. ‘You didn’t tell him about our appointment, did you? You deliberately let me come here, knowing that your son would be out.’ Anger, fierce and swift, flooded her and she cursed herself for being so foolish. She should have known that she could not trust him.

Hallam Lane lifted his broad shoulders in acknowledgement, not in the least disconcerted. ‘I can answer your questions myself.’

‘You know exactly what happened on the night in question?’ she asked, chin lifted, eyes blazing. Lord, what an idiot she had been.

‘I know what my son told me.’

‘Which need not necessarily be the whole truth,’ she pointed out coolly.

Hallam Lane frowned. ‘Why would he lie?’

‘I’m not saying he’s lied,’ she retorted, ‘but he could have quite easily held something back. Your son respects you, Mr Lane; I don’t know whether you realise that. He wouldn’t want to hurt you more than necessary.’

She recalled her younger brother—now married and living in the USA—getting into trouble on several occasions, but he’d never told his father every single detail, for the simple reason that he had not wanted to upset his father unduly—or incur further wrath!

Hallam shook his head, as though denying that this could be the case. ‘I don’t believe for one moment that my son would be so foolish.’ And with an abrupt change of subject he added, ‘I think it’s time we ate.’

Abby stiffened, her finely shaped brows drawing together into a disbelieving frown.

‘I did invite you for dinner,’ he reminded her drily, a faint quirk to his lips.

‘And I distinctly remember refusing,’ she riposted. ‘And since Greg is not at home then I see no point in staying.’ She headed towards the door.

His voice stopped her. ‘It’s all ready; it would be uncivil of you to waste good food. And—there’s always the chance that Greg will be back before we’ve finished,’ he added softly.

He must have known that this would persuade her. She heaved a sigh and finally turned, to discover uneasily that he had moved away from the fireplace and was only a pace behind her. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I guess I am hungry,’ she said reluctantly—actually she had eaten nothing since breakfast. ‘But the instant we’ve finished—if Greg isn’t here—I shall go.’

He smiled and, taking her elbow, led her out of the room. At his touch her stomach tied itself into knots, every pulse raced, and Abby wished that she had not been so quick to agree.

If Hallam Lane did not approve of her as his son’s solicitor then why did he bother to entertain her? She wished she knew what thoughts were going through his mind, and she wished to goodness that she had spoken to Greg himself when he’d visited her office, so that this mix-up would not have happened.

The dining-room was next door, still overlooking the fine grounds. The rosewood table was laid with a cream damask cloth and cream napkins with a wine-coloured embroidered border. The candles were of the same deep red, as was the central single rose. There were two place settings only! Abby was furious. ‘You had this arranged all along,’ she declared, her voice shrill with accusation.

‘What pretty girl doesn’t like to be wined and dined?’ he asked, a look of smug satisfaction on his handsome face—a look that told her everything was going according to plan—his plan!

She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘It looks set for a seduction scene to me, Mr Lane, and I can assure you I want no part of it. I refuse to sit here and eat with you and pretend that we like each other.’

‘I’m not asking that you like me, Sommers.’ There was a sudden crisp edge to his tone. ‘I simply believe that it would be to our mutual advantage to spend a little time discussing my son.’ A minute ago he had said he wanted to talk about her! ‘That’s an excuse and you know it,’ she cried, her eyes flashing her hostility, and she turned to head out of the room.

Hallam Lane’s fingers closed about her arm. ‘You’re not running out on me now,’ he growled, twisting her round to face him.

‘If you think that you can force me into staying you’re making a big mistake,’ Abby gritted, struggling in vain to free herself. ‘I should have known you had an ulterior motive.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ he told her firmly. ‘And I have no intention of forcing you.’ His black eyes met and held her luminous green ones. ‘But there are certain events relating to my son’s earlier years that I think are distinctly relevant to the trouble he’s in now. I’d like to tell you about them.’

Again Abby was left with no choice. But why the devil couldn’t he have told her all this in the office instead of using it as an excuse to entertain her in his own home? She eyed him warily, making it perfectly clear that she did not approve. ‘Very well,’ she said with a great show of reluctance.

‘Good.’ He let go her arm with a satisfied smile. ‘Let me take your jacket.’

Unhappily Abby allowed him to slide it from her shoulders. She would have preferred to take it off herself but he had already made the move and she was compelled to endure the proximity of his hard-muscled body.

It shouldn’t have disturbed her—she ought not to have allowed it to—but somehow it sent a tremor down her spine. And when he held out a chair for her his hands touched her shoulders; it was just a light brush, but nevertheless a further uneasy quiver ran through her.

Was this an omen of what was to come? Had she made a dangerous mistake? Ought she to get out now before anything further happened to upset her peace of mind?

CHAPTER THREE

FACING the window, Abby had an excellent view of the garden, but Hallam himself sat with his back to it, throwing his face into shadow. It put her at a definite disadvantage, she decided; it would have been much better if they had both sat sideways on to the window. Had he done it deliberately?

She looked beyond him. ‘You have a nice garden, Mr Lane.’ Mundane words, but she needed to say something—anything—to dispel her inner tension. She could accept that maybe he did want to talk about Greg but there had to be something more. Otherwise why the candles and the exquisite china? Why go to all this trouble?

It could be that he was trying to find out exactly what sort of a person she was. Perhaps he thought she expected this wine-and-roses treatment. Perhaps he thought all women expected it.

She recalled her unfortunate response to his kiss that first time he’d come to her office—could she have given him the wrong impression? Had he thought then that she was any man’s for the taking? It was definitely a disquieting thought.

When she looked back at Hallam he was watching her, a faint, cynical smile playing about his lips. Abby had the troubled feeling that he was aware of every thought passing through her mind.

‘Yes, I’m extremely pleased with the way the grounds have developed,’ he said. ‘They’re very different from when I first moved in, far less austere. We can take a walk afterwards if you like and I’ll show you some of the changes I’ve had made.’

‘I don’t think so,’ answered Abby coolly. ‘I won’t be here that long—unless, of course, Greg returns, though somehow I don’t think he will. I think you’ve arranged this whole evening deliberately, though why I cannot imagine.’

A brow lifted but before he could make any response a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you ready for dinner now, Mr Lane?’

Abby gave a start of surprise. The door was behind her and she had not heard any footsteps.

‘As ready as we’ll ever be, Emily,’ he answered pleasantly.

The woman came further into the room. ‘You’re Neville Sommers’ daughter, aren’t you?’ she asked, peering at Abby closely. ‘I thought it was you the other day but I couldn’t be sure.’ She was a thin, neat woman with short grey hair and a cheerful expression.

‘That’s right. Did you know him?’ asked Abby.

‘He looked after my late husband’s affairs,’ confessed the woman. ‘You’re very much like him, do you know that? There’s no mistaking that you’re father and daughter. I was sorry to hear he had passed away; he was very good to me.’

Abby gave a wistful smile, pleased to hear this woman’s kind words. ‘I miss him a lot.’

‘And now you’ve stepped into his shoes,’ said Emily briskly. ‘Good for you, Miss Sommers. If you’re anything like your father young Greg couldn’t have chosen anyone better.’

Abby glanced at Hallam Lane out of the corner of her eye. His lips were pursed disapprovingly. ‘Food, Emily,’ he said peremptorily. ‘I’m starving.’

The woman immediately scuttled away and he looked at Abby curiously. ‘I wasn’t aware that Mrs Renfrew knew your father.’

‘Does it make any difference?’ she asked, sitting back in her chair and looking at him directly. ‘Or is the issue still that you don’t like to think I could be good at my job, especially as good as my father?’

‘I know you’re good,’ he told her surprisingly, a quirk to his eyebrow as he spoke, ‘or I would never have let Greg have his wish.’

‘Meaning you’ve checked me out?’ she asked sharply. It did not surprise her. Nothing this man did would ever surprise her.

His housekeeper chose that moment to return and he remained silent for a moment as the woman placed in front of them a delicious-looking fillet of Dover sole in a creamy white sauce with prawns.

‘I’d have been a fool not to make a check,’ he said once they were alone.

The smell of the food was profoundly appetising and Abby’s empty stomach gave a loud rumble. She quickly took a mouthful and found the fish every bit as delicate and tasty as it looked.

‘And yet you still don’t want me defending your son,’ she protested once she had emptied her mouth. Abby could not understand him. Hallam Lane was without a doubt the most enigmatic man she had ever met.

‘I would have preferred a man.’ Dark eyes looked challengingly into hers.

Abby flashed him a quick, indignant glance, wishing she could see him more clearly. Although the evening sun was not shining directly through the window the sky was extremely bright and his face very much in shadow. ‘Is it women in general you don’t approve of,’ she asked, jabbing unnecessarily hard at her fish, ‘or just women in what you see as men’s jobs?’

He smiled slowly. ‘Oh, I like women all right.’ And his eyes dropped from her face to her breasts. His perusal, as always, was long and deliberate and induced a warmth in her skin that she could have done without. Abby wondered whether there was a hint here of what he had in mind for later, what he had perhaps had in mind all along—though she had been too dense to see it!

What a fool she was not to have heeded her earlier misgivings and left while she’d had the chance. She knew nothing about this man, had no idea what he was like—except that he was lethally attractive and equally dangerous. In fact he was the most threatening man she had ever met in her whole life.

Despite her misgivings Abby kept a tight hold on her emotions, letting none of her fears show. ‘Do I presume from that that you have a lady-friend, Mr Lane?’

He dragged his eyes back to her face with a seeming effort. ‘Hallam, please. And no, as a matter of fact there is no one special.’

‘Why is that?’

His lips twisted with sudden bitterness. ‘Let’s say I tried it once.’

‘Ah, your wife—she did this to you?’ Abby knew she was out of order but the words spilled from her lips without conscious thought, and she was appalled to find herself adding, ‘Actually, I don’t blame her for leaving you; you’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. No woman in her right mind would—’

‘My wife is dead,’ he cut in icily, stopping in an instant her angry flow of words.

Abby wished the floor would open and swallow her up. Hot colour flooded her cheeks and her whole body grew uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know.’ Why on earth had she made the assumption that they were separated, that he was a divorced man and not a widower? Why hadn’t Greg told her? Lord, how insensitive she had been. ‘I really do apologise; I had no idea that—’

Again he interrupted. ‘Let’s drop the subject, shall we?’ His eyes were ablaze with a light she could not read and for a few uneasy minutes silence reigned.

It was not until they had both finished their starter that Hallam spoke again. ‘Do you live with your mother?’ he asked, an agreeable, conversational tone to his voice now, as though the whole unfortunate episode had never taken place.

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head, at the same time breathing a sigh of relief. ‘My mother has a new boyfriend; they’re very much in love. And as I didn’t want to spoil their pleasure in each other I bought myself a house.’

An eyebrow rose. ‘No doubt out of the profits you make due to idiots like my son,’ he remarked, a sudden bitter edge to his tone.

‘Someone has to do the job,’ she retorted, realising wearily that they would never see eye to eye. ‘I can’t understand you, Hallam Lane; why do you insist on making insulting remarks all the time?’

He gave an ironic twist to his lips. ‘It’s an amusing pastime.’

‘Meaning you’ll never take me seriously.’ Abby’s eyes flashed her displeasure. She always took umbrage when people were insulting about her chosen profession—and even more so with this detestable man!

‘Meaning,’ he said, ‘that I would never even have given you the opportunity of taking Greg’s case if he hadn’t pleaded with me so eloquently.’ He looked at her, as if trying to see her through his son’s eyes. ‘Goodness knows why.’

‘Because he knows I’m good with young people his age,’ she replied tartly.

His lips curled. ‘Yes, I understand you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself. I have barrister friends who say that your groundwork is so thorough that you’re a pleasure to work with. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’

His mercurial change of subject momentarily threw her and Abby looked at him with a frown before saying, ‘As I told you once before, my private life is just that—private. It is none of your business.’

‘Are you content to live the life of a nun?’

Even though she was deliberately staring out of the window Abby knew that Hallam was watching her closely and intently. To her dismay every nerve-end tingled. He had this alarming ability to arouse her just by looking at her, making her more aware of her own body than she had ever been before.

‘You have no idea what sort of life I lead,’ she told him sharply.

‘So there is a boyfriend?’ he insisted.

Abby could not lie and she shook her head. ‘As a matter of fact, no, there isn’t.’

‘Does the job get in the way?’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Are men scared of you? Does being a legal eagle put them off?’

‘Of course not,’ she answered firmly, her eyes shooting sparks of indignation.

‘When was the last time you dated?’ He was sitting well back in his chair now, his head on one side as he deliberately studied her.

Abby felt a curl of desire in the pit of her stomach and stifled it instantly. ‘Lord, what is this?’ she cried, her tone more aggressive than she’d intended. ‘The third degree? Of what possible interest can it be to you?’

He smiled. ‘Let’s say you intrigue me. I’ve never met a woman so uninterested in the opposite sex. Or is it, perhaps, all a sham?’ he asked quietly. ‘A veneer to go with the image of professional businesswoman?’

After a pause, when it became clear she was not going to answer his question, he went on, ‘You did respond to me rather—easily the other day. I gained the impression that if I were to—’

His words were interrupted when his housekeeper returned with their main course, but the instant she left the room he continued, ‘That if I were to make any further advances I wouldn’t be exactly rebuffed.’

‘Then you’re deeply mistaken.’ Fury made her raise her voice, and she hoped desperately that it was all presumption on his part, that he had not guessed what sensations crept through her body every time she looked at him.

Sliced breast of chicken, cooked in another one of Emily Renfrew’s wonderful sauces wafted its mouthwatering smell beneath Abby’s nostrils and she helped herself to vegetables from the dishes which matched the rest of the china, glad of something to do to take her attention away from Hallam Lane.

‘Aren’t we supposed to be discussing your son?’ she asked in a deliberate attempt to change the subject.

He did not answer. Instead he asked a question of his own. ‘Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are the most incredible green? So unusual. They change according to your mood. When you’re angry they’re as deep as a storm-tossed sea, but they’re as light as the palest emerald when you’re…’

He let his voice tail off, a knowing little smile playing about his lips.

Abby was appalled that he could read her so easily. ‘You’re despicable!’ Her eyes flashed at him and she wondered what colour they were at that moment. She had no idea that they ever changed.

‘I’m merely stating facts.’ Amusement insisted on lurking at the corners of his mouth. ‘Eat your food before it gets cold.’

Abby discovered that she had suddenly lost her appetite. Nevertheless she cut off a piece of chicken and put it into her mouth. Although it was undoubtedly tender it tasted like cardboard and when Hallam watched her every move she felt like throwing the whole contents of her plate into his face. In fact the thought gave her so much pleasure that she stifled a giggle, though she could not quite stop a smile forming on her lips.

‘What’s so funny?’ he enquired as he also speared a portion of chicken.

‘Private thoughts,’ answered Abby, still smiling.

‘I’ll give you a penny for them.’

‘You might not like what you hear.’

‘Try me.’

She was sorely tempted—not to tell him but to carry the thought out. She could just imagine his reaction. She had done it to her brother once, when his tormenting had got the better of her. He hadn’t been amused but it had been distinctly worth it just to see the shock on his face. However, discretion had to be the better part of valour here. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

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