All Denny Cole ever noticed was her typing speed.

But Kenna Dean promised herself that one day the Atlanta lawyer would see beyond his efficient secretary to the woman beneath. It seemed an uphill battle until Denny’s partner and stepbrother Regan decided to make her over to catch Denny’s eye. But the “solution” backfired when Regan became the problem. She’d distrusted him on sight until he swept her into his practiced arms to an ecstasy she’d never known before. He was grooming her for another man, but suddenly Kenna wanted to capture only Regan’s heart.

Diamond Girl

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

It was raining in chilly gray torrents, and Kenna Dean made puddles on the floor beside her desk as she shed her beige raincoat and its matching hat. Even her long, wavy dark hair was soaked, and she pushed it angrily out of her bespectacled eyes. She was already ten minutes late because she’d missed the bus, and now her suede boots were drenched along with the hem of her new blue ruffled frontier skirt. She sighed wearily. What was the use? She had just bought the new frontier skirt and a matching high-necked ruffled blouse on Saturday, and this morning she walked out of her small apartment with confidence. Today she was going to make Denny Cole look at her and see a woman, not just an efficient secretary who made good coffee. But then it rained and she’d missed the bus and had to walk four blocks to the downtown Atlanta law office where she worked. It was starting out to be a typical Monday.

Denny Cole’s office door opened just as she had known it would, and her tall, boyishly attractive boss walked into the outer office. One fair eyebrow rose expressively as he looked across at her, and she could see that he was struggling not to laugh. She could imagine how she looked: tall, gangly and small-breasted, wearing clothes that suddenly seemed to emphasize all the faults in her figure. To complete the image of disaster, her mascara was running down her cheeks. She looked like an ideal applicant for the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus.

“Go ahead, say it,” she dared him, pursing her full lips, which were ineffectually painted with thick, pink lipstick. “I’m off to join the clowns.”

“I’m a gentleman, or I might,” he admitted, letting his white teeth show in a smile as he jammed his hands into his pockets and moved closer. “What’s on the agenda today, Kenna?”

Just like that. No notice of anything except the job, even when she looked horrible. She should have known better than to try to dress up for him.

She reached into the top drawer and pulled out the appointment book. “You’ve got Mrs. Baker about the property suite at nine, you’re due in court at ten-thirty on the James case and you’ve got a meeting in chambers with Judge Monroe at two-thirty. Isn’t he sitting on the James case?”

He nodded.

“Then if you don’t finish by two-thirty, you can forget the meeting in chambers, I suppose.”

“Are you kidding?” He chuckled. “Henry will recess until we talk over that continuance. How about the rest of the afternoon?”

“You’re free.”

“Thank God.” He sighed. He winked at her. “I’ve got a heavy date with Margo tonight. I don’t know how I live from evening to evening!”

She tried to smile and look unconcerned, while her heart was being slowly strangled by the thought of the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty he’d been dating for the past two months. It was beginning to look serious, and she was really scared. How would she live if Denny married someone else? She seemed to have loved him forever—at least for the past year. And all he ever noticed was her typing speed.

“Has Regan come in yet?” he asked.

She felt herself tense at the thought of Denny’s older stepbrother. He frightened her with his hard, dark face and his huge physique. He was the most abrasively masculine man she’d ever known, and the six months he’d been in partnership with Denny had been the most trying of her work history. She still couldn’t understand why Regan had left a lucrative law practice in New York to come down to Atlanta and join Denny’s, when Regan already had a national reputation as a trial lawyer and Denny was just out of law school.

“I don’t think so,” she murmured after a minute. “I just walked in the door, and I haven’t looked.”

“You won’t, either, unless I insist, will you?” he asked curiously. “It amazes me how nervous you are around my brother. The other day he told me that you seem to go into hiding when he’s here. He has to hunt for you to give dictation.”

She shifted restlessly. She wasn’t a timid person. She had a temper and on occasion she showed it even to Denny. But Regan made her bristle. She couldn’t be in the same room with him for five minutes without wanting to take his trash can and dump it over his shaggy dark head of hair. And that wouldn’t do at all because Denny worshipped his brother. So she tried to avoid trouble by avoiding Regan Cole. In her mind they were one and the same.

“I’m busy most of the time,” she reminded him. “There are those files in the storeroom that I’m trying to alphabetize when I’m not typing petitions for you or entertaining nervous clients....”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. He cocked his head at her, and his fair hair, so unlike Regan’s, glinted gold in the fluorescent light. “You don’t like Regan, do you?” he asked bluntly.

She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I suppose I’m a little in awe of him,” she said after a minute, searching for a tactful way to admit that she hated his guts and finding none.

“Because he’s famous?” Denny chuckled. “His name always makes the gossip column when he goes to Hollywood or the Big Apple, all right. Regan attracts women the way honey attracts bees. He’s not a bad-looking devil, and, God knows, he’s not poor.

“Come to think of it, I’m surprised he didn’t bring his own secretary when we began the partnership,” Denny murmured, smiling. “Sandy was quite a dish. Uh, not that you aren’t...”

She managed a faint smile, to show him that she didn’t mind being thought of as drab and uninteresting by the man she worshipped.

“Maybe Sandy didn’t want to leave New York,” she suggested.

“Maybe.” He turned. “Well, send Mrs. Baker in as soon as she gets here. I’m not snowed under with mail yet, am I?”

“I’ll run down to the mail room and get it,” she said.

“Made coffee?” he called over his shoulder.

“Sure,” she muttered to herself, “and swept the floors and de-cobwebbed the corners and reupholstered the chairs and the sofa and patched the carpet and painted the door facings, all in the past three minutes since I walked in the door.”

“Not yet,” she replied sweetly. “As soon as I get back, okay?”

He sighed. “I guess it will have to be,” he mumbled, closing his door behind him.

“Oh, damn men everywhere,” she muttered as she opened the outer door, and came face-to-face with Regan Cole.

She had to force herself not to start at the unexpected sight of him. He was intimidating—not only his superior height, but the sheer size of him, and not an ounce of that physique was flab. He could back down most opponents just by standing up. His eyes were brown with amber specks, and they were hard and cold as ice when he was angry. His face was broad, his mouth chiseled and faintly sensuous, his nose was too big and had been broken at least twice; it matched his hands and feet, which were equally oversize. But somehow they all suited him.

She moved quickly aside to let him enter the office, and felt herself bristle as he came by her. He had a frightening vitality, an aura of pure menace when he was out of sorts. And he was always out of sorts with Kenna.

“I’m expecting a letter from a colleague in New York,” he said without preamble and without a trace of good humor. “Bring the mail in as soon as you get it.”

His broad back disappeared into his office and the door closed behind it. She glared at it and, giving in to a sudden whim, went down on her knees and salaamed in front of his closed door. Just as she was giving her best to the effort, the door suddenly opened again.

Regan’s thick eyebrows rose while Kenna struggled to regain both her feet and her forgotten dignity.

“I’ll need you for some dictation when you get the mail, so bring your pad in with it,” he said curtly.

“And if you’re auditioning for the stage, don’t practice on my time.”

He turned back into his office and slammed the door.

There was a muffled laugh from behind her, and she turned to see Denny struggling to keep a straight face. They looked at each other and burst into laughter, rushing out into the hall together to keep from exploding where Regan could hear them.

This was Denny at his best, a co-conspirator with a sense of humor that she loved. Regan’s exact opposite, in every way.

“I thought you were going to faint when he opened the door.” Denny chuckled, leaning back against the wall in the deserted corridor as the laughter passed. “That made my morning.”

“I wasn’t expecting him to open the door,” she confessed. “I couldn’t help it, he throws orders around like a conquering army.”

“He always has. I’ve learned to nod my head and listen and then go do what I please. It works half the time,” he added with a rueful smile. “Poor kid, he’s rough on you, I know. I truly didn’t realize he was going to leave his own secretary behind in New York and then want to share mine.”

She flushed at that unexpected sympathy and smiled up at him. “It’s okay,” she murmured, ready to wade through crocodile-infested waters for him. “I’d better get the mail before his lordship comes out with battle ax in hand. Then I’ll get your coffee.”

“No rush, I’ll survive,” he said with a wink. “Don’t let him intimidate you, Kenna. He’s not what he seems. In a lot of ways, Regan’s had a hard life.” He straightened away from the wall. “Chin up, and all that rot,” he said in his best fake British accent. “Right, troops?”

She saluted. “Aye, sir!” She turned and rushed down to the elevator.

A little over an hour later, she was sitting at her desk when Denny came out, shrugging into his trench coat on the way.

“I’m late again.” He sighed and smiled at her. “I should be back by three-thirty. You can call the courthouse if you need me before then.”

“Will do,” she promised. “Have a nice day.”

“I’ll do my best. Oh, pull out the Myers file and photocopy those deeds for me, will you? And do a cover letter, along the lines of, ‘Dear Mr. Anderson, enclosed please find copies of the deeds for the Myers land dispute. When you have looked them over, see if you concur with our client’s contention that the new survey confirms his ownership of land his neighbor has deeded for an industrial park. I will wait to hear from you, etc.’ Okay?”

She was scribbling on the back of an envelope, because, as usual, he wasn’t waiting for her to open her pad. “Got it,” she agreed.

“Hold the fort, honey,” he called over his shoulder. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, if Margo calls, tell her I’ll pick her up at six for the ballet, okay? That’s my girl.”

And he was gone. She glared at the door, feeling vaguely betrayed. She hated Margo, because Margo was beautiful. The Argentinian woman was black-haired and black-eyed, with a complexion like ivory and the most sensuous figure Kenna had ever seen. She ached to look like that, to have that slinky walk and that air of unshakable confidence that drew men like flies. She got out her compact and stared at the plain little face in the mirror with a rueful smile. She wasn’t going to set any men on fire with desire, that was for sure. With a sigh she put away the compact and turned her attention back to her computer screen.

The morning went quickly, and pleasantly. Regan stayed in his office. His clients came and went, and the telephone lines stayed busy, but Kenna didn’t have to see him. She liked days like this, when confrontations could be avoided. She didn’t like Regan. She didn’t exactly know why, but compared to his stepbrother, he was like winter to spring. Denny was so personable and pleasant, such a charming man. The only thing Regan might appear charming to would be something as dangerous as he was—maybe a rattlesnake.

She was grinning wickedly at that thought when Regan’s office door opened and he came out into the office with curt, deliberate steps.

“Get me the Myers file,” he said curtly.

She had it on the desk, having just photocopied the deeds. He rattled her, though, when he used his courtroom tone on her, and she jumped up and started looking through the filing cabinet for it.

His dark eyes went over her with distaste before they fell to the desk. His big hand moved, lifting the edge of the file folder. “Isn’t this it?” he asked, his voice sharp.

She turned, flushing as she realized it was. “Yes, sir,” she said for lack of anything more original.

He opened it, thumbing through it. His eyes shot up, pinning hers. “What are you doing with it?”

“Denny dictated a cover letter on his way out,” she explained coldly, “and said to copy the deeds and send them along.”

He tossed the file back onto her desk with a scowl. “I wish to God he’d take time to tell me when he’s already done something he’s asked me to do.”

“He was in a hurry,” she said defensively. “He had to be in court by nine-thirty.”

He rammed his hands in his pockets and studied her. She wished she hadn’t been standing up; that derisive going-over was embarrassing.

“Seen enough?” she asked, angry at his bold inspection.

“I saw enough the day I walked in the door,” he said, turning. “Is he taking that Margo woman out again tonight?”

She felt a surge of pleasure at the disapproval in his voice. He didn’t care for Denny going out with Margo, either, by the sound of it. “You’ll have to ask him that, Mr. Cole,” she said demurely.

He gave her a sideways glance. “So protective, Miss Dean,” he growled. “Denny’s a grown man, he doesn’t need a bodyguard.”

“Most secretaries are protective of their bosses,” she parried.

“You carry it to new heights.” His glittering eyes narrowed. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost two years,” she said.

“How long have you been in love with my brother?” he continued, and she didn’t like the mocking smile that held no trace of amusement.

She felt her muscles contract, every one of them, and her eyes glittered behind the big frames of her glasses. “It’s hard to work that long around a man without being fond of him,” she countered.

He stuck his big hands in his pockets, obviously enjoying himself. “Are you fond of me?” he returned.

“Oh, just burning up with fondness for you, sir,” she replied, and grinned wickedly.

“Is that why you were salaaming at my office door when I came in this morning?” he asked politely.

She felt the flush coming again and averted her face before it showed, pretending to gather up the photocopied documents on her desk. “I dropped a pencil. I was picking it up,” she informed him.

“The hell you were.”

She glanced up at him. “Was there something else, Mr. Cole?” she asked.

“Eager to get rid of me?” he questioned, arching his thick eyebrows. “I wouldn’t think a woman of your attributes would turn away male attention.”

She was doing a slow burn, but perhaps she was getting angry without reason. “My attributes?”

His dark eyes narrowed as they appraised all of her that was visible over the desk. “Small though they are,” he added with pursed lips. “Was that outfit supposed to catch Denny’s eye?”

She clenched her jaw. “I beg your pardon?”

“That outfit,” he repeated, pulling a hand from his pocket to gesture toward her blouse. “You’d look better in a pair of overalls.”

She stood up, seething. “Mr. Cole, you may be one of my employers,” she began coldly, “but that gives you no right to criticize the way I dress.”

“I have to look at you,” he replied. “Surely I have a say in the decor of my own office?”

“This—” she indicated her clothing “—is the latest style. Pioneers wore clothes like this,” she added with pointed sarcasm.

“No wonder the Indians attacked them,” he remarked.

Her fingers clenched. Her lips compressed. She wanted nothing more than to attack him.

“If you want to take my brother’s eyes away from his Latin acquisition, you’ll have to do better than that,” he persisted. “You look about twelve in that getup. And what do you do to your hair to make it stand on end like that—watch horror movies before you come to work?”

Her fingers curled around the file folder viciously.

“Are you such a prize, Mr. Cole?” she asked coldly.

“Your nose is too big and so are your feet and you’re nobody’s idea of Mr. Beautiful!”

His eyebrows arched. “This, from a woman who could qualify for the Frump of the Year nomination?”

“Oh!” she burst out, and before she had time to think, she had flung the file folder at him, scattering paper all over the desk and the floor.

He cocked his head at her, a peculiar smile momentarily softening his hard features. “How fortunate for you that it didn’t connect,” he murmured. “I hit back, honey.”

“You started it!” she accused, her eyes flaming green and brilliant, changing her face so that despite the inadequacy of her makeup, she was almost pretty.

“A matter of opinion.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it calmly, watching her hesitate before she reluctantly bent to pick up the scattered papers.

Her fingers were trembling; her body was trembling. She wanted nothing more than to hurt him, to wound him. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such rage at any man.

And especially her boss. She colored, remembering that. He’d be within his rights to fire her, and that would take her right out of Denny’s life, because Denny wouldn’t go against Regan. She’d seen proof of that often enough.

She glanced up at him apprehensively as she clutched the disordered sheets of paper to her bosom and stood up.

“Feeling apologetic?” he asked, and the cold smile told her he understood exactly why she was regretting her temper.

She swallowed her pride. Any sacrifice, to be near Denny. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Cole,” she choked. “It won’t happen again.”

“Poor little Cinderella,” he murmured mockingly, and took a draw from his cigarette while she blushed again. “Sitting among the ashes while the wicked stepsister makes away with the handsome prince.”

“Yes, indeed,” she returned curtly, “almost as bad as having to kiss the frog.” She smiled meaningfully at him.

He turned away. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you,” he murmured. “I’m damned particular about who kisses me.”

“I’m amazed,” she muttered. “You probably have to pay women to do that.”

“What was that?” he asked, turning.

In enough trouble already, she controlled her temper. “Not a thing, sir,” she replied with a theatrical smile. “Just commenting on the weather.”

“It would break your heart if I fired you, wouldn’t it?” he asked suddenly, looking disgustingly smug. “Because Denny wouldn’t lift a finger to bring you back, and you know it.”

“That would be hitting below the belt, counselor,” she said quietly.

“Yes, it would. I might remind you,” he added with a flash of a mocking smile, “that I’m a criminal lawyer. I don’t mind hitting where it hurts the most. Do we understand each other, Miss Dean?”

She swallowed. “Yes, sir, we understand each other.”

“One more thing,” he said, as he took a step into his office and turned with cold brown eyes to look back at her. “The next time you throw anything at me, you’d better be wearing your track shoes.”

And he closed the door behind him.

She spent the rest of the day avoiding him, finding excuse after excuse not to go near his office. She didn’t like Regan Cole, but it was even more apparent that he disliked her. He always had, since the day he walked into the office for the first time and saw her. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the coldness in his eyes, the instant hostility that had met her tentative greeting. He couldn’t have made his dislike more obvious if he’d shouted at her. Not that he minded allowing her to take his dictation and his phone calls and type his briefs, she thought angrily. Oh, no, he didn’t mind letting her work herself into a frenzy trying to cope with his impatience and his black temper.

When Denny walked back into the office at three-thirty, she was still simmering.

“Hi, girl.” Denny grinned, whistling a gay tune as he sauntered in and perched himself on her desk. “How’s it going?”

“You had four calls. I put the messages on your desk. And I’ve got the letter on the Myers file in there for your signature, complete with copies,” she said, warming to his charm. He was like a breath of spring compared to his wintery stepbrother.

“Is Regan in?”

She felt her face go rigid. “He left about a half hour ago.”

He cocked his head at her. “You say that with such relish,” he murmured, grinning.

“For my part, I wish he was in darkest Africa, being slowly cooked in somebody’s stew pot, pith helmet and all,” she said, visualizing the scene with glee. “Of course, he’d poison whoever ate him....”

“How savage,” he remarked. “Might I ask why you have this sudden compulsion to feed my stepbrother to strangers?”

“He called me a frump,” she returned with glittering eyes. “Not only that, he hinted that I was a public eyesore and should be under Indian attack....”

His eyebrows arched toward the ceiling. “He what?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, never mind, it’s too complicated,” she murmured.

“He doesn’t like you, does he, little one?” he asked quietly. “I’ve noticed how hostile he is toward you. It’s not like Regan. He’s usually the soul of courtesy with women.”

“Ah, but that’s the problem,” she explained, grinning. “He doesn’t think I qualify for the status of a woman. I look about twelve in this rig, he said.”

Denny didn’t say a word, but his eyes revealed that his own opinion matched his brother’s. “Might I ask what you were doing while all this commentary was going on?”

“Flinging file folders at his shaggy head, that’s what,” she returned. “And if you want to fire me, go ahead.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“Oh, no, lady, not me. If you’re brave enough to throw things at Regan, you’ve got a job for life.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Old dragonslayer, that’s my name,” she murmured. “Not that the dragon didn’t flame up,” she added with a sigh. “He said if I threw anything else at him, I’d better be good at track.”

“I don’t doubt it. Take my word for it, Regan in a temper is something to be avoided at all costs.”

“I’ll keep that in mind as I sharpen my trusty saber.”

“Better not rattle it too loudly, either. Want me to talk to him about you?” he asked with genuine concern.

She sighed. “He’d probably chew it up, too,” she replied. “Don’t talk to him, please. He’ll just accuse me of crying on your shoulder and it will only make things worse. I can take care of myself.”

“If worse comes to worse, I’ll insist that he bring in his own secretary,” Denny promised. “Maybe he misses New York after being away six months. I can’t imagine why he gave up that practice to come south, although it’s sure been great for me. I never would have gotten such a big start without his help.”

“He asked me if you were seeing Margo,” she confided.

He frowned. “And what did you tell him?” he asked, his voice cool.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I told him that if he wanted to know, he ought to ask you.”

His face relaxed. “Good girl. Margo is none of his business.” His eyes warmed, softened. “Isn’t she a beauty, Kenna? All fire and determination. A very strong woman with great business sense. I’ve never known anyone like her.”

His voice had gone as soft as his eyes, and Kenna wanted to scream with jealousy. She couldn’t remember ever hurting so much in her life. Oh, Denny, look at me, she pleaded silently. Look at me and love me for what I am, for what I could be....

But he only smiled that friendly, charming smile that he always had ready. “How about making me a cup of coffee? And then we’ll get the rest of the dictation out of the way. I might let you go home early. I need a little extra time by myself.”

Yes, because he was taking Margo to the ballet and wanted to look his best, she thought miserably. So she’d go home early, back to her lonely apartment, and stare at the television set. Because she didn’t date. No one ever asked her out, and she was far too shy to go to one of the singles bars or invite men to her apartment.

“I’ll get my pad and pen and be right there,” she said after a minute’s hesitation, and sighed as she turned for the coffeemaker.

* * *

When she got home she put on her jeans and T-shirt and glared at herself in the mirror. The jeans were too big and the shirt was too big and she looked older than she was with her hair hanging down around her face. Her eyes weren’t bad, though, and her mouth had a full, nice shape. If only she could get rid of the rest of her and just be eyes and a mouth, she might catch Denny’s eye. The thought amused her and she grinned, turning away before the mirror could tell her how different she looked with her face and eyes animated by laughter.

She turned on the television before she went into the small kitchen to fix herself a sandwich for supper. She’d never had much appetite, but she seemed to have even less lately. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting fat, she told herself.

She walked around the dining room with her sandwich and cup of coffee in hand, smiling at the modest furniture. She enjoyed this apartment where she’d lived for the past two years. It wasn’t expensive, but it was cozy, and the green flowered sofa and matching chair looked friendly in the gray-carpeted room with its pale gray drapes. She’d splurged a month ago to redecorate the living room in a burst of early-spring fever. Now it was really beginning to be spring, and she liked the new look. It made her feel brighter inside just looking at the furniture.

She watched television until bedtime, trying not to think about Denny out with Margo. She’d seen him in evening clothes before and remembered miserably how gorgeous he was in black. It emphasized his blond good looks. He was so handsome. A prince if there ever was one. Prince. That brought back Regan’s horrible remark and she bristled again. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to listen to Denny moon over Margo without having to put up with Regan’s evident dislike as well? She stormed off into the bedroom and went to bed before the memory had time to work her into a rage and keep her awake half the night thinking up horrible things to do to him.

The next morning she wore a beige sheath dress that clung lovingly to the curves of her slender body. The color did nothing for her, although the fit wasn’t bad. She left her hair long, hating its frizzled look, but she didn’t suppose it made that much difference. Denny never noticed the way she looked, anyway.

He was whistling when she got to the office, already pouring himself a cup of coffee and looking like a man on top of the world.

He turned when Kenna walked in, and grinned. “There you are,” he said. “Regan made coffee.”

She flinched at the sound of his name and bit her tongue before she could say something foolish. “Did he?” she asked. “How nice.”

“He’s an early bird, all right.”

She hung up her coat and turned on her computer, then turned the appointment calendar to the right page and sat down.

“You’re cheerful this morning,” she said with a careful smile.

“I feel cheerful. I’m off to the lake Friday for a long weekend. Come to think of it, you might as well take Friday off, too, if Regan doesn’t need you,” he added.

For one wild, beautiful moment, she thought he might be going to ask her to go to the lake with him, and she beamed. The sudden radiance of her face captured his attention, and he frowned slightly.

“I’d like that,” she told him.

“Got a date?” he asked.

“No,” she said quickly, just in case.

“Too bad,” he remarked, smiling dreamily as he stared at the other wall. “I’m taking Margo up to Lake Lanier with me for some fishing. Can you imagine, she likes to fish?”

Somewhere in Kenna’s heart, a candle went out. “Oh, really?” she murmured calmly.

“I’m looking forward to the relaxation,” he confessed. “I’ve been putting in twenty-four-hour days lately.”

That was true, he did need the rest, but why did he have to take Margo? she wondered miserably.

“Well, we’d better get to it.” He sighed. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave. Grab your pad and come on...”

“Kenna!” came a muffled roar from Regan’s office.

She gritted her teeth, casting a helpless glance in Denny’s direction.

“Better go.” He chuckled. “I’ll wait my turn.”

“Thanks, I’ll do you a favor someday,” she muttered, tossing him a dark look as she grabbed her pad and deliberately took her time going into Regan’s office.

He knew she’d delayed on purpose, it was in his glittering dark eyes when she opened the door after a perfunctory knock and walked in. He was leaning back in his swivel chair, his jacket off, his broad chest rippling with muscles as he clasped his hands behind his head. Under the white shirt, she could see the thick shadow of dark hair, and the woman in her involuntarily appreciated the sheer masculinity of him.

“Yes, sir?” she asked sweetly.

He looked her up and down, and something in his eyes made her knees go weak. He was always appraising her, as if she were for sale, and it disturbed her more than she liked to admit. She tingled when those cold, dark eyes traced her body, feeling things she’d never experienced until he walked into her life. She didn’t know why she felt that way, and she didn’t like it. As a result, her hostility toward him grew by leaps and bounds.

“The color stinks, but it’s an improvement,” he murmured.

She flushed, clenching the pad in her fingers. “You wanted something, Mr. Cole?”

He leaned forward. “I need to dictate a couple of letters. Have a seat.”

She started toward the chair, aware of his eyes assessing her coldly.

“Have you been crying on my brother’s shoulder?” he asked suddenly.

She sat down heavily, gaping at him. “Sir?”

“You heard me. He asked me this morning if I minded letting up on you.”

Her chin came up. “I slay my own dragons,” she returned. “I don’t need help.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered? Yesterday I was a frog, today I’m a dragon...”

“I didn’t call you a frog, Mr. Cole,” she reminded him.

“At any rate, that’s the wrong fairy tale. I’ve got something in mind for you, Cinderella,” he murmured.

Her eyes widened, and he made an impatient sound. “Good God, I’m not that desperate for a woman,” he growled, and she flushed angrily. “At any rate, this isn’t the time to discuss it. Take a letter, Miss Dean...”

It took only fifteen minutes to finish the dictation, but she was almost shaking when she started out the door.

“Just a minute,” Regan said behind her, his voice curt to the point of rudeness. “Denny’s taking Friday off. Did he mention it to you?”

She swallowed. “Yes, he did.”

“Then presumably he told you why?” he added with narrowed eyes.

She only nodded.

“I’ll be out of the office for a couple of days. But I’ll expect you here Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp. We’re going to talk.”

“About what?” she asked curtly.

“Well, Miss Dean,” he said, leaning back again with his lips pursed, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’d like those letters as soon as they’re typed. I have a case this morning.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and forced herself to walk out without asking any more questions.

Denny was sympathetic when she told him that Regan wouldn’t let her off.

“I guess it’s that criminal case he’s handling.” He sighed. “Well, that’s the breaks,” he added with a sheepish grin. “We tried.”

“We tried,” she agreed, and her eyes clung lovingly to his handsome face. It was so pleasant to sit and look at him, to be with him. Oh, if only she were beautiful like Margo.

“By the way,” he said, “would you call the florist and have them send Margo a dozen red roses?”

She jotted it down, keeping her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see the sudden pain in them. “Red, hmmm?” she teased, putting up a brave front.

“Red, for love.” He laughed. “She’s a tiger, my Margo. Spicy and passionate, every man’s dream.”

“Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” she murmured, and stiffened as she waited for the answer.

He sighed, toying with a pencil on the desk blotter. “That would depend on the lady,” he murmured. “She’s not much for cages. But speaking for myself, I’m more than ready to put a ring on her finger. I’ve never known anyone like her.”

She wanted to scream and throw things. Instead, she smiled and reminded him about a letter they needed to get out on a case that they’d just won. He grinned and started dictating. And if his secretary’s face was strained and paler than usual, he didn’t notice.

Chapter Two

She wore the frontier outfit deliberately Friday morning just to irritate Regan, because she knew he didn’t like it. If he thought he was going to dominate her like he dominated everything and everybody else around him, he had another think coming.

She hung up her light coat and turned on her computer, grumbling steadily. Since Denny was out of the office—she didn’t want to think about where—she’d have to get the mail only for Regan. But he’d want it yesterday, so she headed for the door and in her haste almost collided with Regan, who was coming through it.

He lifted a bushy eyebrow at the quick rush of color that tinted her high cheekbones.

“Do you do it deliberately?” he asked her, unblinking, unsmiling, blocking her path with his cowhide attaché case.

“Do what...deliberately?” she asked.

“Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”

It was the first time she’d ever raised her hand to a man in her life. But she took a swing at him with all her frustration and wounded pride behind it.

He caught her wrist before she connected, jerking her back into the office and booting the door closed with his foot. Without breaking stride, ignoring her faint struggles, he half dragged her into his own office and slammed the door behind them.

She felt the clasp of his fingers with a sense of wonder at the new, unfamiliar sensations his touch was causing. She’d never tingled like that. Perhaps it was temper, but then why was her breathing so shallow? She disliked the surge of emotion, and her eyes narrowed angrily as she glared up at him.

He dropped the attaché case on the floor and caught her other wrist as well, just holding her there in front of him until she stopped struggling and stood still, panting with smothered rage.

When he saw that she was through swinging, he dropped her wrists and glared down his formidable nose at her.

“If you ever lift your hand to me again, it’ll be the last time,” he warned in his courtroom voice, deep and cold.

Her lower lip trembled briefly with the suppressed hatred that filled her stiff body. “If you ever insult me like that again, it’ll be the last time, too, counselor,” she tossed back, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll walk out the door, and you can find some stacked blonde with knee-deep cleavage to replace me, and see if she can type your contracts and your briefs and your petitions in between polishing her nails!”

“Calm down, Kenna,” he said after a minute. “Sit down, honey.”

He pushed her gently down into a big leather armchair and perched himself on the edge of the huge polished wood desk. He gave her time to gather herself together, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep draw.

“Don’t call me honey,” she bit off.

“Denny does. So do half the attorneys who walk in that door. Why not me?”

“Because...” She stared up at him, her lips parting as she tried to picture Regan ever saying the word and meaning it, with his dark eyes blazing with passion. Her own thoughts embarrassed her and she caught a deep breath, looking at his black leather shoes instead. “Oh, never mind.”

“He’s getting involved with Margo,” he said quietly. “And I don’t just mean involved in bed. It looks as if he’s thinking about marriage, and I don’t want him married to her.”

She felt sick all over again as he confirmed what Denny had already admitted. Denny, married! The thought was more than she could bear.

“Stop looking like the heroine of a Victorian melodrama, for God’s sake.” He spoke so sharply that she sat straight up. “He isn’t married yet!”

“How are you going to stop him?” she asked miserably.

“I’m not. You are.”

She blinked. “Excuse me, I’m always dim before I’ve had my morning coffee and my supply of razor blades.”

His mouth tugged up, a rare show of amusement that made her feel strange when she saw it. “You’re going to save him from Margo.”

She cocked her head and studied him blatantly. “You don’t look like the fairy godmother to me, Mr. Internationally Famous Trial Lawyer. And I don’t have a pumpkin to my name. And if you’ll take a good, long look at me several things will immediately occur to you. The first is that I’m drab,” she admitted painfully, “the second is that I have no looks to speak of and the third is that I’ve been here almost two years and the most intimate thing your brother has ever said to me is, ‘Kenna, how about a cup of coffee?’”

He didn’t laugh. He took another draw from the cigarette, and his eyes were busy, bold and slow as they took her apart from the face down.

“Taking inventory?” she muttered.

“In a manner of speaking.” His eyes fell on the too-ruffled blouse. “Do you wear a bra?”

She caught her breath at the sheer impudence of the question.

“And do, please, try not to faint while you’re thinking up an answer, Cinders,” he said with a mocking smile. “I’m trying to find out if you’re naturally flat-chested, or if you simply overlook the fact that breasts need support to be noticed.”

Her face was bloodred and she stood up. “Mr. Cole...”

“My housekeeper calls me that.” He caught her shoulder and jerked her against him, bending her arm back so that she was helpless. “Tell me, or I’ll find out for myself,” he threatened, and his free hand came up to hover over her blouse.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” she squeaked. “All right, I don’t wear one!”

He let her go, watching with amusement as she hid behind the chair and then gaped at him over it.

“Are you crazy?” she burst out.

“No, but you sure as hell are repressed,” he replied. “Twenty-five, isn’t it?”

“We aren’t all wildly permissive,” she said, choking.

“I begin to get the picture.” He nodded. “Not much of a social life, I’ll bet.”

“I date!” she threw back.

He blinked. “Date what? You don’t look as if you’ve ever been kissed...or did you think that would get you pregnant?” he asked with an outrageous smile.

She glanced at the trash can, measuring it for his head. He followed her gaze and chuckled softly.

“Go ahead, honey,” he dared her in a soft voice. “Try it.”

“I wish I were a man—I’d cream you!” she burst out.

“Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?” he asked casually. “Men aren’t supposed to be superior anymore. Come on, honey, throw a punch at me.”

“Do I look stupid?” she asked, taking in the sheer size of the man. “On second thought, if I were a man, I wouldn’t come at you with anything less than a bazooka!”

“That might be wise,” he agreed. He leaned back against the desk, unusually attractive in his navy blue pinstripe suit. She always noticed his clothes; he had a flair for picking styles and colors that gave him a towering elegance.

“Anyway,” he continued, bending to crush out his cigarette, an action that strained the material across his muscular arms and his broad back, “what I have in mind is transforming you.”

She stared at him warily. “I’m not sure I want to be transformed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do.” He glanced up and down at what he could see of her figure behind the tall chair. “First order of business is going to be a haircut. I know long hair is supposed to be sexy, but yours looks like barbed wire most of the time.”

“Oh, you’re just great for my ego,” she ground out.

“And the second order of business is a bra,” he continued, unabashed, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you know that the worst thing you can do is sag?”

“There’s not enough of me to sag,” she said miserably, avoiding his eyes.

“I’d bet there is,” he returned, not unkindly. “You’re tall, and you have nice legs. You have a natural elegance of carriage that could work well for you. And with the right makeup, the right clothes...” He pursed his lips, nodding. “I think you might be more than enough to catch my brother’s wandering eye.”

“You’ve forgotten something,” she advised.

He cocked a bushy eyebrow. “What? Your teeth are all right,” he began.

“Oh, thanks, and they’re all my own, too!”

He chuckled softly. “You’ll do. Well? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life, or do you want to take a chance?”

“I can’t,” she said, exasperated, as she came reluctantly around the chair. “What you’re talking about costs money, and I’m not independently wealthy. All I have is my salary, and out of it has to come my rent, utilities, groceries, clothes...”

“I’ll take care of it,” he told her.

“Like fun you will,” she tossed back, her eyes flaring up.

“I said I’ll take care of it,” he replied. “It was my idea, and it’s my brother I’m trying to save from that Latin temptress. I don’t want a money-hungry tramp in my family.”

“No, you’d rather have a secretary with no money, no connections, no social position...”

“Do I look like a snob?” he asked incredulously.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she confessed. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Anyway, what’s Denny going to think if he knows you’re footing the bill?”

“He won’t know,” he promised, “because we’re not going to tell him. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at your apartment, and we’ll get started. Make yourself an appointment with Frederickson’s downtown.”

“But they’re horribly expensive!” she protested.

“Make the appointment early,” he continued, “because when we finish there, we’re going to Almon’s to have you outfitted.”

Almon’s was a charming boutique with a resident designer and some of the trendiest new styles in the country. She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“You’ll go to the ball, Cinderella,” he promised. “Even if you have to ride in a Mercedes instead of a coach drawn by white horses.”

“There isn’t a ball...”

“There most certainly is, next Saturday night at the Biltmore, and I’m taking you.” He shot back his white cuff and looked at his watch. “And that’s all the time we have this morning. Get back to your ashes, and don’t breathe a word to Denny next week. I’m going to have a photographer along just to capture his expression when he sees the new you.”

“Could he get my expression while he’s at it?” she asked hopefully. “I’ll need something to convince me I’m not dreaming.”

He looked at her for a long, long time before he spoke, unsmiling. “Have you ever had an expensive gown?”

She avoided his eyes and walked toward the door. “The only way I’m going to have one now is if I get to pay you back, counselor. I mean that,” she added, looking over her shoulder. “I pay my own way, frugal though it may be.”

“All right, we’ll deduct a little from your check each week,” he agreed, moving around behind his desk. “When you make the coffee, how about bringing me a cup?”

She nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. She went down to get the mail in a daze and wondered if her unfulfilled longing for Denny had finally pushed her over the brink into insanity. The morning had been unreal.

Chapter Three

Kenna hadn’t given Regan directions to her apartment, but he seemed to know the way. She had just finished dressing in slacks and a long-sleeved blouse and sweater when the doorbell rang at eight-thirty sharp the next morning.

Regan spared her a brief glance from hooded eyes. “Ready?” he asked carelessly, looking as if he were regretting the whole thing already. “Let’s go, I’m double-parked.”

She followed him into the elevator, approving of his casual slacks, deep burgundy–colored velour shirt and tweed jacket. The shirt was open at the throat, and she saw a glimpse of darkly tanned skin and thick, very thick hair in the opening. It made him look even more masculine, more threatening, and she wished she’d never agreed to this. Being around him at the office was bad enough, but this was...unnerving.

“I won’t rape you, I promise,” he said out of the blue, cocking an eyebrow at her as she retreated to the other side of the elevator.

“If you did, you’d be disappointed.” She sighed, not rising to the bait. “Twenty-five-year-old virgins aren’t much in demand these days.”

He seemed shocked at the comeback, and she grinned at him.

“I’m not a Victorian miss, as you reminded me the other day,” she said with a sheepish grin, “but you knocked me off balance. I had you pictured as a very staid type who wouldn’t even suggest anything remotely sexual around a woman.”

“My God, were you off base,” he remarked.

“So were you.” She sighed. “I may not be a stacked blonde, and I may look like a frump, but I don’t faint at the thought of a man’s bedroom. It’s just that I’ve never wanted to occupy one.” She glared at him. “And the reason I don’t wear a bra is because it’s the mark of a liberated woman!”

The elevator door had just opened, and a little old lady with blue-tinted hair actually gasped as she heard that last impassioned statement.

Kenna stared at the elderly woman and slowly went beet-red. “Oh, my gosh,” she groaned.

Regan, trying to keep a straight face, caught Kenna by the arm and half dragged her out of the elevator and through the lobby.

“Liberated woman,” he scoffed, giving her a mocking glance. “You might as well give up the act. I know pure bravado when I see it.”

She sighed. “I can’t even act like a normal woman,” she grumbled, jamming her hands in her pockets. “No wonder Denny doesn’t notice me.”

“I notice you.”

She didn’t even look up. “When you want a cup of coffee or a letter typed, you do.”

He stopped and turned to face her, and she looked up to find his dark, steady eyes holding her own.

“I know what it is to be lonely, Kenna,” he said quietly. “I know how it feels to look around and wonder if the world would ever miss you if you died.”

“You’ve got all kinds of women,” she faltered.

“I’ve got money. Of course I can have women,” he said with a cynical smile. “I’ve even been married, did you know?”

That was faintly shocking. Denny never talked about Regan’s private life. “No,” she admitted.

“Jessica was twenty-six. Blonde and blue-eyed and as perfect as a dream. The marriage lasted exactly a year.”

She saw a flash of raw emotion in his face. “Were you divorced?” she asked.

“No,” he replied curtly. “She died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said gently, and meant it.

His hands idly moved up and down on her arms. “It’s been almost three years. I’m older and wiser. But there are nights when...” He let go of her and moved away to light a cigarette, and she realized for the first time that he was, indeed, a lonely man. It was a shock to realize that she cared that he was lonely.

“Life is too short to try living it in the past,” he remarked after a minute. He turned. “And far too short to long for things and not try to go and get them. Isn’t Denny worth a few changes in your life?”

She had always thought so. “Yes,” she said, giving herself a mental shake. “Of course he is.”

“Then let’s see what we can do to get his attention.”

The first stop was the beauty salon. She watched her long, dark hair fall in strands onto the spotless floor while Mr. Andrew snipped and discussed the latest styles and called back and forth to other patrons. Kenna found herself caught up in the cheerful surroundings and the excitement of doing herself over. Perhaps Regan was right. She was twenty-five, and it was time she took herself in hand. It was time she started to live.

When her hair was washed and blow-dried, she stared blankly at the girl in the mirror. She’d forgone makeup that morning, and now she was glad. With her rosy cheeks and full, soft mouth and unadorned eyes, she looked fresh and natural. And the short, beautifully shaped hair framed her face in darkness, making her look like a pixie with her slightly slanted eyes, thin brows and high cheekbones. She grinned at herself wonderingly.

“Is nice, no?” Mr. Andrew chuckled. “Now, miss, you go to makeup counter and have face done and see difference. I promise, you like.”

She did that, finding herself with an extra half hour before she was to meet Regan in the couture department. She watched, fascinated, as the makeup expert did her face like a canvas, outlining her lips in plum and filling them with a deep, rich magenta, then delicately tinting her cheeks and eyebrows, lengthening her lashes, shadowing her eyes and finally enhancing her lovely complexion with the faintest touch of powder.

“Is that me?” she asked after a minute, captivated by the difference, wondering at the girl with the small, straight nose and big, shimmering green eyes and soft oval of a face with its bee-stung mouth.

“Quite a difference,” the makeup expert agreed with a smile. She sold Kenna the right cosmetics to keep the new look daily and waved her off.

Regan was wandering around the mannequins with a dark scowl, sizing up each dress, while the saleslady darted curious glances his way.

“Waiting for me?” Kenna asked from behind him.

He turned, still scowling, and his eyes widened suddenly as he recognized her. “My God.” It was all he said, but the inflection was enough to convey his meaning. He walked around her, staring. “Well, well, Cinderella, you do have something.”

“While you’re trying to figure out what,” she said, “couldn’t we go into the budget shop and look for clothes? I’m going to owe you my soul if we have to buy anything in here. They don’t even have price tags on most of these things!”

“You’re going to a ball, not a beach party,” he said curtly. “I’m not taking you to the Biltmore in a dress off the rack.”

“But...”

“Oh, shut up,” he said impatiently, and taking her arm, he led her to the saleslady. While she stood rigidly, Regan told the tall, thin elderly woman exactly what he wanted for Kenna and then waited impatiently while the saleslady went off to search through her stock.

She came back in a minute with a long, sensuous confection of green-and-gold-and-aqua-patterned Quiana with a low crisscross neckline.

“This is one of our designer models,” the woman said with a smile. “And perfect for a figure like yours, my dear,” she added to Kenna.

“Well, try it on,” Regan said. “Then come out here and let me see it.”

The saleslady sent Kenna into the back, where she tried on the dress in front of the long mirror in the plush dressing room. She stared at herself as if entranced.

“How does it fit, my dear? Oh, my,” the saleslady murmured approvingly as Kenna walked out of the fitting room.

“It fits like a dream,” she said sheepishly, almost afraid to touch the silky material for fear of running it. “Like gossamer...”

“The color is perfect,” the older woman agreed. “Just perfect, with that light tan of yours.”

She led Kenna back out into the showroom and stood with hands folded, while her client moved forward toward the tall, dark man who was waiting for her. Regan was idly watching passersby when he heard Kenna’s step and turned.

He didn’t say anything. His eyes went up and down and up again, and his face hardened.

“Is—is it all right?” she asked, desperately wanting to be told that she looked stunning, that Denny would fall at her feet...anything.

He nodded. “Yes,” he said in a strange, husky tone, “it’s all right. Now see what you can find for the office. A tailored suit, some skirts and blouses that don’t look frumpy and a couple of ensembles for leisure.”

“But...but what for?” she asked.

“Going out with me one time isn’t going to give Denny any hints,” he said curtly. “Or did you expect him to take one look at you and drop to his knees to propose?”

She hated that cynical question. The dress had made her feel like a princess, and now he had spoiled it all. “No,” she admitted. “I didn’t expect that.” She turned, but he caught her bare arm and held her back, out of earshot of the saleslady.

“You look enchanting, is that what you want to hear?” he asked at her ear, his voice husky, his breath warm against her neck. “That dress makes a man want to smooth it away from your body and see what’s underneath.”

She caught her breath at the blatant seduction of his voice.

“Embarrassed?” He chuckled as he let her go. “Well, you wanted to know, didn’t you?”

She rushed off before he could manage anything worse and was surprised at the furious beat of her heart when she went to take off the dress.

It was the most wonderful shopping trip she’d ever been on. She bought a two-piece suit, pink with a plum feather pattern; it had a straight skirt and a long-sleeved V-neck jacket secured by a plum-colored rose at the peplum waist. She bought several skirts and revealing blouses that she wouldn’t have looked at if Regan hadn’t been with her, forcing her to buy them despite her own misgivings. She bought an expensive bra that added at least one size to her small breasts and some lacy lingerie. And as she mentally calculated the cost on the way out of the store, she sighed.

“I’ll be working for you for the rest of my life,” she murmured.

He glanced down at her from his superior height and smiled. “Would you mind? As long as I made the coffee once in a while?”

The tone of his deep voice surprised her into looking up. And when she did, she felt a warm surge of sensation that rippled down to her feet. His eyes, dark and quiet and intense, held hers until the jostling of passersby broke their strange exchanged look and brought them back to reality.

“Thank you for going with me,” she murmured, following him out to his gray Porsche.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, glancing sharply at her as he unlocked the door and helped her inside. “Left on your own, you’d have come back with the same clothes you thought looked great on you before.” He went around the car and eased his formidable bulk in beside her. She glared for all she was worth.

“I am not stupid about clothes,” she informed him.

“Your idea of fashion is a gunnysack with arm and neck holes,” he replied as he started the sleek car.

“Well, it’s better than looking like a prostitute,” she tossed back, “and that’s what I’ll look like in some of those things you made me buy! The neckline on one of those blouses is halfway to my knees!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” he said shortly. His dark eyes dropped to her T-shirt. “How many of those damned things do you have, anyway?”

“What things?” she demanded.

“Those shapeless things you hide your body in.”

“I like loose clothing,” she retorted.

“Obviously.” He threw a careless arm over the back of the seat as he turned to back the car out of the parking space. His face was much too close to hers. Involuntarily, her eyes went to his wide, chiseled mouth, and she wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.

He stopped the car to put it in gear, but he didn’t move. She sensed the sudden heavy beat of his heart, the warmth of his body.

“Look at me,” he growled.

She looked up and her eyes were held by his, possessed by his, so that the world was suddenly contained in a pair of intense brown eyes under thick, short lashes.

His gaze dropped to her soft, parted lips, and he moved fractionally, his own lips parting. She waited, and wanted, hardly breathing, and her eyes narrowed to slits as he came closer. She drank in the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his big body, the faintly smoky scent of his breath as she felt it against her lips. And she wanted to kiss him with a longing that had her spinning. She wanted to kiss him hungrily and hard and see if the touch of that chiseled mouth would be as maddening as she was imagining it would...

“Get going, will you!” The loud voice was followed by the equally loud blaring of a car horn.

The dark brown eyes blinked and Regan looked into the rearview mirror with vague curiosity, while Kenna felt herself trembling with hunger for a kiss she wouldn’t get. She wanted to jump out of the car and kick the driver behind them for interrupting. Why she should feel that way when she loved Denny was something she didn’t dare question. She cleared her throat.

Abruptly Regan put the car into Drive and eased down on the accelerator, glancing toward her as he left the irate driver behind them. “Would you mind telling me what that long, soulful look was all about?” he asked, a bite in his deep voice.

She swallowed. “I wasn’t looking at you. I was thinking,” she countered weakly.

“About what?” he asked as he pulled into traffic.

“You mentioned that taking me out one time wouldn’t be enough,” she murmured, nervous with him all of a sudden. “What did you mean? You said we were just going to transform me...”

“It’s going to take more than a haircut and new clothes to do that,” he said flatly. He lit a cigarette while they stopped at a red light. “And going out with me is the best way I know to catch Denny’s attention. Or haven’t you noticed how competitive he is with me?”

“I don’t know if my ego can take more than one date with you,” she said matter-of-factly, glaring at him.

“It will have to, if you really want Denny,” he told her. “And I’m not going to pull my punches. I’m going to teach you how to dress, how to walk, how to flirt, the works. Because what you need most is confidence, and you’re sadly lacking in that commodity.”

“And you think having my appearance torn to pieces is going to give it to me,” she mused ironically.

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