Scandal in Copper Lake. Marilyn Pappano
What was he thinking? That his demand for a handshake was certainly no invitation to seduction? That she was too bold for his tastes? That she was arrogant to think he wanted her in bed?
Or that Calloway men didn’t sleep with women of questionable reputation?
For generations, Duquesne women had been lovers of such men, had carried on their affairs in secret and birthed their daughters with no help, no money or even acknowledgment from them. Mama Odette speculated that Anamaria’s own father was just such a man.
Anamaria had never thought she would be drawn to a man who found her unsuitable because of the color of her skin or the life she’d been born into—because of who she was—but here she stood.
Robbie took another step back, then dragged his fingers through his hair. “Jeez. I haven’t been speechless since I found out that my brother the cop was marrying a stripper.” And here he was, the successful lawyer, fielding a brazen seduction offer from a con artist.
She could tell him the offer stood. She could let him believe her only intent had been to shock. She could tell him it was inevitable, if they kept seeing each other, if nothing cooled this ardor between them.
Her smile formed slowly, growing until it was full and sly, looking as real as she knew it wasn’t. “In a lawyer, ‘speechless’ is a good thing,” she said, her voice huskier than usual. She pulled on her sunglasses, then slid behind the steering wheel, gazing up at the dark-tinted view of him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
He was still standing in the street when she drove away. She wasn’t sure as she watched him in the rearview mirror whether she’d saved herself from a huge mistake.
Or made one.
Robbie wasn’t sure how long he stood there—long enough for his brother to come along, thumping him on the back of the head as he came up from behind.
“I know Mom taught you not to play in the street despite Rick’s and my best efforts to convince you otherwise,” Russ said, not breaking stride until he reached the sidewalk.
His scalp stinging, Robbie took the few steps necessary to bring Russ into punching range, then shoved him on the shoulder. “I’m not ten years old anymore. Quit hitting me.”
“I’ve been hitting you since you were old enough to understand the threat implied in ‘Don’t tell Mom.’ Why would I stop now?”
“Jeez, I don’t know. Because I’m thirty-two freakin’ years old, maybe?” Robbie asked snidely. “Where are you going?”
“To see my wife.” Russ gestured to Jamie’s office, down the block twenty feet and across the corner.
“I’ll walk with you. My car’s in her parking lot.”
“What were you doing in the street?”
Wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Why he hadn’t gotten in his car—hell, gotten in Anamaria’s car—and gone home with her. It wasn’t the first time a woman had come on to him, but it was the first time he hadn’t jumped at the chance. Anamaria was gorgeous. She was hot. The way she looked, the way she moved, the way she smiled…He choked back a groan.
He must have made some sound, though, because Russ frowned at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Just nuts.
“You working today?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Technically he was—Harrison Kennedy had asked him to keep watch on Anamaria. He could take her up on her offer, have incredible sex and get paid for his fun. Normally, the possibility would amuse him, but he was having trouble thinking clearly today. Lack of blood flow to the brain, he figured.
On the sidewalk outside Jamie’s office, Russ stopped. She was standing behind her desk, flipping through a stack of papers. He tapped on the glass, and she gave him the kind of smile that could cut a man off at the knees.
No woman had ever smiled at Robbie that way, as if he’d brightened her world merely by being part of it. There had been a few who’d gotten close, but he’d ended things with them before it could develop any further, because he’d never come close to feeling that way about them. He expected that someday he would. It had happened to Mitch. To Rick. To Russ. Odds were, it would happen to him.
And, no, damn it, he was not going to think about black hair, liquid-chocolate eyes or powerful touches.
Jamie held up two fingers, and Russ nodded, then leaned against the brick building. “Two minutes, my ass. The more pregnant she gets, the slower she gets. By the time this kid pops, her mama’s going to be slow as a snail.” He didn’t look annoyed, though. He was so excited about the baby that no one could stand him besides Mitch, who had one daughter and another on the way. “We’re having lunch at Ellie’s. Want to go?”
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