In Another Man’s Bed Page 12

  He’d half expected her not to show. She was intelligent and crafty. Her disappearing act the other night after she’d left the bookstore had proven that. She was too smart not to have figured out he’d be at the bingo game. Either she was there to show him he meant less than nothing to her or she was considering giving him a break.

  She wore a white sundress with a jacket that was waist-length in the back, but in the front the jacket curved upward and stopped just beneath her beautifully shaped breasts. The flared hem of the dress beckoned attention to a pair of killer legs that a man would have a hard time not imagining wrapped around him. Patrick clamped his teeth together to keep his tongue from hanging out.

  “Brianna’s here.” Mr. Hinson stood and waved. “Over here.”

  Patrick watched her cross the room in sky-high heels that accentuated her walk and made her bottom sway. Brianna rounded the table. “Hello, Mr. Hinson. You look spiffy.”

  The older man brushed his hand over neatly combed black hair liberally sprinkled with gray. “Thank you. We saved you a seat.”

  Brianna eyed the metal folding chair between them. “That looks rather cramped. Perhaps we should find someplace else.”

  Hinson looked around the crowded hall. “I don’t see three seats together anyplace.”

  “B-seventeen.”

  “Harold, you have that number,” Patrick told him. One more on that line and the older man would bingo.

  “Oh, my goodness.” He turned to the table, then whirled back to Brianna. “You want us to move?”

  Patrick could see her wrestle with herself. She wanted the older man to have a good time, but she didn’t want to be around Patrick. Another guy would have excused himself and taken one of the single seats. Patrick marked out Harold’s number.

  “This is fine.” Brianna took her seat, scooting it closer to Hinson.

  “Hello, Brianna,” Patrick greeted.

  She glanced at him. “Patrick.”

  “I-twenty-five.”

  Patrick shoved one of the three bingo cards in front of him over and handed an extra marker to Brianna. “The cards cost five dollars and the money goes to the mission fund. If you win, we split the take.”

  Brianna opened her purse and reached for her billfold.

  He placed his hand on hers, felt hers jerk. So did his heart. “You can buy the next one.”

  “B-nineteen.”

  He glanced down at the card. “You’re one away from bingoing. Harold, she might beat you.”

  Brianna gave up trying to outstare Patrick and looked down at the card. She was too competitive to pass up the chance of winning. She marked the number. Besides, she didn’t want his hand on hers. It made her skin heat, her body want. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “G-fifteen.”

  “Bingo,” Patrick called.

  Groans sounded through the room. “There are more prizes,” the man calling the numbers said into the microphone.

  The woman standing by the announcer came to their table and handed Patrick a gift certificate to North of Broad restaurant. “It’s for two,” she said, her tone bold and suggestive.

  He smiled lazily. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

  “Do that.”

  She walked away, her hips swaying. Before she had taken two steps, Patrick turned his attention back to Brianna. She was staring at him with her usual disapproval. He was honest enough to admit that he wished there was even a hint of jealousy in her gaze. “Yes?”

  “You gave me a card that didn’t win.”

  It would take a strong man to get past Brianna’s defenses and her sharp tongue. “There’s always next time.”

  She leaned so close to him he could see his reflection in her eyes, smell the exotic perfume that made him think of long moonlit nights and them both naked. “No, there won’t be. Winning that bingo game is as lucky as you’re going to get tonight.” Standing, she went to the front and came back with three cards. She handed him one. “Now we’re even.”

  Taking her seat, she twisted away from Patrick, giving her attention to Mr. Hinson and the game. She’d almost miscalculated by getting so close to him. There was something about that half-smile, those penetrating black eyes, and conditioned muscles that made her restless. If the fiasco with Jackson hadn’t happened she was honest enough to admit that she might have gone out with Patrick. He was a hard man to resist. “How is everyone’s luck running tonight?”

  “Rotten except for Patrick,” a woman in her mid-fifties across the table said. She wore a pretty yellow dress with spring flowers. “I bet he gets lucky a lot.”

  The people at the table roared with laughter. “Sarah, you’ll have me blushing,” Patrick said easily, then winked.

  Laughing, she shook her graying head of hair. “Would that I could. Now, ten years ago I might have made you blush for real.” She looked at Harold. “Time brings about a change and a woman sees things differently.”

  “Amen to that, Sarah,” said the small-boned, dark-haired woman next to her. “Flash and dash are all right when you’re young, but women our age need a man of character.”

  Brianna’s lips twitched. They were hitting on Harold and from the wide grin on his face, he was enjoying every moment.

  “Time for another game. The winner this time gets a seventy-five-dollar gift certificate to Bliss.”

  Women around the room yelled and applauded. Men groaned.

  Brianna snapped to attention. She’d heard the name of the upscale bath and body shop during a divorce case she’d handled. Three friends owned and operated the store, which supplied candles to Midnight Dreams, the luxe linen boutique of her client. If the owners of Bliss would have come forth to testify about what they knew of an associate of her client, she would have certainly lost the case.

  “You’ve heard of my niece’s company?” Patrick asked.

  “O-seventeen.”

  Brianna scanned her card and didn’t see the number. “There was a write-up in the Charleston paper,” she answered, which was the truth, but she had researched the company once she heard that the women might jeopardize her client’s case. “Which one is your niece?”

  Patrick’s answer was slow in coming. “Brooke.”

  “The marketing guru who was keeping company with Randolph Peterson III?”

  “I-nineteen.”

  Brianna kept her eyes on the unlucky card, but she was sure Patrick hadn’t taken his eyes from her. Her senses reeled.

  “I get the feeling your association with Bliss isn’t as a customer,” Patrick said, his voice carrying a slight edge.

  She had already pegged him as the protective type. “I can’t listen if you talk,” she said, evasively.

  “O-twenty-three.”

  Brianna spied the number and lifted her marker, but Patrick moved the card out of reach. She glared at him. He didn’t bat an eyelash. So he didn’t sweat as easily as most people. Neither did she. “You’re going to owe me fifteen dollars.”

  “I’m usually a patient man. You’re pushing it.”

  She showed him her hundred-watt smile, the result of wearing braces for two years. “It’s what I do best.”

  “Not this time, and not with me.”

  She was suddenly aware of two things. The table had grown quiet and her pulse was racing with excitement. Damn. She did not want to be attracted to an annoying man like Patrick. Time to end this. “The matter is confidential, but there was no threat to your niece’s company or the other women who owned the shop with her.”

  He studied her a while longer, then picked up her card and made three marks. “Looks like you’re close again.”

  Brianna looked from the card to him. She had heard only one of the numbers he’d marked. She’d been too aware of him to concentrate.

  “I-fifteen.”

  “Bingo,” Sarah called, jumping up and down, clasping her hands. “Bingo! I won! I won!”

  The same woman came over with the gift certificate. “Here you go, Sarah,” she said, then leaned
over and said, “I hear the Better Than Sex line is fabulous.”

  Harold’s mouth gaped, then he smiled when Sarah looked at him. From Patrick there was nothing. Brianna was unable to keep from looking at him.

  “You’ll just have to find out for yourself,” Patrick said, his deep, raspy voice filled with a seductive promise.

  Hot shivers raced through her body. “That will be the day,” she muttered.

  “Night works for me.”

  Brianna gasped and thought of kicking him under the table, but she was too busy trying to calm her racing heart. She might have just met her match and there was no way she was spending any more time than necessary with this man.

  Deep in thought, Patrick walked the trail surrounding the marina. Last night he’d been listening to Harold trying to decide which woman to ask out and had let Brianna slip away. By the time Harold had made his decision Patrick had looked around and Brianna was gone.

  Today she wouldn’t find it so easy. He smiled and waited for her to reach him. He’d caught sight of her from his balcony window and hurried down. “Good evening, Brianna.”

  She kept right on running. Her lips had a faint trace of raspberry-colored lipstick, but the rest of her exquisite face was bare of makeup. She didn’t need any. She looked fantastic.

  He fell into step beside her. “Nice weather we’re having.”

  She increased her pace on the mile-long walking trail.

  “I ran track in high school and college,” he told her. He thought he saw her mouth kick up at the sides. “How about we go out on my boat, Proud Mary?”

  “Go away, Patrick.”

  He liked the way she said his first name, and took her speaking to him as a good sign that he was wearing her down. Stepping off the trail, she jogged in place, then began her cooling down routine with stretches and lunges. He didn’t know if he was happy or not that she’d worn navy blue sweats instead of shorts.

  “It’s the thirty-footer tied at the end of the pier. There’s a cove near here where we could drop anchor and swim or just enjoy each other’s company.”

  She glanced up and arched a delicate eyebrow at him. “Or we could stay in and have dinner on the terrace and watch the sunset. The view is spectacular from my place.”

  She stopped inches from touching her toes in running shoes. “Your place?”

  “Top floor. Corner.”

  She straightened, her gaze intense. “When did you move in?”

  He didn’t see what difference that made, but at least she was talking to him. “A little over a month ago.”

  “You!” Her finger stabbed his chest. “You’re the one who stole the unit I wanted.”

  He rubbed his chin. “That’s a strong word and untrue. Brooke never intended to sell the place.”

  “That’s not what the concierge said when I asked about a corner unit,” she said, her small chin jutting out.

  His gaze drifted lazily over her. “I have a feeling that most guys tell you what they think you want to hear.”

  She folded her arms over her breasts. “If that’s true, why aren’t you saying good-bye?”

  He laughed out loud. “Brianna. You are something else.”

  Her arms came to her sides. “All right. I’ll say it, goodbye.” Without another word, she started toward the side door of the condo.

  He’d never enjoyed a woman more, he thought as he caught up with her. “Wouldn’t you like to see the unit?”

  She stopped. “Are you planning on leaving?”

  There was entirely too much hope in her beautiful eyes. “As my guest.”

  She started toward the side entrance again. “If you change your mind, just let the concierge know.”

  “If you change yours, you know where to find me.” He opened the door.

  “Wish I knew how to lose you.” She started toward the elevator. The door opened and three people got off, greeting Patrick by name and nodding to Brianna as they did so. Patrick punched both their floors. Neither spoke on the short ride to the third floor. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Brianna moved to get off.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll let me walk you to your door?” Patrick said from behind her.

  She stepped off the elevator and turned. “No.”

  “Thought not. See you around.” The door closed on his smiling face.

  Turning, Brianna continued to her apartment. Removing the key from the pocket of her jacket, she let herself inside. Patrick might be a menace, but he certainly was a sexy one. Annoyed because his offer had been enticing, she pulled off her jacket and continued to her bedroom. She loved the water and boats. That was a big reason why she’d chosen to live at the condos.

  In Dallas there had been ample opportunity for her to enjoy both at the lake home of her boss. However, she’d stayed with Jackson as he’d wooed their boss instead of enjoying herself on the lake. She’d lent Jackson her support and left the talking to him. She wasn’t the brownnosing type.

  Undressing, she ran a tub full of water and climbed in. Thinking of Jackson made her even more determined not to go out with Patrick. The “maybe” she’d given Justine would have to be a firm “no.”

  But it was going to be difficult to resist Patrick’s beguiling smile, his warm laughter. His ability not to take himself too seriously was endearing. For the first time in her life, a man tested her self-control.

  Twelve

  Patrick was a strategist. He knew how to plan, how to wait for the right moment to spring his trap. He already knew Brianna was a worthy opponent. She couldn’t be pushed or cajoled. After seeing the brief flare of interest in her eyes the other day, he hoped she could be tempted.

  Since seeing Brianna at the coffee shop he’d gotten up early each morning and gone to the marina, which fortunately had a clear view of the entrance of the parking garage. Sipping coffee, he’d wait until Brianna barreled out of the garage in the baby Benz with the top up. In a little notebook he’d recorded the time. 8:09. 8:13.

  This morning it was 8:33. He shot up from his chair when she recklessly went through the caution light. The owner of the car she’d cut off rightly laid on his or her horn. He wouldn’t have thought she was the careless type. Being late was no excuse for taking chances.

  “Care for a refill or something more substantial?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, Pasha.” Patrick retook his seat and entered another notation in his little book, then flipped the pages. Her coming home was even more erratic. The time span was from 6:00 P.M. through 11:18 P.M. And always she’d have the top down.

  That bothered him. It might be fun, but it also made her more vulnerable to being car-jacked.

  Patrick hunched over the small wrought-iron table. Pointing that out to Brianna would get him a stay-out-of-my-business look at best, at worst a tongue lashing. That woman could cut a man down in record time.

  He considered telling her father, then thought of his heart condition. He didn’t need anything else to worry him. Standing, Patrick signaled he was going and that they should put the coffee on the tab he paid weekly. He started to the condo. Looked like it was left up to him.

  No guts, no glory, he always thought.

  Brianna was late again. The reason annoyed the hell out of her. Patrick Dunlap. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, his magnificent body or that dreamy voice of his. She whipped around a van and shot onto the freeway going seventy miles an hour.

  She wasn’t the type of woman to let a handsome face or a set of pecs get her hot and bothered. Jackson could hold a jury spellbound with his voice, was handsome and charismatic. She’d walked out on him and not looked back.

  One thing her parents had taught her was that character counted more than anything. If a person didn’t have integrity and honesty, they had nothing. Jackson was devoid of both. But thinking that he had in the beginning weighed heavily on her.

  It bothered her that he’d been able to slip past her defenses, and that Justine might be right in pointing out Brianna’s history
with Jackson was interfering with her giving Patrick a fair shot. She didn’t want her past with Jackson to matter in the least. The simple and plain fact was that with her workload she didn’t have time for a man. End of story.

  Exiting the freeway to downtown, she merged with the slow-moving traffic on King Street headed for First. She parked in the back of the single-story frame house that had been converted into her father’s law office, then went through the back door. The house was neat, with a fresh coat of blue paint and white shutters. Her father had kept the kitchen intact and turned one of the two bedrooms into a law library; the other served as his office. The front room had become the reception area.

  “Your first client is here.”

  What Matilda didn’t point out, but her face did, was that Brianna was late again. If she hadn’t been seventy if she was a day, Brianna might have told her the reason. As it was, Brianna accepted the unspoken reprimand. Another thing her parents had drilled into her head was to respect her elders. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll send her in and get you a cup of coffee.”

  Matilda turned away before Brianna could nix the coffee. She shuddered just thinking of the sludge Matilda called coffee. It was chicory and as thick as tar. She also liked bringing sweets to the office and had a passion for fried foods. No wonder her father had clogged arteries. The amazing thing was that it hadn’t happened sooner and that Matilda was in excellent health.

  Turning, Brianna went to her office and sat behind her father’s desk. After a brisk knock, Matilda ushered a young woman inside and introduced her. The prospective client looked to be no more than twenty years old, and scared to death.

  “Good morning,” Sylvia Atkins said, glancing back as if she wanted to follow Matilda from the room.

  Brianna rounded the desk and went to the woman, who was wringing her hands. “Good morning, Ms. Atkins. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

  “I—I don’t know if you can.”

  Brianna had already been filled in on the case. Her anger mounted again. Lawyers, like doctors, were supposed to remain impersonal, but sometimes you couldn’t. “Sexual harassment is illegal.”