Tall, Dark...And Framed?

What Susan was really afraid of was her own reaction to being alone with a man who, by his very presence, reminded her that beneath her professional pin-striped suit jacket beat the heart of a woman very much longing for more than business aspirations to fill the void in her life.

“That won’t be necessary,” Seb assured Dorian with a black glare that lingered long enough for him to get the hint.

“Oh, I forgot,” Dorian exclaimed, snapping his fingers and donning a hearty grin. “I have someplace to be tonight, too. Wouldn’t want to break the little lady’s heart by standing her up, you know.”

Susan winced. The ploy was so patently obvious that she couldn’t help but wonder why she had ever thought Dorian subtle. Clearly he was more enamored of the prospect of pleasing Sebastian than he was of her. Not that he shouldn’t feel more allegiance to a brother than a complete stranger, she reminded herself.

Susan wished she could rationalize away her fears as easily. Maybe Sebastian really did have a meeting at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Maybe it really was more important than clearing his name of murder. And maybe she was imagining that predatory interest in his eyes. All Susan knew for sure was that such heavy-handed tactics were reminiscent of the way her ex-husband used to manipulate her.

She smiled sweetly at her new client, the one who just might be the answer to her prayers if she played her cards right. Reminding herself that she was indeed a big girl and capable of separating past hurts from present opportunities, she tamped down her resentments. As long as she promised not to involve her heart in the case, there was really no reason to turn good fortune away from her doorstep.

“What time do you want me to be there?” she asked.

Two

It seemed fitting that Susan arrive at Sebastian Wescott’s estate on April Fools’ Day. She felt very foolish indeed waiting for the heavy wrought-iron gates to swing open and admit her. Feeling rather as if she should be placing an order at a fast-food joint, she spoke into the intercom to announce herself. A few minutes later she was parking her late-model Taurus behind a shiny new Porsche and making her way to the front door of a truly magnificent home. For a minute there she’d been afraid a valet was going to rush out and tell her to move “that piece of junk.”

Unlike Jack Wescott’s stone mansion, which was prominently displayed atop a hill overlooking Royal, his son’s ranch was more secluded and, Susan observed, far less ostentatious. A stately driveway wound its way through parklike acres of manicured lawns and mature trees. Redbrick privacy walls beckoned visitors to enjoy the world of the privileged, if only for a short time. Sebastian’s home itself was a country-style Georgian colonial, white with dark-green eaves, tiles and shutters. One could catch only a glimpse of the tennis courts, swimming pools and stables tucked neatly behind the spacious home. How a multimillion-dollar estate managed to exude an air of country coziness was enough to make Susan give silent praise to the architect who had designed it.

Wiping her palms on the front of her demure navy suit, she waited for the butler to open the door. She was surprised when she was greeted by Sebastian himself, wearing a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt. The smile on his face did nothing to lessen the impact of his devastating good looks, which had haunted her ever since he’d stepped foot in her office earlier in the day.

“Come on in,” Sebastian bid her with a familiarity she found somehow both engaging and unsettling.

If only she could get her pulse rate up this easily at her weekly aerobic workouts! Feeling the need to steady herself, Susan stopped a moment to lean against the doorway and check her watch, vowing to give this heartbreaker no more than a couple of hours of her precious time before skedaddling back to the safety of her modest, decidedly middle-class apartment. As tempting as it might be to indulge in little-girl fantasies, she didn’t need to remind herself that she hadn’t been summoned to Prince Charming’s fancy ball. Nor did she intend to leave any glass slipper behind at the stroke of midnight. Undeniably, one thing marriage to Joe had taught her was to look for the tarnish on any supposed knight’s gleaming armor. That Sebastian was facing charges for a heinous crime should have been more than enough to take the shine off his armor, were it the brightest sterling silver.

“I hope you haven’t eaten yet,” Sebastian said. “I just put steaks for two on the grill.”

The heavenly smells wafting through the house brought back the inadequacy of Susan’s dinner to her with a swiftness that overpowered her senses. The peanut-butter sandwich she had washed down earlier with a glass of milk while poring over her law books had done little to satisfy her appetite.

“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” she told him stiffly.

It was difficult to sound convincing over the rumbling of her stomach.

The sound caused Sebastian to quirk an eyebrow at her, but he gallantly refrained from making comment. Instead, he proceeded to lead her through the dining room at such a fast clip that Susan barely had time to appreciate the elegance of a room flanked by high-arched windows and vaulted ceilings. Grabbing an apron off the back of a white leather couch, Sebastian invited her to follow him through a set of open French doors onto the patio, where smoke was leaking around the edges of a barbecue grill. Slipping an oven mitt on one hand, he opened the lid and began attacking a couple of thick steaks with a pair of long-handled tongs.

“Don’t worry. I have everything under control,” Sebastian hastened to assure her.

Indeed, the man did give the appearance that nothing at all in his life was amiss. The scene had such a homey feel to it that Susan was tempted to kick off her high heels, dangle her tired feet over the side of an Olympic-size swimming pool and ask her client if he could spare a beer. As Sebastian struggled to get the steaks onto a platter and extinguish a flame that had gotten almost out of control during his absence, Susan felt a giggle gurgling up from somewhere inside her. As much as she hated to admit it, the truth was she had rather expected an envoy of well-trained servants to be waiting hand and foot on their playboy master. A man who, with a subtle gesture, would have his staff dimming the lights before vacating the premises to allow him to have his way with yet another defenseless maiden hoping to lay claim to a portion of his fortune.

“What’s so funny?” Sebastian asked, shutting off the grill and making his way to her side.

He set the heavy platter down on a round patio table and proceeded to adjust the sturdy yellow umbrella that shot out of its center like a sunflower. Susan was glad that its position blocked only the glare and not the view of a magnificent sunset. Beyond the lush grounds lay the Texas desert, equally breathtaking in its stark beauty. A profusion of bluebonnets, the state flower—named by pioneer women reminded of their own simple head coverings—draped the desert in bolts of bright homespun calico.

“You,” she replied succinctly, giving him the first genuine smile she’d been able to locate all day long.

What she would have given for the experience of coming home to find Joe wearing such domestic garb. To the best of her recollection, the closest her ex-husband had come to donning an apron was when he brushed against it hanging up in the pantry while searching for a bottle of cognac.

“I have to admit I never imagined this meeting occurring with you in an apron.”

Sebastian didn’t seem to take offense. “And just what did you think I’d be wearing?” he asked.

Susan noticed how his friendly expression softened the angular cut of his jaw.

“A smoking jacket, I suppose. An imported red-silk one that your manservant helped you into,” she replied with a blush that threatened to match the sunset in all its flaming glory.

Feigning regret, he shook his head at her. “It’s not often that I’m mistaken for Bruce Wayne. I hope you’re not disappointed that Robin can’t make it tonight and that the Bat Cave is closed for repairs.”

Susan couldn’t refrain from smiling at the witty remark.

“A smile does nice things for your face,” Seb commented. “You should think of wearing one more often.”

“The same goes for you,” she replied, recalling the fierce creature who had marched into her office a few short hours ago and left her feeling breathless and a little frightened. On his own turf this man was far less intimidating.

Susan was secretly pleased when Sebastian pulled out the chair for her and bid her to sit down. She appreciated the gesture. It was the kind of simple courtesy that, in her opinion, too many women took for granted.

“Are you sure you aren’t the least bit hungry?” Sebastian asked.

The telltale twinkle in those silver eyes could have been merely the reflection of light off the pool, but Susan didn’t think so. Drinking in the aroma of juicy T-bone steaks, she allowed her earlier resolve to dissipate amid the steam of two huge, aluminum-covered baked potatoes that Sebastian pulled off the grill and placed beside the platter of meat.

“I suppose I could eat a bite or two—that is, if you wouldn’t mind cutting one of those steaks in two and saving the rest for later,” she suggested, hoping that her host would give her arm one final tiny twist.

Sebastian hastened to assure her that she should simply eat as much as she wanted and that he would give whatever was left over to his dogs, Pal and Buddy. Since Miss Manners insisted that one shouldn’t speak with a mouthful of delicious food, Susan was saved from commenting on his dogs’ names, which seemed far too cute for such a macho man.

Not liking to cook for herself alone, Susan often grabbed a bite at the local diner, a greasy spoon that proudly splashed its name across paper place mats: “The Royal Diner—Food Fit for a King!” Looking around at her present elegant surroundings, Susan doubted that Sebastian frequented the place.

When he graciously offered to make her any kind of drink she wanted from the poolside bar, she primly declined anything more potent than a cola. It was, after all, one thing to succumb to hunger pangs and quite another to compromise her professionalism by clouding her judgment with alcohol. Furtively eyeing her client’s cold beer, she was relieved to find he wasn’t the type who favored drinks with difficult-to-pronounce names in hopes of impressing her. It pleased her to discover that her host wasn’t a snob like Joe, who sniffed corks and made a big deal out of knowing the vintage of priceless wines. And, Susan was glad to see that, also unlike Joe, Seb had no problem stopping after one drink.

How easy it had been to slip into the habit of calling this lion of a man by his pet name. Seb certainly suited him better than Sebastian, Susan thought. As she polished off the last bite of a steak she had earlier protested was far too big for her to consume alone, she wondered if Jack Wescott had deliberately chosen the imposing name “Sebastian” for his baby boy, planning to mold his son into a man who would someday take over an empire. Having grown up without the benefits of privilege herself, Susan found it difficult to imagine the woes of a poor little rich boy. Still, the thought that Seb might not have had a picture-perfect childhood bothered her more than it probably should have.

Susan refused to allow such speculative thoughts to darken the luxurious pleasure of a perfect spring evening. As she drank in the fading rays of the setting sun, apprehension slipped from her slender shoulders as easily as her jacket had earlier. It had been far too long since she had last watched the sun bid the day a glorious adieu and paused to appreciate the beauty of the surrounding countryside. Midland was the closest city, and it was a good fifty miles away. The seclusion of this lush estate, surrounded as it was by desert and buffeted by almost unceasing winds, made it seem as if Royal itself was equally distant.

“A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” Susan admitted, feeling as if she was dropping in on a mirage. With a satisfied sigh, she pushed herself away from the table and announced that the evening was growing cool and it was time to get down to business.

Though Seb grimaced, he dutifully rose to his feet and began clearing the table. Susan followed his lead.

“My housekeeper, Rosa, would have my hide if I left the dishes outside overnight,” he explained with a touch of chagrin.

Happy to pitch in, Susan was impressed both with the clout Rosa wielded over her employer and with Seb’s willingness to do what she assumed most millionaires would find beneath their dignity. The easy banter that accompanied them into the kitchen seemed somehow incongruent in their surroundings. The latest in kitchen appliances sparkled beneath soft lighting, a testament to Rosa’s dedication. All that gleaming black-and-white modernism was saved from its usual cold feel by the very same lemony scent that Susan remembered in her own mother’s kitchen. One whiff carried her back to a simpler time when she and her five siblings were all crowded together in public housing that offered little in privacy, but much in the way of inspiration nurtured by their parents’ dreams of a better life for their children.

Her background had a lot to do with shaping her dream of making life better for other children. Particularly those coping with lack of available and adequate housing, uncooperative slumlords, insufficient food and, God forbid, abusive parents. Folding her dish towel and setting it atop a spotless counter, Susan realized just how far down the road this man’s case was from her original goal. Defending millionaires was hardly championing the cause of the poor. In a system in which “justice” too often could be bought, she couldn’t help but wonder why someone with Seb’s resources would bother taking a chance on her skills as a lawyer.

But reminding herself how desperately she needed to win this case to resuscitate her floundering dream, she refused to second-guess her host. Determined not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, she promised simply do her best and prove herself worthy of Seb’s trust.

Citing the need to go to the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen a few moments later carrying her briefcase. “Would it be all right to work in here?” Susan asked, setting it on the table. “Or would you rather we moved into the den?”

“Here is fine,” Seb agreed amicably, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table himself.

Susan noticed him looking at the battered leather case and briefly considered explaining that it had been a gift from her parents when she graduated from law school. More than just one of her colleagues had hinted that she should invest in a new briefcase, but this particular one held more than just papers. In it resided her parents’ pride and her own aspirations. Every nick and scratch in its surface represented her hard-fought battle for independence. Once she had actually used it as a shield when, in a childish temper tantrum, Joe had thrown his drink across the room at her, demanding she give up this foolishness and drop out of school altogether. As the man of the house, he was deeply insulted that his wife felt the need to contribute financially to their marriage.