Ungentlemanly Behaviour

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You’re wasting your breath.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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