Running From the Storm. Lee WilkinsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the thick, sun-streaked hair his handsome face was lean and tanned, with strong, clear-cut features and long, heavy-lidded eyes beneath curved brows several shades darker than his hair. His mouth, at first glance austere, held a hint of passion that sent shivers running up and down her spine.
Rising to her feet, she held out her hand. ‘I’m Caris Belmont, Mr Devereux.’
She was vexed to find that, instead of being composed and businesslike, her voice sounded very slightly breathless.
Taking her hand, he said formally, ‘Miss Belmont.’
As those long fingers wrapped around hers she felt an electric tingle run up her arm, and thought a trifle dazedly that she had read about that kind of thing happening in romantic novels but had never quite believed it.
Pulling herself together, she said, ‘I gather there’s been some kind of mix-up over the date of your appointment?’
His green eyes cool, he said a shade brusquely, ‘So I understand. Though I must point out that the mistake wasn’t mine.’
‘No. I do apologize.’
If she had hoped for some softening in his attitude, she was disappointed. Clearly he wasn’t the kind of man who took kindly to being brought on a wild goose chase.
She resumed her seat and, indicating the black leather armchair in front of her desk, asked politely, ‘Won’t you sit down?’
When he made no move to follow her suggestion, she added, ‘I may be able to help you.’
He studied her with great deliberation for a moment or two before raising a well-marked brow and asking, ‘In what way?’
Annoyed by the cool mockery, she said stiffly, ‘I am a qualified lawyer.’
His manner holding a faint but unmistakable touch of incredulity, he drawled, ‘Really?’
Her soft mouth tightened. How could she ever have thought him attractive? she wondered furiously. The man was so arrogant!
‘Yes, really,’ she said frigidly.
‘How old are you, Miss Belmont? Let’s see, you must be all of twenty-two—twenty-three at the most?’
Caris bit her lip. He had expected to see one of the senior partners and clearly he thought he was being fobbed off with an inexperienced junior.
Which in a way he was, honesty made her admit.
‘I can’t see that my age matters.’
‘Then suppose I phrase that question differently. Have you had any actual experience?’
‘Certainly … Lots,’ she added recklessly.
‘Lots? My! You must be older than you look. So exactly how long have you been with the practice?’
‘Almost a year.’ She tried not to sound defensive.
‘That long!’
She gritted her teeth.
‘And what exactly is your position here?’
She was pleased to be able to say, ‘I’ve just been offered a partnership.’
The gleam in his eye told her that he knew quite well she had deliberately left out the word ‘junior’.
‘Tell me, Miss Belmont, what is the relationship between yourself and the senior partners? As the surname is the same, I take it there is one?’
Seething inwardly, because she already knew what he was getting at, she curbed her temper as best she could and said briefly, ‘Austin Belmont is my father. David Belmont is my uncle.’
‘So it’s what you might call a nice, cosy little set-up.’
Her anger boiled over and she threw caution to the winds. ‘Mr Devereux,’ she said, her voice icy, ‘I accept that you have a genuine reason for complaint, but I find your attitude insufferable.’
‘And I find yours, shall we say, somewhat naive for a qualified lawyer.’
‘In that case perhaps you would prefer to wait and talk to one of the senior partners?’
‘I understood from your secretary that there is no one else available before Monday.’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t,’ she confirmed shortly.
He studied her heart-shaped face. She was quite lovely, he thought, with flawless skin, a short, straight nose, generous mouth, dark silky hair taken up into a neat coil, and almond eyes beneath winged brows the deep, purple-blue of pansies.
Eyes that at the moment were sparkling with anger.
It had been his intention to leave—his company’s new lawyer would be taking up her post in ten days’ time, and at a pinch his business could wait—but all at once he changed his mind.
This woman interested and intrigued him. As well as beauty, she had brains, character and spirit.
She also had a temper.
Deciding to test that temper a little more, he said, ‘I see.’ Glancing at her from beneath long, gold-tipped lashes, he added, ‘Well, if you think you can cope …?’
Forcing back an angry response, she said, ‘I can cope.’
‘Then the answer to your question is, no.’
She took a deep, steadying breath, before saying coolly, ‘Well, if you intend to stay, Mr Devereux, perhaps you’d like to sit down?’
Ignoring the chair, he came and sat on the edge of the desk, turning slightly to face her.
Suddenly he was much too close and instinctively she flinched away.
It was only the slightest movement, but he noticed it and looked amused.
This time she kept her cool, but her hand itched to throw something at him.
And he knew it, damn him. In fact the gleam in his eye gave her the distinct impression that he was enjoying needling her.
Before she could make any attempt to regain the initiative, he asked with smooth effrontery, ‘So after only a year, and young as you are, you’ve been offered a partnership? You must be exceptionally clever and talented.’
A flush rising in her cheeks, she said tightly, ‘I don’t claim to be either of those, Mr Devereux. But I graduated from one of the top English law schools with honours, and while I’ve been with the firm I’ve kept studying and learning.’
Her voice as dispassionate as she could make it, she went on, ‘If you knew my father and my uncle at all well, you would know that they have no time for nepotism. Any advancement in this firm has to be earned by hard work and competence.’
Yes, she certainly had a temper, but she knew how to control it, he thought admiringly.
Deciding to change tactics, he slid off the desk and turned to face her in one fluid movement.
When green eyes met deep blue, he said simply, ‘I apologize. While I believe I have every right to be angry, I shouldn’t have vented it on you.’
She wanted to say, no you shouldn’t. Instead, the wind taken out of her sails, she said inanely, ‘That’s all right.’
‘Forgive me?’
‘Of course.’
He gave her a smile that lit his eyes, put creases beside his mouth and sent his already powerful sex appeal soaring. ‘And you’re not still angry with me?’
That smile robbed her of breath and, unable to speak, she shook her head.
‘Positive?’
‘Yes, I’m positive,’ she managed.
His