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1
I Can’t Be Your Lawyer
My sistersand I are doing the morning milking when my cell phone chimes at me. It’s the signal that someone’s at the front door of the farmhouse. Dad rigged it up somehow; he was good at stuff likethat.
“Someone’s here,” I announce. “I’d better gosee.”
Brianna and Quinn exchange glances and move away in unison from the milking machines. “We’ll come with you,” Bree says. “It might be you-know-who.”
My nose wrinkles at the thought of the man who’s been harassing us by phone turning up to do it in person. “Might as well play it safe,” I agree, and the three of us, in our work-stained coveralls, leave the barn and head for the house.
As we go in the back door and through the kitchen, the doorbell rings again. “Coming!” I call, hoping whoever it is will hear me. The farmhouse is old, but Dad did the best he could to insulateit.
I reach the front door, the twins on my heels, and pull it open. And then I just stare.
The man standing there is drop-dead sexy. He’s dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt that don’t do anything to disguise the fact that he’s built like a quarterback, tall and powerful but not bulky. Silver glints in the dark hair falling across his forehead; it’s a match for his eyes, deep pools that seem to spark with eroticfire.
He’s got to be pushing forty, and he’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Whatever he’s selling, I wantit.
“Hello?” I say, like an idiot, and it comes out all breathy. I mentally kick myself and force myself to speak normally. “Can I helpyou?”
“Jade Callahan?”
His voice is delicious too. Hearing him say my name is like an intimate caress that shivers over my skin and then inside me, touching other, hidden places. “Yes, that’sme.”
“I’m Romero Adamo.”
“Oh!” Until this moment, I’d completely forgotten about my conversation with my high school friend Erin the night before. Then it hits me, and I stare all over again. “You’re a lawyer?”
His mouth quirks up in a little half-smile that melts my ovaries. “I usually dress the part, but since it’s the weekend, I’m not officially working. When Erin called last night, she said your situation sounded urgent, so I told her I’d stop by and check in withyou.”
I owe Erin big time. “That was nice of you. Um, please come in.” I step back, bumping into my sisters. I’d forgotten they were evenhere.
I turn to see them all but drooling over our visitor. “You’d better go finish the milking,” I tell them. “You know it upsets the animals if we’re not consistent with thetime.”
They’re about as different from each other as twins can be, but both of them send me looks that say they understand perfectly well the milking is just a ploy to get rid of them so I can have the swoon-worthy Mr. Adamo to myself. Bree’s mad about it; Quinn is amused.
Either way, they’re not wrong.
When they’ve gone, I lead the way to the parlor and watch him take it in: the sturdy, comfortable furniture that Dad made by hand, the simple decor, Dad’s wildlife photography on the walls. Sometimes people are uncomfortable in the farmhouse, used to fancier surroundings. They try to hide it, but it always shows.
Romero doesn’t seem out of place at all. In fact, he looks so at home here that I want to push him down onto the sofa and have my way with him. The fact that I’ve never actually slept with a man does not impede this fantasy in the slightest.
Focus, Jade. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? We have water, iced tea, lemonade …”
“Lemonade would be great, thanks.”
Everything this man says sounds like an invitation to sex. I feel his eyes on me as I turn to go to the kitchen, and curse my coveralls and work boots.
Maybe I can sneak upstairs and change. I should put on something more appropriate for meeting with an attorney. It would only be polite, afterall.
A lifetime of experience has taught me how to go up the stairs without making them squeak. In my room, I quickly tug on a pair of dark slacks and a jewel-toned top that brings out my eyes. I’ve had them since high school, but they stillfit.
Slipping sandals on my feet, I pull my hair free of its tie and let it hang loose around my shoulders. I want to put on a touch of makeup, but that would be too obvious. As if the rest of this isn’t.
I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen, where I pour two glasses of lemonade and put them on a tray with some cookies. On my way back to the parlor, I take deep breaths, trying to summon a calm I don’tfeel.
“Here we are,” I say, not meeting his eyes as I enter the room. I concentrate on setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Maybe it requires me to bend over in such a way that he has a clear view of my breasts for a moment or two; can I helpthat?
