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‘Let me try to understand this, Miss Lewis. Did I ask you to formulate an opinion of the case?’
‘You asked me to—to do something with it…’
‘Yes. Organise the file, perhaps. Write a précis.’ He smiled, almost kindly. ‘You are familiar with that word, aren’t you? You did hear it once or twice when you weren’t sleeping through your paralegal courses?’
Hannah’s cheeks blazed. ‘Mr MacLean, if you’d just let me explain…’
‘Perhaps you’re a confidante of the delightful Mrs Gibbs?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘A psychologist, then?’
Her cheeks pinkened. ‘I only meant——’
‘Or a fortune-teller.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what you are, Miss Lewis?’
‘Mr MacLean, please——’
‘But you know the intricacies of this case.’
‘I didn’t mean to suggest——’
‘Of male-female relationships in general.’ His lips drew back from his teeth and he gave her a smile that would have done a shark proud. ‘It’s wonderful, the things they teach a paralegal nowadays.’
Hannah stiffened. ‘It’s just common sense, sir. I read the file, and I was simply——’
‘Is it your sex that gives you such insight, the fact that you and the lady in question share similar genetic material?’ He leaned closer to her and she caught the scent of piney aftershave mingled with sharp male anger. ‘Or is it your vast experience in matrimonial law that makes you an expert?’
All at once she shoved back her chair, hard enough so his hands fell away from it, and leaped to her feet.
‘You’re no expert, either,’ she said sharply. ‘When I took this job, they said your field was international law. But now—but now…’
The fast, furious words ceased as rapidly as they’d begun. She looked at him in horror. What was she thinking of? She’d been acting crazy ever since she’d stepped into this office. This was Grant MacLean, this was her boss! This was the man whose signature was on her weekly pay cheque, whose orders she was supposed to obey…
‘You’re right.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘I—I beg your pardon?’
MacLean gave her a tight smile. ‘I said, you’re right. About my expertise, or my lack of it. I only agreed to take this case because Gibbs is an old friend. I told him at the start to get a divorce lawyer, but he wouldn’t hear of it.’ He sighed. ‘Make a note, please, Miss Lewis. Remind me to telephone him first thing in the morning and tell him I’m resigning from the case. I’ll recommend someone else to him.’
An apology, and the word ‘please’, all in the same breath. Hannah bent her head over her notepad. Just wait until Sally heard about——
‘The only thing I really know about marriage is that it’s invariably a mistake that people shouldn’t make more than once.’
Hannah looked up. He was smiling politely. A peace offering, she thought, and smiled back.
‘We’re in complete agreement there.’
A little frown of surprise creased his brow. ‘Is that the voice of experience talking?’
She hesitated, then nodded. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘And your comment about Mrs Gibbs still loving her husband—was that the voice of experience talking, too?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You mean, am I… ?’ She blew out her breath. ‘No,’ she said without hesitation, ‘it definitely was not.’
Grant MacLean steepled his hands beneath his chin. ‘I see.’
Hannah shrugged her shoulders. ‘The only thing I’d argue with is how a couple ends up at the altar.’
He nodded. ‘Yes?’
‘I don’t think anyone leads anyone there, I just think they both fool themselves into thinking it’s a good idea.’
MacLean chuckled as he leaned back against the desk and folded his arms over his chest.
‘And our Mrs Gibbs——’
‘—is still fooling herself. Yes, sir. I think so.’
He nodded. ‘You think she wants to try and make a go of things, hmm? Very well, then. Make a note of that. I’ll tell Gibbs when I talk to him tomorrow.’ A moment passed, and then he cleared his throat. ‘Please, Miss Lewis, won’t you sit down?’
Hannah sat down carefully and crossed her legs at the ankle, notepad and pencil at the ready, all too aware that she had survived a near-disaster. She’d come damnably close to getting herself fired. She’d given away more of herself than she usually did, as well, but that was understandable. Grant MacLean had surprised her with his sudden honesty and self-deprecation; it had elicited an exchange of truth on her part.
Perhaps now they could get on better with each other. Perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so sharp-tempered. Hannah looked up, smiling—and the smile froze. MacLean was watching her with an intensity that was almost paralysing, as if—as if she were something pinned to a microscope slide.
‘Mr MacLean? Is something wrong?’
He shook his head. ‘No, Miss Lewis. Quite the contrary. Everything is fine.’
He didn’t look as if everything were fine, Hannah thought. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then looked down quickly and opened her notebook.
‘I know you said you’re going to give up the case,’ she said. ‘But I did make some notes. Shall I type them up and——?’
‘Are you busy this evening, Miss Lewis?’
Hannah blinked. ‘Busy?’ she said, looking up again. He was still watching her that same way, dammit, as if he were a scientist and she were a new and hitherto unidentified species of bacteria.
‘Yes.’ He smiled pleasantly. ‘Did you have plans, I mean?’
‘No, sir. I can work late, if you——’
‘Work?’ MacLean’s smile grew, until it was a grin, the first, she thought suddenly, that she’d ever seen on his face. ‘Well, yes, Miss Lewis, I suppose you could call it that.’ He leaned back against his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked straight into her eyes. ‘You see, I’m in desperate need of your services tonight.’
‘Yes, sir. Will you be dictating, or——?’
This time, he laughed aloud. But there was no sharpness to it, only a softness that made the laughter almost a purr, and it made the hair rise on the back of Hannah’s neck.
‘Miss Lewis. Hannah, I mean. I think, considering the circumstances, I should call you by your given name, don’t you?’
Hannah took a deep breath. Something was happening here, something she didn’t understand, something—something dangerous.
MacLean leaned away from the desk, then came slowly towards her and held out his hand. She stared at it in silence, then at him, and after a moment he reached out, clasped her fingers in his, and drew her to her feet.
Then he smiled, and Hannah’s heart almost stopped beating, for the smile transformed him, turning him with blinding speed from the scourge of Longworth, Hart, Holtz and MacLean into an incredibly sexy male.
‘After all, sweetheart,’ he said softly, ‘only a damned fool would use such formal terms with his mistress.’
CHAPTER TWO
HANNAH stared into the grey eyes a scant few inches from hers. This was a joke, she thought crazily. Her boss was telling a joke with a long delay before the punchline.
But that cocksure grin was still curved across his mouth, and all at once she knew that the only funny thing in this office was her foolishness in having told him that she was a divorced woman. Not that she hadn’t been down this road before. Many men thought women like her made easy targets—even, it seemed, a man like Grant MacLean, who had, she was quite certain, never until this moment even noticed that she was female.
Her lip curled in disgust. ‘Let go of me,’ she demanded.
One dark brow rose in a questioning curve. ‘Of course,’ he said, his hand falling away from hers.
She clasped the wrist he’d held and rubbed at the skin as if she were trying to eradicate his fingerprints. ‘Just who do you think you are?’ she said in
a low, furious voice.
MacLean stared at her, perplexed, and then, suddenly, he began to smile.
‘Miss Lewis—Hannah—I think you’ve misunderstood me.’
‘No. I haven’t misunderstood you at all, Mr MacLean. But you’ve certainly misunderstood me.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I am not the least bit interested in your—your proposition.’
His smile broadened. ‘Let me explain before you——’
‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘I don’t think so, Hannah.’
‘Believe me, you are.’ She stared at him a second longer, then turned and marched stiffly to the door. ‘If that’s all, sir,’ she said, flinging the word like an insult over her shoulder, ‘I’ll go back to my office and finish my work on the——’
‘Hannah, dammit, wait a minute!’
‘—the Gibbs case.’ Her hand closed on the doorknob and she yanked it open. ‘I’ll print out my notes and leave them on your desk before—’
He came up behind her with an amazing swiftness for a man of his size, and the knob was wrenched from her hand as he slammed the door shut.
‘Open that door,’ she said. Her voice shook a little, not so much with fear as with righteous indignation. How dared he? How dared he? ‘Dammit, Mr MacLean——’
