Chapter Six
Huxley
At the mention of Jeremiah, the man goes flaccid faster than an eighty-year-old with performance issues. Huxley & Webber is on retainer, and although this matter doesn’t technically pertain to my business, she’ll handle it because she always wants to handle anything related to my legal affairs.
All I wanted was a stiff drink or three after leaving Uncle Prescott’s house, and getting involved in a scene wasn’t in the plan. But at the same time, I couldn’t let some asshole physically bully a woman half his size. Although she was doing her best to hide her fear, I noticed the slight pallor of her face, her hands clenched and arms vibrating with tension when he started to use his size and strength to intimidate her.
He slinks away to his buddies. They start talking to him and throw some furtive—and a few overt—looks my way. The asshole himself stands with his back to me, shrugging and obviously trying to play the encounter off as no big deal. But his hands are trembling slightly, and he sticks them in his pockets. That’s right, motherfucker.
“Thank you,” the woman says. Her voice, now devoid of aggressive sarcasm, is sweet and melodious with a hint of a smoky undertone, like a great cigar. I like the way it flows.
“My pleasure, believe me.” I check her over to make sure she’s okay, then bring my eyes back to up to meet her gorgeous blue ones. They sparkle even in the bar’s dim light, reminding me of the sunny Pacific. “Can’t have a lady getting abused by some jerk. Besides, I respect that you didn’t back down. Most would’ve cowered.” I take the seat next to her.
“Showing fear would’ve only emboldened him,” she says, a steely light in her eyes.
Amusement tugs at the corner of my mouth, as a sliver of respect slides into my heart. “True enough. But still, with the size difference, you looked pretty brave there.”
She wrinkles her little nose. “Not really.” Her voice drops low, and I’m forced to lean closer to catch her words. “I was actually a teeny bit afraid. It’s just that backing down is exactly what bullies want.”
There’s the lingering fire from the whiskey on her breath. She smells warm and sweet, like peach cobbler spiced with cinnamon. “But that’s exactly what bravery is. Standing up for something even when you’re afraid.”
She exhales softly. Her heart-shaped face is stunning this close, especially as it’s framed with long, wavy hair that’s a brown so dark it’s almost black. Charming freckles dust the bridge of her nose, and she has cherry lips that make me want to have a quick taste to see if they’re as sweet as they look. But the best feature is her eyes—wide and clear, in a stunning shade of baby-blue. They shine with intelligence, humor and a glint of steel. A smart woman with a spine. Something hot stirs in my gut, displacing the tension from the aborted dinner.
When was the last time I felt anything remotely like this? And this fast?
“You have really pretty eyes.” She gives a short laugh. “I guess you probably hear that a lot.”
It takes a second before I can recover. It’s like she’s reading my mind. “Not really.”
“Seriously?”
“The people in my life don’t generally notice my eyes.” My brothers are…well, guys. And unsentimental, except when it comes to their women and children. Grandmother and Mother are too preoccupied, plotting ways to get me to join the firm or marry one of the worthless Webber girls. And the women I’ve dated were always too busy cataloguing my watch, my clothes, my car and my house. Or the possibility that I might be a bridge to my father, who would undoubtedly make them all into stars if only he would come to know about their existence.
She arches a skeptical eyebrow. “You must be surrounded by a lot of oblivious folks.”
I laugh. “They have different priorities.”
The bartender brings me my scotch, and I push it to her. “Here. To make up for that whiskey.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay. You aren’t the guy who stole my last one.”
“So? My treat.”
“Well… If you insist. Thanks. I’m Grace, by the way.” She extends a small hand.
I take it in mine. As my senses revel in the softness of her skin, a searing jolt runs through my spine. “Huxley,” I say.
She takes a big swallow of the scotch, her eyes holding mine, then dropping to my mouth. Her hand is still in my grasp. Then her lips purse and she frowns. I have an absurd impulse to kiss her and tell her to forget whatever is irritating her.
She replaces the glass on the bar. “Okay. Please tell me you aren’t a lawyer.”
“Why?”
“Because all the lawyers in my life have turned out to be jerks. Except for my best friend, but that’s different.”
The family resentment that’s been simmering in my chest for so long abates a bit. I wish I could record this woman’s distaste for attorneys and send it to Grandmother, who thinks that I was born to go into the legal profession. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m most definitely not a lawyer.”
“What a relief. I’m all lawyered out for the day. Probably for the century.”
“Get sued?”
“No.” Her eyes flick down briefly, a rueful smile twisting her beautiful lips. “I walked in here to pick up a rival lawyer and have a little revenge on my boyfriend, who cheated on me—”
I lift my eyebrows. Hard to believe.
“—and then had the gall to say it was because the sex wasn’t great.”
“Your boyfriend is a spineless idiot. Infidelity is a coward’s way out for people who don’t have the guts to end a relationship face to face. He also probably felt deep down that he couldn’t measure up to a woman like you.” A woman who stands up to a bully, then makes me laugh, is able to soothe my temper and turns me on? That’s a unicorn.
She flushes and shifts, like she isn’t used to hearing how wonderful she is. Her boyfriend is an asshole who probably couldn’t find her G-spot with a GPS.
“Well, I am, again, not a lawyer…but we could go for it anyway.” I keep my tone light enough for her to dismiss it as a joke, but hold her eyes and give her a slow smile.
She considers, giving me an intent, slanted look. As each heartbeat passes, I realize I’m actually growing restless at the possibility she might say no. It’s a novel feeling. I’ve never cared about a woman’s response like this before. There was always another one just around the corner, just as good. But I have a feeling Grace is one of a kind.
“Mmm,” she says meditatively, glancing in the direction of the group the asshole ran off to. “So far, those were my options. A bunch of guys who are about as attractive as hairless orangutans.”
Despite myself, it makes me laugh.
She leans closer until our cheeks are just a hairsbreadth apart. “But I think,” she says hotly into my ear, “I just found what I was looking for.”