Chapter 7
“Is that your standard bar procedure?” Devlin asked Gabrielle, letting the hand in question linger on her shoulder.
She’d let her hair down, he noticed. It flowed in dark, rich waves to her shoulders, looking as if she’d shoved her hands through it. Or someone else had. Would it look like that after she’d just gotten out of bed?
She smiled, a slow, sexy smile he hadn’t seen on her face before. Devlin sucked in a breath, feeling like all four volumes of the Texas Legal Directory had landed on his chest.
“I only threaten men with bad lines who try to pick me up.” Her tone matched her smile.
To give himself a moment to think, Devlin signaled the bartender. Thankfully, his brain did begin functioning again. He’d been afraid all the blood had rushed to other parts of his anatomy. “That lets me out, then. I’ve got a dynamite line.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Do you? I wouldn’t have thought you’d need one.”
Whatever had gotten into her, he liked her in this mood.
He blessed the impulse that had led him to Alfonso’s after overhearing Nina’s invitation to Gabrielle.
“I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult.
” Her lips curved upward, but she didn’t speak.
Devlin ordered for both of them and turned back to her.
“Okay,” she said, “let’s hear it.”
“What, the line?”
“No, the Gettysburg Address. Of course the line.” She flicked him another killer smile. “Bet I’ve heard it before.”
Devlin grinned. God, he loved a challenge. “How much?”
“This round’s on the loser.”
“Deal.” He put out his hand, and they shook.
“Have at it, Romeo.” Pulling her hand away, she turned her back to him.
Devlin touched her shoulder. In a replay of a few minutes earlier, she swung around, pure frost in her eyes. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom on you, would you?”
“Sorry. I don’t have the anatomy for it.”
Devlin gave a shout of laughter. “Damn, you’ve heard it before.”
Grinning, she arched an eyebrow. “Actually, no. But I’m quick.” Just then the bartender set their drinks in front of them. “Put them on my tab,” she told him.
Devlin toasted her with his Scotch and water. “To fast comebacks.”
“And bad lines.” She rested her chin in her hand and looked at him earnestly. “I think you need serious help with your definition of dynamite.”
“I won the bet, didn’t I?”
“Winning isn’t everything,” she stated in a pious tone.
“Beats the hell out of losing.” He slid his arm across the back of her bar stool. “If I wanted to get a beautiful woman’s attention—” he caught her gaze and smiled, the smile guaranteed to make a woman weak-kneed and willing “—that’s not what I’d ask her.”
“What would you say, then?”
Did she know her voice had softened? His hand trailed up to the back of her neck, sneaking under her hair. He lowered his voice to midnight quiet and held her gaze. “Aren’t you the woman I dreamed about last night?”
Her eyes widened; he heard her breath catch. “That might work,” she admitted huskily, after a moment.
“Did it?” His hand continued its caress, tracing slow, sensual circles on her neck.
“It’s a definite possibility.”
“I’ve never used it before.”
“Never?” Her voice was almost a whisper. He had to strain to hear it.
“No.” He leaned in close, so close, their mouths were nearly touching.
So close, he felt her breath feather across his lips.
The chatter, the music, the people surrounding them faded to black “The thing is—” he picked up her hand and brushed the lightest of kisses over the backs of her fingers “—it’s not a line. It happens to be true.”
Their gazes still locked, Gabrielle drew in a deep, unsteady breath. Her eyes turned a bottomless, misty green. For a long moment neither spoke. “You’re very good,” she breathed. “I almost believe you.”
“Believe it,” he said, and moved in for the kill. His mouth was a sigh away from hers when she jerked her head back and yanked her hand from his. The moment shattered like thin ice.
“You win,” she said, and reached for her wine.
Watching her gulp some down, Devlin smiled. The spell had broken, but the aftereffects remained. “What’s this? Gabrielle Rousseau, CG&S’s finest, conceding so easily?”
“I’m having an off night.”
“Drowning your sorrows?”
“No, no, no.” She toasted him with her glass. “Celebrating. It’s much more fun.”
He had to give it to her, she made a quick recovery. “What are you celebrating? The Sabatino case isn’t exactly going ninety to nothing. For our side, anyway.”
“Oh, that.” Waving one hand dismissively, she finished off half the wine. “We’ll find something. So what if he’s got lousy character witnesses?”
“It makes defen?—”
Before he could finish the sentence she interrupted.
“You surprised me today, you know?” Leaning forward with the glass in her hand tilting precariously to one side, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Ms….whatever, can’t remember her name. The woman who came to see you this morning. Why’d you take her case?”
Hello? Where did that come from? Drinking some of his Scotch, he considered her.
Apparently Gabrielle didn’t want to talk about Sabatino.
And he didn’t care to talk about Marcie Field.
Not answering would only make her more curious, so to appease her he gave her something.
“She needed a lawyer. What’s to understand? ”
“That lady is pro bono all the way, Shinclair.”
His lips quirked at the slurred word. She stared at him intently, obviously unaware of her lapse. “Everybody does a little pro bono work,” he said. “You do, don’t you?”
“Certainly.” She gave an emphatic nod and took another sip of wine. “But you—” she poked him in the chest with her forefinger “—aren’t the type. Not a pro bono bone in your body. You don’t have to counsel for free, not at this stage of your career. So why?”
Not the type, he repeated silently. Devlin gave in to the irresistible urge to shock her out of her smug reading of his character.
“I was a PD for three years.” Her finger fell, and her mouth dropped open.
Though he smiled, her disbelief annoyed him more than it amused him. “Just out of law school,” he added.
“You? A public defender?” She stared in amazement, then threw her head back and laughed.
Her throaty, abandoned laughter brought on a curious range of feelings.
Lust at the sight of her slim neck, exposed as it was, and at the rich sound of her enjoyment.
Intense, and irritating, disappointment that she’d reacted as she had.
Why should he be surprised that she only saw what everyone else saw?
And why the hell should he care? Sipping his drink, he waited for her paroxysm to subside.
Abruptly, she sobered and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” A hiccup lessened the effect of her apology. She continued doggedly. “You were so good with your client today. It shouldn’t have shocked me, I guess. But I can’t—couldn’t imag?—”
“Yeah, I know.” He gave her a cynical smile. “It doesn’t fit the image.”
Tilting her head, she gazed at him, as though trying to piece together a puzzle. “If the image bothers you, why don’t you change it?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m not a PD anymore.”
“Maybe part of you still is,” she said shrewdly.
Devlin didn’t like the direction this conversation had taken.
He’d outgrown that particular save-the-world mind-set long ago.
Three years as a PD would polish off anyone’s idealism, and finding out the truth about Celine had sounded the death knell on his.
Remembering Celine sure as hell held no interest for him.
“Nope,” he answered. “What you see is what you get.”
She hadn’t taken her hand off his arm. He’d left his jacket in the car, and her fingers pressed gently into his skin, warming it through the cloth of his shirtsleeve. There was no reason for that innocent contact to send a surge of desire pumping through his blood. No reason at all.
“I wonder,” she said.
“And I wonder,” he said, taking the offensive, “what it is about Sabatino that gets to you. You’ve defended others like him. But there’s a difference this time, isn’t there, Gabrielle?”
Her hand dropped away. A gleam of alarm came and went in her eyes, so quickly, he might have imagined it. Except he hadn’t.
“I’ve got a lot more at stake this time,” she said.
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Care to let me in on the stakes?”
Her lashes lowered, then rose, her expression changing to sultry. Even knowing her game, it still sent his hormone level rocketing.
“Winner take all. Partner.”
Devlin let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Damn, she was good.
“But tonight—” she stroked her hand up his arm “—I don’t want to talk about Sabatino.” Her hand glided slowly down to his. “Or partnerships. Or law. I’m taking the night off. What do you say, Counselor? Take the night off with me?”
An invitation. In her eyes, in her touch, in her words. So, she wanted to distract him, did she? Just how far would she go?
“That depends.” He took her hand, running his thumb along the inside of her wrist. Her pulse scrambled, and he smiled. “What did you have in mind?”
She touched her tongue to her lips in a nervous, unconsciously sensual gesture. “Oh God, I think I’m in trouble.”
Her voice sounded like the night, a husky whisper of pure temptation.
Devlin smiled and said nothing. He unbuttoned her sleeve and trailed his fingers up her arm as he pushed the material higher.
Her lips parted on a moan that she caught just before completion.
Strangely, his own pulse was none too steady.
Just from touching her arm? Listening to her voice? Get a grip, he told himself.
She stared at him and licked her lips again. “Now I know I’m in trouble. I can’t…I can’t…”
When he touched his lips to the pulse throbbing at the crook of her arm, her breath hissed in with a gasp. “Can’t what?” he murmured, lingering over the magnolia petal skin of her arm.