Wolfe Wedding. Joan Hohl
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of first rising, then removing his glasses.
“How intriguing.” He allowed a hint of a smile to shadow his lips. Laying the specs on top of the papers he had been reading, he flicked a hand to indicate the two functional chairs placed in front of his desk. “Have a seat,” he said, arching one goldkissed, tawny eyebrow. “And explain.”
“The courtesy?” Matching his expression with a raised brown brow that was as dark as his were light, Sandra sank onto a chair and crossed her legs, causing her long, narrow side-split linen skirt to hitch up to reveal an enticing length of thigh.
“Er. yeah.” Cameron’s voice was dry, because his throat was dry, parched by the heat of his reaction to her display of one sheer-nylon-encased leg.
Lord, what his imagination could conjure around her legs, should he give it free rein. And most of the conjuring would involve those long, shapely limbs, that tapered to slender ankles, curling around him.
The fleeting thought occurred to him of how amused—surprised? shocked? amazed?—his family, friends and acquaintances would very likely be, should they be able to tap into the desire of his imagination to indulge in erotic flights of fantasy about her.
With the possible exception of his mother, who knew him best, and tended to peer beneath the surface, nearly everyone who knew Cameron believed him to be a confirmed woman-hater, as well as a confirmed bachelor.
He wasn’t, of course. But having been burned once, a long time ago, he was not only wary of involvement, he was extremely selective in his choice of female companions—who had been few and far between for some years. And even then, he had never had a dalliance with anyone remotely concerned with his professional life.
Sandra, however, was something else again. There had been instances, too many for comfort, when temptation lured, desire swirled, and his imagination fought against his self-imposed control in a burning bid to soar free. To date, his control had proved stronger. Today was no different.
Imposing that hard-fought-for iron control, Cameron didn’t free his imagination. With a silent sigh of regret, he reined it in instead.
“What courtesy, and why?”
Her luscious mouth curved into a knowing smile of genuine amusement, and appreciation for his discernment. Sandra had never made the mistake of taking him for anybody’s fool.
“The courtesy of letting you know that you’ll be getting a break from tangling with me for a while. possibly a long while.”
He frowned; instead of clarifying, her explanation compounded his confusion. His expression mirroring his feelings, Cameron dropped into his desk chair, leaned forward and fixed a piercing stare on her.
“You want to expand on that cryptic statement?”
Sandra’s smile took on a teasing quirk; her soft dark brown eyes danced with laughter lights. “You mean, what in hell am I talking about?”
Cameron gave a judicious nod of his head, and absently raised a hand to brush back the thick lock of tawny hair that tumbled onto his forehead. “Yeah, that would clear up the issue for me.”
“I’m taking a leave of absence from my work and the firm,” she answered with a simple candor. “A sabbatical, if you will.” Her response brought him to a full stop for an instant. The low sound of her throaty laughter jarred him out of his bemusement.
“Leave of absence?” His voice had lost the slow and easy drawl, and now held unabashed and blatant disbelief. “A sabbatical?”
Sandra made an elaborate show of glancing around the office. “Do I detect an echo in here?”
“Clever. Real clever.” Cameron gave her a dry, droll look. “If you’re through playing straight ma—person,” he said chidingly, “are you ready to tell me what in hell you are talking about?”
She chided him right back. “Exactly what I said. I’m taking a leave of absence.”
“Why?” His brow furrowed in a frown. “You’re the best lawyer in the firm.”
“Thank you for that.” Sandra inclined her head in acknowledgment of the compliment. She knew they were few and far between from Cameron Wolfe.
“You’re welcome. Now tell me why.”
‘‘I’m tired.” Her answer came without hesitation, and with determined adamancy. “I need a break.”
His eyes shadowed with brooding intent, Cameron absently toyed with one of the earpieces of his glasses as he mulled over her response.
Sandra certainly didn’t look tired, he mused, studying her face in minute detail. In point of fact, she looked as bright and sparkling as the spring sunshine that was pouring through the wide office window and splashing butter yellow color on the utilitarian gray carpet.
For all the depth of his shrewd observation, Cameron could not detect the slightest sign of stress or strain in her smooth features, or in the calm, clear eyes returning his inspection.
“You don’t look tired,” he voiced his assessment. “Matter of fact, you look pretty good.”
Sandra laughed; it was another sound that never failed to thrill. Low, throatily exciting, her laughter had always had the power to light the darkest and most secret depths of his being.
“Two compliments from you in one day.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Must be a record.”
“A stranger overhearing you might be forgiven for thinking me some kind of ogre,” Cameron said in gentle reproof. “Am I really that cold?”
“No.” She shook her head, setting her sleek, stylishly bobbed sable hair swirling. “A tad remote, perhaps, but not cold.” Her soft mouth curved into a teasing smile. “But for as long as I’ve known you, you have never been fast and loose with the compliments.”
“I never saw the point in sweet-talking anyone,” he said with blunt honesty.
“Yes, I know. You call them as you see them.”
“Right.” He gave a sharp, emphatic nod of his head, once again flipping the shock of hair onto his forehead. “So, now that we’ve established my forthrightness,” he drawled, absently brushing back the unruly hair, “I’d like to hear the bottom-line reason for your taking a leave of absence.”
Sandra shook her head despairingly, and sent another ripple of throaty laughter dancing around the room and down his spine.
“You’re a hoot, Wolfe,” she said, a smile remaining after her laughter subsided. “You’re like a journalist in hot pursuit of a fast-breaking juicy scandal—you just don’t quit, do you?”
“Quitting doesn’t get you anywhere.”
“Touche,” she said, acknowledging his pointed barb. “But you see, the bottom line is, I am tired.” A frown drew her perfectly arched brows together. “I’m more than tired. I’m burned out. I need a break.”
Cameron stared at her pensively while he assimilated the depth of the shading in her voice. Sandra was saying a lot more than she was saying, he concluded, loosening his visual grip on her steadily returned stare.
“This last case get to you?” he asked, setting his reading glasses aside once more to rake long fingers through his already finger-ruffled hair.
“Yes.” Her flat response was immediate, unequivocal. “It got to me.”
Cameron knew the feeling; boy, did he know the feeling. The strange, almost eerie thing was, the case he had just wrapped up had gotten to him, too.
Odd, the two of them feeling the strain at the same time. Odd, and a bit weird.
He made a quick movement of his head, as if trying to shake off the uncanny sensation. Coincidence, he assured himself. Nothing but coincidence.
But was it?