Mistletoe Over Manhattan. Barbara Daly
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was new, Carter frowning at a flirtatious woman. And it didn’t bear thinking about, because it might get her hopes up, and she had no hope of having a personal relationship with Carter. She’d just have to be content with relating to him in the one area in which she felt secure—the Green case.
“Could we use the flight time to talk about the case?” she asked him, knowing she sounded prim and stodgy next to the sexpot in uniform. “I’ll boot up my laptop as soon as we’re in the air so we can refer to the interrogatories.”
“Oh, sure,” Carter said, “the sooner we get to work the better.”
Truer words had never been spoken, he thought. The plane took off smoothly, but he felt as if he’d been sucked into a tornado funnel. He only hoped the funnel would drop him somewhere safe. He had an odd feeling he wasn’t safe with Mallory anymore.
He sneaked a sidelong glance at her. It wasn’t her clothes. Her pantsuit looked like a good one, but it was definitely a working suit, prim and proper. Wasn’t her makeup, either, even though at Sensuous, he suspected, makeup samples were among the perks of the job. Not that he knew much about makeup, but it looked as if all she’d done was darken her brows and lashes a little, put a smudge of powder on her nose and the shiny pink lipstick on her mouth and let it go at that.
They were long. Her eyelashes. He’d never noticed before. She hadn’t darkened them in law school, or he hadn’t been looking at anything but her grade point average. She’d gotten him through Constitutional Law, that was for sure. But now he couldn’t imagine how she’d done it without his noticing her eyelashes.
“Do you think that’s an approach we could use? I know it’s a little unorthodox, but it might work in this particular case.”
What the hell had she been saying while he was admiring her eyelashes? “Ah…um…I’ll have to think it over,” Carter said, tumbling out of the tornado cloud into extremely dangerous territory.
Directly onto solid ice, in fact. The ice of her blue eyes as she glared at him. “You weren’t listening.”
“Mallory, Mallory.” He assumed the hurt, bassett hound look that had always worked when he was supposed to be romancing a woman and was instead thinking about a case. Except this time it was the other way around. “When have I ever not listened to you?”
“Just now,” Mallory said, looking at him as if he were a bit of dog poop on her sturdy, sensible-looking black pump.
He guessed she’d never forget that without her help, he would have failed that Con Law exam and probably flunked out of law school. The night he studied with her had started him off on the road to respectability, but she would never be able to respect his intellect. That’s why she’d never come on to him. Mallory would have to respect a man in order to feel an attraction to him.
Well, he’d just have to do something to change her image of him. He also knew it would take time to win her over. For now, he would do the only thing that seemed appropriate.
He smiled at her.
ONE MINUTE SHE’D been flying on a horizontal line high above the clouds, and the next minute, transported by his smile, she was rocketing toward outer space. That smile said “woman,” not “lawyer.” The oddest little sensation started up in the region of her abdomen—well, lower than that—and buzzed out in all directions. Her body felt hot, damp and twitchy, while her mouth went dry.
It had also fallen open. She snapped it shut, then opened it again. “What I was suggesting was a touch of irony in the proceedings,” she said from her position high above the clouds. Her voice sounded thin and high to her own ears, probably due to the lack of oxygen. “As in, ‘What’s so bad about pea-green hair and nails? Teenagers are paying big bucks to have green hair.”’
That smile of his widened. While it was a little less suggestive now that it was wider, it only increased its effect on her. The newspaper report flashed through her head:
Lawyer Assaults Colleague On Cross-Continental Flight
“I don’t know what came over me,” said Mallory Trent in her confession to the airline security squad. “I must have experienced a moment of insanity to have done something so out-of-character as to rip off my stockings and panties and fling myself on top of the plaintiff.”
“You must have apprehended the wrong person,” stated her immediate superior, William Decker, who heads up the legal staff of Sensuous. “It’s unthinkable that Ms. Trent would behave in such a provocative way. She’s not a woman, she’s a—”
“That’d be an original line of defense,” Carter was saying. His voice seemed to have deepened and softened. It sounded like the purr of a Rolls-Royce engine. “I’d say, ‘Green hair takes thirty years off your age, madam.”’
“Then you flash her that drop-dead smile and we win the case.”
She was distressed to see his smile fade, his lips tighten. For a minute she’d thought she’d stirred up a man-woman reaction in him at last, but then somehow she’d turned it off as fast as you could unplug an electric mixer. What on earth had she said?
THERE IT WAS, his first clue that he’d been assigned to this case for his people skills, not his professional ones. No, damn it, I’m not doing it that way. I present an irrefutable argument and we win the case. Better yet, I crush the plaintiffs’ testimony to dust and they beg for a settlement instead of a trial.
Carter couldn’t imagine why he was letting her get to him like this. He’d graduated fourth in their class. Rendell and Renfro was a prestigious firm. He’d already made partner, the youngest partner they’d made in years. He didn’t need a—what had she called it? A drop-dead smile?—to do a good job representing Sensuous. Why couldn’t she admit it?
She was tapping away on her laptop, so he let his gaze fix on her face. She was undeniably beautiful. Undeniably smart. But that didn’t make him inferior. Two people could be smart at the same time.
Gazing at her, Carter made a vow. He could have sex with a host of women. What he wanted from this woman was her respect, and he’d get it while they worked on this case together, whatever the cost.
“IF YOU’LL HANDLE the cab fare and the porter, I’ll check us in,” Carter said when they pulled up in front of the St. Regis Hotel. The flight had seemed endless. The sooner he and Mallory were in separate rooms, the better. Leaving her whipping out bills and demanding receipts, he strode into the magnificent hotel lobby and approached the reception desk.
“Compton and Trent,” he said to the navy-suited woman who greeted him.
“Yes, Mr. Compton,” she said after she’d punched her computer keyboard enough times to have turned out a short story for her efforts. “We have a very nice suite for you.” She eyed him as all women did—speculatively.
Carter responded with a credit card. “And for Ms. Trent?”
The woman’s fingers slowed. Her confidence seemed to ebb. “You and she are sharing the suite,” she said at last. “The person who made the reservation said—”
Too late, Carter remembered what he’d told Brenda. “It’s just Mallory,” he’d said. “Do whatever sounds most convenient.”
Deeply regretting that statement, he leaned across the desk. “I’ve changed my mind,” he hissed, glancing behind him to see Mallory approaching. “Give her the suite and find another room for me.”
“Aw. Did you two break up on the plane?” The clerk brightened.
His lips tightened. “No. We’re professional colleagues. I just think we’d rather have some privacy after working together all day.” Besides, Mallory suddenly struck him as way too cute with her forehead wrinkled up the way it was right now.
A lot more clicking of the keyboard followed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Compton,” the woman finally said, “but we’re fully booked this week. It’s