The Inconvenient Laws of Attraction Page 2

  He took a measured breath. ‘Want to play, do you?’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  There was a brief spark of light in the cool blue of her eyes that suggested a challenge did it for her. The fact she’d answered in a low voice which could easily have been described as sultry didn’t escape him either.

  ‘Reckon you can take me on?’

  ‘I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?’

  Indeed they would.

  ‘Rack ’em up, Marty.’

  While Marty handed over his cue and started gathering balls from the pockets, Blake stepped around the table to issue a low warning. ‘If you’re over here to discuss my luck in the legacy department, you can forget it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ she replied brightly, ‘but I’m off the clock.’

  Looking down at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her check the face of a neat wristwatch. A wave of softly curled hair hid her profile from him until she lifted her chin and added, ‘As of an hour and ten minutes ago.’

  ‘You’re the kind of gal who’s never off the clock.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t know me as well as you like to think you do.’

  ‘Meaning I should get to know you better?’

  ‘We’re set,’ Marty said.

  Blake held out an arm. ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Don’t hold back on my account.’

  He leaned towards her as he walked by. ‘Never do.’

  ‘She know what she’s doing?’ Marty asked as he joined him at the bar.

  Time would tell. Since every town had a pool table, they’d been one of the few constants in Blake’s life growing up. He knew a lot of pool was simple physics. Watching men who’d been playing for most of their lives, he knew it was all about the angles, the action and reaction, knowing when to exert a little force and when to use a finer touch. He’d learnt a lot of valuable life lessons from the game of pool. Watching Olivia Brannigan in action turned it into something altogether different: less physics, a whole lot more to do with chemistry.

  Didn’t matter which side of the table she took her shot from, either way it provided the kind of view any red-blooded male could appreciate. When she was on the far side of the table, bending over the cue, it allowed a clean line of sight down her blouse to a hint of coloured ribbon that became the equivalent of an apple in Eden. A side view let his gaze skim over the sweep of her spine, the sweet curve of her ass, down legs that would never have ended if it hadn’t been for the floor.

  As a card-carrying one hundred per cent red-blooded male, his body’s reaction to her was understandable. Unwelcome, considering what she represented, but understandable. Not to mention a timely reminder he’d obviously been all work and no play for too long. Something he would have to rectify, soon.

  Standing upright, her gaze collided with his as she walked around the table with a hint of a smile on her face. Turning, she bent over to line up her next shot, gently swaying her hips from side to side: right in front of him.

  ‘She’s good,’ Marty said appreciatively as a ball ricocheted off a cushion directly into a corner pocket.

  Blake’s silent agreement had nothing to do with her pool skills. Setting his bottle down, he stepped towards her. ‘Hustling me, Liv?’

  ‘It’s Olivia,’ she informed him, twisting on her heel and backing away with a sweet smile. ‘And if I wanted to hustle you, wouldn’t it make more sense to play badly before making a wager?’

  ‘You just popped over here to play a friendly little game of pool with the boys?’

  Standing still long enough to efficiently chalk the tip of her cue with short, sharp movements, she continued walking around the table. ‘Is that illegal?’

  ‘You’re the lawyer. You tell me.’

  ‘I know it’s not in the state of New York.’ She bent down. ‘But I’d have to check the rules for Canada.’

  When another ball disappeared off the table, she smiled a small, satisfied smile as she stood up.

  ‘I’m not talking to you about the will.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  ‘You’re going to.’

  ‘You can see into the future?’ A flicker of amusement sparkled in her eyes. ‘Wouldn’t happen to know next week’s lottery numbers, would you?’ She shrugged a shoulder as she walked around the table.

  ‘Not that you need them.’

  ‘You know I can take out a restraining order against everyone at your firm if I have to…’

  ‘Be a pretty long list of names.’

  ‘I’d know who to put at the top.’

  When he set his palm on the wooden edge of the table as she bent over her cue again, a brief upward flicker of her lashes revealed what might almost have been taken for hesitation. Did she realise she was playing in the big leagues? Good. Considering her options? More likely. Looking back down the cue, she swayed her hips again, a move that could have been misconstrued as preparation for her next shot to the untrained eye. Blake recognised it for what it was.

  What bugged him was how well it was working.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d be here, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  That he was more likely to believe. How could she when he hadn’t known himself until a little under an hour ago? He never did from one Friday to the next. It was the nature of the job, the story of his life.

  There was a sharp click and another ball disappeared off the table. ‘But, since we are here, maybe if you told me what the problem is, we could talk about it.’

  ‘We could—’ he rocked forward as she stood up ‘—if I hadn’t already said I wasn’t talking about it.’

  ‘You brought it up.’

  ‘Pity you’re off the clock then, isn’t it?’

  She sighed. ‘It’s a lot of money to ignore.’

  If money meant as much to him as she seemed to think it should, she might have a point. Rocking back on his heels, Blake stilled, his gaze scanning the crowd. He wondered what she’d think if she knew, given the option, he’d prefer every cent to disappear. He didn’t want to be responsible for thousands of people’s lives. A rolling stone could end up looking like the Rockies if it gathered that much moss.

  ‘I know it’s an intimidating prospect, running a company that large—’ her voice softened to a hum that washed across his senses with the same burn as the first sip of a smooth Scotch ‘—but there are people who have been with the company for decades…’

  She was playing the guilt card again? When he looked down at her from the corner of his eye, she tacked on a soft smile and added, ‘They could run it for you.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I—’

  Blake set an arm across Marty’s chest when he stepped forward to add his two cents.

  ‘You think I’m avoiding this because the leap from carpenter to CEO is beyond me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Not in so many words. But she was smarter than that.

  Tucking the cue into the crook of his arm, he folded his arms across his chest. ‘So you’re gonna do what? Talk me through a pie chart? Help me pick out a suit for the office? Hold my hand while I go play with the big boys?’ He narrowed his eyes and smiled tightly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, sweetheart.’

  ‘It’s called trying to help.’

  ‘That’s going well.’ He nodded. ‘For future reference—insulting my intelligence? Not a good place to start.’

  Stepping around her to get to the bar, he lifted his bottle and tilted it to his mouth. His gaze followed her in the mirror as she followed him.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to insult you,’ she said in the sultry tone that travelled directly from ear to groin.

  Blake gritted his teeth. Sure she wasn’t.

  ‘Would hardly be the best way to start a working relationship, would it?’

  What working relationship?

  ‘It’s really none of my business why you want to turn your back on
billions of dollars. But, like I said, the responsibility isn’t going anywhere. The board’s hands are tied. You have controlling interest in the company—they can’t do anything without your say-so. It’s how your father wanted it.’

  The woman didn’t know when to quit.

  Her voice lowered. ‘I know you’re still grieving. The last thing you want right now is—’

  ‘Grieving?’ A burst of sarcastic laughter split the air as he set his bottle down with a slam and turned on her, frustration mixing with anger. ‘Lady, you don’t know anything about—’

  ‘Blake…’ Marty used a hand on his upper arm to hold him still and allow him time to take a breath; his voice was filled with the same rock-steady calmness he’d used in the old days when Blake had been prone to standing up to guys twice his size. It had been the curse of the new kid and since Blake had always been the new kid…

  With a nod from Blake to indicate he was good, Marty stepped away. Blake looked at Olivia and saw she was staring at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Not fear, he noted. Part of him respected the hell out of her for that when guys much bigger than her had been known to baulk. It was enough to make him step towards her again; the fact she stood her ground increased his perception of her as a woman who could hold her own.

  He shook his head when his libido buzzed with the numerous possibilities that came with the thought. Strong women who could take him on both in and out of the bedroom—preferably without needing emotional entanglement—did it for him. Always had, always would.

  He took a short breath. ‘As much of a pain in the ass as you’re proving to be, you didn’t deserve that.’

  She arched a brow. ‘Is that an apology?’

  ‘It’s as close as I ever get to giving one.’ A corner of his mouth tugged wryly. ‘I’d run with it if I were you.’

  Considering him with a tilt of her head, she came back with, ‘Know what you could do to make it up to me?’

  Wasn’t going to like this, was he?

  ‘You know what the Warren Foundation is?’

  And now he was an idiot again.

  ‘They’re hosting a benefit a couple of weeks from now. If you showed up—even for an hour or two—you might encourage people to reach deeper into their pockets to impress the new owner of the company.’ She shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or another if he showed. ‘As well as helping a worthy cause, you can meet some of the people who work for you in a social environment.’

  ‘You’re one of those women who calls in the middle of the night to tell a guy his phone is ringing, aren’t you?’

  When she continued calmly holding his gaze, Blake wondered if she ever cut loose. What would it take to get the real Olivia Brannigan to come on down and—the question immediately jumped to the front of his mind—just how far was she willing to go to get what she wanted?

  He was tempted to find out.

  ‘It’s at the Empire hotel,’ she added with a nod as if he’d already agreed, her gaze lowering to travel over his body from the middle of his chest to the toes of his boots.

  Digging in the pocket of his jeans as he turned away, Blake frowned at the immediate response the invisible touch had on him. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘It’s formal. You’ll need a tux.’

  ‘I said I’ll think about it.’ Tossing several bills on the bar, he turned to face her again. ‘While I do, I suggest you think about what you’re getting yourself into.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  He stepped closer, forcing her to lift her chin. Searching her eyes, he noted the spark it took a blink of long lashes to conceal and smiled a slow smile. As aware of him as he was of her, wasn’t she? Unless he was mistaken—which he doubted—she’d known exactly what she was doing around the pool table. She thought she was in control of the situation and could use her sexuality to her advantage. He was fine with her attempting the latter, but if she wanted to take him on at more than a simple game of pool there were a few things she needed to understand.

  ‘Meaning you gamble, you best be prepared to ante-up, so think long and hard about what you’re bringing to the table, sweetheart.’ He closed the gap and moved his face closer to hers, his gaze lowering to her mouth, then shifting sharply to tangle with hers. ‘Because I’ll collect, and I think you know exactly what I mean by that.’

  The almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes told him she’d got the message. Blake smiled lazily when the next thing he saw was a spark of light that said it was ‘game on’ as far as she was concerned.

  It was enough, for now.

  Walking across the crowded room without looking back, he swung open the door and stepped out into oppressively humid air, pacing up and down on the sidewalk while he waited for Marty. Maybe he should just get the hell on with it. The sooner he did something about offloading property, dumping stocks and signing things over to people who might want them, the sooner he could leave it behind and get on with his life. It was more constructive than waiting around for a hint of grief to make an appearance. Especially when the lack of it was starting to make him feel like a heartless son-of-a—

  Shouldn’t he feel something? When he looked inside at the dark corner where he’d tucked away his memories of the past, there was nothing: a big, black vacuum of nothing. That should have made him feel guilty; but nope, still nothing. Not a thing. As if part of him was missing.

  When the door swung open again, he made a snap decision. ‘Think you can keep an eye on the crew?’

  ‘Sure.’ Marty’s shrug wouldn’t have inspired confidence if Blake hadn’t known him better. ‘Do what you gotta do, Anders.’

  That was that, then. Another thought occurred to him and he began to smile as they walked towards the subway station. No reason he couldn’t have some fun along the way. Never let it be said he couldn’t multitask.

  Olivia Brannigan’s life was about to get interesting.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘NOW, remember, you can’t kill a client.’

  Be prepared to ante-up? He would collect? Who did he think he was? Inside her head, Olivia was laughing the derogatory laugh of a woman in serious self-denial. But who was she kidding? She hadn’t been able to resist a battle of wills since the second grade.

  ‘Potential client,’ she corrected, tucking her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear so she could reach into her briefcase. ‘And right now I’m not even sure I can work with this guy. He’s—’

  ‘Sexy as sin?’ Jo asked in a tone that suggested she was batting her eyelashes.

  ‘Not helping.’

  Grimacing at the pain from a rapidly growing blister, Olivia checked the address on the folded piece of paper and lifted her gaze to the numbers above the doors in a neat row of brownstones. Being forced across the Brooklyn Bridge in searing midday temperatures to play messenger girl in the most inappropriate heels known to messenger-kind helped—as did the fact he’d demanded the files immediately.

  Difficult clients she could handle. Raging sexual attraction to a man she might have to work with on a daily basis, not so much—and since a simple game of pool had felt a tad too much like foreplay…

  Catching sight of a dumpster outside one of the houses, she checked for traffic and crossed the street.

  ‘You know what would help?’ Jo asked.

  ‘I’m not having sex with him,’ she answered firmly, wondering just who it was she was trying to convince. ‘He’s a client.’

  ‘Potential client and you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.’

  Not under oath she couldn’t. Her imagination had been having a field day, particularly in the restless hours she spent tossing and turning in bed before her alarm went off.

  The number above the door matched the one on the piece of paper. Olivia’s voice lowered to mutter, ‘Here we go.’

  ‘I’m just saying…’ cajoled the voice in her ear.

  ‘I know. I meant I’ve got to go. I’m here.’

  ‘Ooh, call me back
with the blow-by-blow. I want details. What he’s wearing. How he looks. What he says. Don’t leave anything out!’

  Olivia smiled. ‘I’m hanging up now.’

  With her cellphone tucked safely away in a pocket at the front of her briefcase, she put her jacket on over her sleeveless blouse and buttoned it up as she walked up the steps to the open door, pausing to remove her sunglasses and check her appearance in a nearby window. Loud music echoed from the floor above while she sidestepped debris in the hall and sighed heavily. No air conditioning. Great.

  ‘Hello?’

  The downstairs rooms were deserted but on the first floor landing the loud squeal of a power tool drew her to a room where she waved a hand to have her presence acknowledged. ‘Do you know where I can find Blake Clayton?’

  The man pointed upward before continuing his work. On the second floor, she met a semi-naked man in shorts.

  ‘Blake Clayton?’

  ‘Top floor.’

  Of course he was. She brushed her shoulder on a wall while trying to avoid a stepladder, and then twisted her neck to search for signs of damage to her jacket as she moved to the next set of stairs. It was getting hotter by the floor. Wasn’t hell supposed to be downstairs?

  ‘Whoa!’ Two large hands grasped her elbows when she caught her heel on a loose floorboard and stumbled forward. ‘Careful, lady.’

  Scowling briefly at the dusty fingerprints semi-naked man number two had left on her linen sleeves, she forced a smile as she lifted her chin. ‘Olivia Brannigan from Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise. I wonder if—’

  ‘You should get that printed on a T-shirt,’ a rough-edged voice said above her head, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. ‘Save time on the introductions.’

  Her gaze lifted to where he was leaning casually on the banister, her breath catching. Did he look sexier than he had the last time? How was that possible? Before she could open her mouth, he turned and disappeared, leaving her to make her way up the stairs and peek through several doors until she found him again. It was beginning to feel as if she’d spent half her life looking for him.