A Legal Affair (4 page)

No matter how hard he tried to dislodge it, her sultry, fallen-angel image was seared into his brain. As if she still stood before him, he saw the long-lashed dark eyes that tilted exotically at the corners, the lush mouth that begged to be kissed, the finely carved cheekbones and the delicate chin that hinted at a stubborn streak. Her hair was parted halfway down the center, and soft black curls molded the sensual contours of her face before cascading down to her shoulders.

His eyes hadn’t deceived him yesterday. She was beautiful. Half temptress, half innocent.

“Mind if I join you?”

For a moment Caleb wondered if he’d only imagined hearing the soft, husky voice of the woman dominating his thoughts. But when he glanced up from the table, she stood there in the flesh, remarkably drier than she’d been twenty minutes earlier. Idly he wondered if she’d patted herself dry with a ream of paper towels, or positioned herself in front of one of those automatic hand dryers in the restroom. His groin tightened at the image of her tugging off the clingy T-shirt to expose a flat belly and high, voluptuous breasts spilling from a scrap of black lace.

“Do you mind?” she repeated, sculpted black brows arched inquisitively as she awaited his response.

Against his better judgment, Caleb shook his head and gestured toward the seat opposite his own. She lowered that luscious rump into the chair, and he suffered a pang of envy toward the lucky piece of furniture.

That’s when he should have known he was in deep trouble.

Forcing normalcy into his tone, Caleb asked, “What are you working on?”

“An assignment for my legal research and writing class. We have to prepare a case brief by the end of the semester.” Daniela stepped out of her pink flip-flops and tucked her bare feet beneath her legs, sitting Indian-style in the chair. There was something so earthy, so bohemian, about the pose that Caleb almost smiled. There they were, seated in a richly appointed law library that boasted the largest collection of legal information in San Antonio. Around them were scholarly-looking people roaming up and down rows of mahogany-paneled bookcases filled with tomes on every legal subject conceivable.

And there was Daniela, seated across the table from her law professor, looking as wholesome and appealing as a barefoot contessa. Her scent wafted into his nostrils, rain mingled with something exotic that conjured images of lush Texas wildflowers.

Just the essence of the woman could inspire even the most hardened misanthropist to spout poetry—long, flowery sonnets of angst and devotion.

With a supreme effort, Caleb reined in his thoughts. “A case brief, huh?”

She nodded, removing a spiral notebook from her backpack. “Got any pointers for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, returning to his own work, “be as brief as possible.”

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sucker-punched him in the gut. He lifted his head to look at her. “Seriously. A case brief should be precise and get to the point of the issues that have been raised. It should be coherent, focused, well organized and properly cited. You don’t want—” He broke off, frowning as Daniela scribbled furiously in her notebook. “What are you doing?”

She glanced up, blinking those dreamy dark eyes at him. “I’m taking notes. This is good stuff.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m sure your instructor provided the same information. But if you want,” he heard himself saying, “I can look over your case brief before you turn it in.”

Daniela beamed a smile at him that made him feel twenty feet tall. “I’m going to take you up on that offer, Professor Thorne. Thank you very much.”

“Who do you have, by the way? For legal research and writing.”

“Adler.”

Caleb nodded approvingly. “Shara’s a good friend of mine. You’ll like her—she definitely knows her stuff.”

“I’ll bet,” Daniela murmured, and Caleb thought he detected a double meaning in those two words. And then he remembered that Daniela had been with him yesterday when Shara invited him for coffee. She had probably reached the conclusion that he and Shara were involved. Not that it mattered one iota what Daniela Moreau had assumed. She was his student, one of many under his instruction.

He’d do well to remember that.

She hitched a chin toward the pile of books spread before him on the table. “What about you, Professor Thorne? What brings you to the library this rainy morning?”

“Research.”

“You have homework, too?” she teased.

Caleb smiled a little. “Sort of. I’m writing a book on criminal procedure, specifically as it pertains to race and racism in American law. But I won’t bore you with the details.”

“Doesn’t sound boring at all,” Daniela said, and the sincerity in her soft voice caught him unaware and made him want to share everything about the project with her, as if she were his trusty editor in New York.

Or a woman in whom he found it wholly natural to confide.

Scary thinking, Thorne. You’re charting dangerous territory. Better come back before you lose your way.

“Maybe another time,” he said, dismissing her invitation to expound on the book. “You need to work on your case brief, and I need to get some research done.”

Daniela, to her credit, took the hint. “Yeah, I need to get on one of those computers over there and access FindLaw,” she said, unfolding her long legs and rising from the table. As she stuffed her notebook inside her backpack, a lock of damp hair glided across one smooth brown cheek to catch in the corner of her mouth. She swept it away with a finger and tucked the errant curl behind one ear.

God, she was beautiful.

She swung her backpack over one shoulder and smiled at him. “See you in class tomorrow, Professor Thorne.”

Caleb nodded slowly. “See you then.”

This time, as Daniela walked away, he forced himself not to watch.

He’d already punished himself into enough cold showers to last a lifetime.

A
lthough the rain had stopped by the time Daniela left campus that evening, the humidity clung stubbornly to the air, as unwelcome as toilet tissue stuck to a pair of Prada pumps.

As she drove through the tree-lined streets of the King William District, she fantasized about taking a long, relaxing shower and unwinding with a glass of Pinot Grigio and a good book—something that didn’t include lengthy discussions of torts and statute of limitations. After a day spent researching case briefs and how best to write one, Daniela had reached
her
statute of limitations. Not for the first time, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to agree to go undercover as a
law student,
of all things.

If all else failed, she supposed she could always plead temporary insanity.

The thought made her grimace. Two days into law school, and she was already thinking like a lawyer.

Around the corner from her house, Daniela slowed to a stop sign and watched as an elderly couple meandered across the street with a gray-bearded miniature schnauzer in tow. They smiled at her, and she waved at them and thought how refreshing it was to be on friendly terms with her neighbors. Not like before, at the apartment building where her neighbors had blasted music at all hours of the day and regularly stole her parking space. Daniela had patiently bided her time, saving up enough money to buy a house in the historic King William District, where she’d dreamed of living ever since attending an art show at the Blue Star Arts Complex as a teenager.

The historic town ran parallel to the San Antonio River, and featured grand old Victorian houses and quaint bungalows painted in sedate hues of surrey-beige, Sèvres blue, hawthorn-green, frontier-days brown and Plymouth Rock–gray. Several years ago, the city’s most famous literary personality had caused an uproar in the community by painting her house a shocking shade of periwinkle-purple. Many of the town residents had protested her decision, claiming that the house’s contemporary color scheme was inappropriate for the historic district. The controversy had drawn the attention of the local media, who printed a flurry of articles on the topic. In the end, the author won the battle against her neighbors, and her purple house now drew almost as many tourists as the town’s other attractions, which included a charming array of tiny shops and restaurants, two museums and more bed-and-breakfasts than Daniela could count.

Twenty minutes after leaving St. Mary’s University, she pulled up in front of her house, a one-story beige bungalow shaded by large pecan trees and boasting a wraparound porch. The lawn was a tidy swath of green, the shrubs meticulously trimmed by her own hands.

But as Daniela steered her car into the driveway behind a black BMW, she was too distracted by the sight of the vehicle to pause and admire her landscaping skills, as she often did. Grabbing her purse and backpack, she hurried from the car and into the house.

She skidded to a halt at the arched entryway to the kitchen.

Seated at the breakfast table, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows as he feasted on a plump piece of fried chicken, was Kenneth Roarke. The plate before him was piled high with candied yams, collard greens and macaroni and cheese.

At Daniela’s appearance, he glanced up and froze, midchew. His dark eyes flickered with guilt, then slid away at the murderous look on his sister’s face.

“The rolls are almost ready, baby,” Pamela Roarke announced, oblivious to Daniela’s arrival as she leaned down to peer into the oven. “Do you want one or two?”

“As many as you can fit into a glass,” Daniela muttered, advancing on her brother like an enraged lioness, “because when I get done with him, he’ll be sucking his food through a straw!”

Eyes wide with alarm, Kenneth lurched from his chair as Daniela charged him, teeth bared, fists raised and ready to do damage.

“Daniela!” With a speed that belied her sixty-one years, Pamela Roarke crossed the room and planted herself squarely in front of Kenneth just as his sister came within striking distance.

Wearing a mint-green chenille robe and matching bedroom slippers, Pamela Roarke stood at just over five-two. Skin the color of mocha cream maintained an elasticity that defied gravity. Her short, silvered hair had been cropped into stylish layers that accentuated her fine-boned features.

She wagged a reproachful finger at her daughter. “Stop this! What has gotten into you?”

“Me?”
Daniela cried in disbelief. “I’m not the one who has you slaving over a hot stove when you’re supposed to be in bed resting!”

“Hey, I didn’t ask Mom to cook for me!” Kenneth protested over his mother’s head.

“That’s right. He didn’t,” Pamela affirmed. “I
wanted
to cook. Beats lying around in bed all day feeling sorry for myself.”

“You have the flu, Mom,” Daniela pointed out, exasperated.

“
Had
the flu. Sister Jenkins came by this morning and prayed over me. I’m all better now. Prayer works—isn’t that what I’ve always taught you and your brothers?”

“Mom—”

“Not another word about it, Daniela. Who’s the RN in this room, me or you? Now, why don’t you have a seat and let your brother finish his meal in peace? I’ll fix you a plate too, if you’d like.”

“I’m not hungry,” Daniela grumbled, reluctantly allowing herself to be ushered into a chair at the antique cedar table. Kenneth eyed her warily as he sat down and picked up his abandoned chicken breast.

Pamela gave her daughter’s shoulder a gentle, conciliatory squeeze before shuffling away to check on her rolls.

“Oh, good, they didn’t burn,” she murmured, removing the pan from the oven. The mouthwatering aroma of honey rolls saturated the air, mingling with the other delicious scents that had greeted Daniela upon entering the house. Her stomach growled loudly, drawing a knowing grin from Kenneth.

She skewered him with a look. “You could have at least
tried
to stop her from cooking,” she accused, her voice pitched low so their mother wouldn’t hear and come to his rescue. “But I guess your appetite takes precedence over her health.”

Kenneth frowned. “That’s not true, El. I left the office early just to check up on her. I was worried about her.”

“Oh yeah?” Daniela glared pointedly at the smorgasbord on his plate. “Sure have a funny way of showing it.”

With a shrug, he shoveled a forkful of collard greens into his mouth and chewed in impenitent bliss.

Daniela sucked in her breath to keep her traitorous stomach from rumbling again. Okay, so maybe she was a
little
hungry.

“How was school today, baby?” Pamela asked, materializing at her daughter’s side with a plate laden with food. Before Daniela could utter a word of protest, Pamela slid the plate under her nose and handed her a fork.

“Eat,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument—the same tone she’d once used to inform Daniela that under no circumstances could she wear a gown with a plunging neckline to her prom.

Daniela obediently dug into her meal.

“I was just telling your brother that I’m so proud of you for going back to school,” Pamela remarked, filling two glasses with sweet tea and serving the drinks to her children. She pulled out a chair and sat down beside Daniela. “I remember how unhappy you were at that CPA firm, the long hours you worked, the vacations you accrued but never took. No amount of money or company perks could compensate for how miserable you were at that job.”

Daniela frowned, fork halfway to her mouth. “I never told you I was miserable, Mom.”

Pamela gave her a quiet, intuitive smile. “You didn’t have to tell me anything, darling. A mother knows these things.” She pursed her lips, her hazel eyes narrowing thoughtfully on Daniela’s face. “Just as I can tell now that something is weighing on your mind.”

Daniela thought of Caleb Thorne, and resisted the urge to squirm in her chair like a second grader caught cheating. Everyone at church, both young and old, believed Pamela Roarke had the gift of prophecy.

Sometimes Daniela wondered if they weren’t on to something.

She stalled for time by biting into a hot, moist roll and savoring the burst of honey in her mouth. Across the table, Kenneth ate with gusto, but she knew that he, too, was awaiting her response. She and her brothers had decided not to tell their mother about the undercover assignment, knowing she would never approve of the deceptive scheme.

“The only thing weighing on my mind,” Daniela said, “is all the reading I have to do between now and tomorrow morning. And
that’s
just for CivPro.”

Her mother’s finely arched brows furrowed together. “CivPro?”

“Civil Procedure.”

Pamela chuckled. “My baby, the law student. I must admit that when you first told me you were enrolling in law school, I was a little worried. I didn’t want to see you jumping into another stressful career. But Kenny assured me that your law degree would come in handy for the agency, since you guys often work with the courts.” She gently patted Kenneth’s arm. “It was awfully sweet of you to give your sister this opportunity, and to allow the business to cover the cost of her tuition. Thank you, baby.”

“No thanks necessary, Mom,” Kenneth said gallantly. “Daniela walked away from a very profitable career to help me and Noah establish the detective agency. She’s been invaluable to us and our clients. As far as I’m concerned, sending her to law school is the least we can do.”

Pamela beamed proudly at her son, and Daniela did a mental eye roll.

“And to think you wanted to hurt your brother when you walked through that door,” Pamela lightly scolded her daughter. “Shame on you.”

Daniela scowled. “He had it coming.”

“Nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with my wanting to have a hot meal ready for you after a long day of classes. Did you get much studying done at the library?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Daniela answered vaguely. Another image of Caleb Thorne’s sexy face intruded upon her thoughts, bringing warmth to her cheeks.

She glanced up from her plate and met Kenneth’s dark, watchful gaze.

Inwardly she groaned. She knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be grilling her for information.

Her mother drew closer and brushed her palm over Daniela’s hair in a soothing, maternal gesture. “Don’t you worry about a thing, darling. You’ll do just fine in law school. I believe in you. We
all
do.”

“Thank you, Mom,” Daniela murmured, feeling like the biggest fraud that ever walked the face of the earth.

“You look a little tired, Mom,” Kenneth said, all gentle concern. “Maybe you should go lie down. I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” But even as Pamela spoke, a telltale yawn escaped. She chuckled sheepishly, covering her mouth with her hand. “Goodness, maybe I
am
a bit peaked.”

“Of course you are,” Daniela said with a trace of censure. “You cooked a full-course meal three days after coming down with the flu.”

“I told you I’m healed,” Pamela reminded her, rising from the table as Kenneth came around to meet her. She reached up and patted the lean curve of his cheek. “Be sure to take home some food to Janie and the twins. I made enough to feed an army.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will. You know how much they enjoy your cooking. It’ll be a real treat for them. Now come on, let me tuck you into bed the way you used to tuck us in.”

Pamela laughed. “Oh, go on with you, boy!” But she happily linked her arm through his and allowed herself to be escorted from the kitchen.

When Kenneth returned a few minutes later, Daniela had cleared the table and was filling the sink with hot, sudsy water to wash the dishes. To preserve the Victorian charm of the small kitchen, she’d refrained from buying a dishwasher. So far, she’d never needed one, since it was just her and her mother, and Pamela Roarke—a compulsive neat freak—scarcely allowed two forks to accumulate in the sink between meals.

“How’d things go with Thorne yesterday?” Kenneth asked, propping a hip against the center island and crossing his arms.

“Ahh, now we get down to the
real
reason behind your visit. Let’s get something straight, big brother. I’m not going to be calling you every hour on the hour to provide a detailed report of what I’m doing. If I’m going to do this thing, you have to give me some breathing room.”

“No one’s asking you to call every hour,” Kenneth retorted. “But yesterday was the first day of classes, El. I would have at least expected you to call to let us know you’d established contact.”

“I established contact. There, are you satisfied?”

“Hardly. A few details would be nice.”

Daniela shrugged, filling Tupperware containers with food. “Not much to tell. I arrived to class ten minutes late and got called out for it—so much for making a good first impression. The next time I ran into him wasn’t much better. I got caught in the rain today and
literally
ran into him at the library.” She grimaced at the memory. “I looked like a drowned rat.”

When Kenneth said nothing, she glanced over her shoulder to find dark eyes critically assessing her from head to toe. “Is that what you were wearing?” her brother asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

A slow, devious grin curved his mouth. “Wet T-shirt, tight jeans. Trust me, baby girl, the
last
thing on Caleb Thorne’s mind was rats, drowned or otherwise. What’re you wearing to class tomorrow?”

Daniela wanted to clobber him over the head with the gleaming copper pots suspended from a rack above the island, or strangle him with the Burberry silk tie tugged loose around his collar. She settled for a withering look. “Don’t even
think
about giving me tips on what to wear, Kenny, or I swear—”

He laughed. “Relax, sweetheart. Your taste in clothes has come a
long
way from the high-water pants you used to call fashionable. I trust your judgment.”