Diamond Girl
“He asked me if you were seeing Margo,” she confided.
He frowned. “And what did you tell him?” he asked, his voice cool.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I told him that if he wanted to know, he ought to ask you.”
His face relaxed. “Good girl. Margo is none of his business.” His eyes warmed, softened. “Isn’t she a beauty, Kenna? All fire and determination. A very strong woman with great business sense. I’ve never known anyone like her.”
His voice had gone as soft as his eyes, and Kenna wanted to scream with jealousy. She couldn’t remember ever hurting so much in her life. Oh, Denny, look at me, she pleaded silently. Look at me and love me for what I am, for what I could be....
But he only smiled that friendly, charming smile that he always had ready. “How about making me a cup of coffee? And then we’ll get the rest of the dictation out of the way. I might let you go home early. I need a little extra time by myself.”
Yes, because he was taking Margo to the ballet and wanted to look his best, she thought miserably. So she’d go home early, back to her lonely apartment, and stare at the television set. Because she didn’t date. No one ever asked her out, and she was far too shy to go to one of the singles bars or invite men to her apartment.
“I’ll get my pad and pen and be right there,” she said after a minute’s hesitation, and sighed as she turned for the coffeemaker.
* * *
When she got home she put on her jeans and T-shirt and glared at herself in the mirror. The jeans were too big and the shirt was too big and she looked older than she was with her hair hanging down around her face. Her eyes weren’t bad, though, and her mouth had a full, nice shape. If only she could get rid of the rest of her and just be eyes and a mouth, she might catch Denny’s eye. The thought amused her and she grinned, turning away before the mirror could tell her how different she looked with her face and eyes animated by laughter.
She turned on the television before she went into the small kitchen to fix herself a sandwich for supper. She’d never had much appetite, but she seemed to have even less lately. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting fat, she told herself.
She walked around the dining room with her sandwich and cup of coffee in hand, smiling at the modest furniture. She enjoyed this apartment where she’d lived for the past two years. It wasn’t expensive, but it was cozy, and the green flowered sofa and matching chair looked friendly in the gray-carpeted room with its pale gray drapes. She’d splurged a month ago to redecorate the living room in a burst of early-spring fever. Now it was really beginning to be spring, and she liked the new look. It made her feel brighter inside just looking at the furniture.
She watched television until bedtime, trying not to think about Denny out with Margo. She’d seen him in evening clothes before and remembered miserably how gorgeous he was in black. It emphasized his blond good looks. He was so handsome. A prince if there ever was one. Prince. That brought back Regan’s horrible remark and she bristled again. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to listen to Denny moon over Margo without having to put up with Regan’s evident dislike as well? She stormed off into the bedroom and went to bed before the memory had time to work her into a rage and keep her awake half the night thinking up horrible things to do to him.
The next morning she wore a beige sheath dress that clung lovingly to the curves of her slender body. The color did nothing for her, although the fit wasn’t bad. She left her hair long, hating its frizzled look, but she didn’t suppose it made that much difference. Denny never noticed the way she looked, anyway.
He was whistling when she got to the office, already pouring himself a cup of coffee and looking like a man on top of the world.
He turned when Kenna walked in, and grinned. “There you are,” he said. “Regan made coffee.”
She flinched at the sound of his name and bit her tongue before she could say something foolish. “Did he?” she asked. “How nice.”
“He’s an early bird, all right.”
She hung up her coat and turned on her computer, then turned the appointment calendar to the right page and sat down.
“You’re cheerful this morning,” she said with a careful smile.
“I feel cheerful. I’m off to the lake Friday for a long weekend. Come to think of it, you might as well take Friday off, too, if Regan doesn’t need you,” he added.
For one wild, beautiful moment, she thought he might be going to ask her to go to the lake with him, and she beamed. The sudden radiance of her face captured his attention, and he frowned slightly.
“I’d like that,” she told him.
“Got a date?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly, just in case.
“Too bad,” he remarked, smiling dreamily as he stared at the other wall. “I’m taking Margo up to Lake Lanier with me for some fishing. Can you imagine, she likes to fish?”
Somewhere in Kenna’s heart, a candle went out. “Oh, really?” she murmured calmly.
“I’m looking forward to the relaxation,” he confessed. “I’ve been putting in twenty-four-hour days lately.”
That was true, he did need the rest, but why did he have to take Margo? she wondered miserably.
“Well, we’d better get to it.” He sighed. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave. Grab your pad and come on...”
“Kenna!” came a muffled roar from Regan’s office.
She gritted her teeth, casting a helpless glance in Denny’s direction.
“Better go.” He chuckled. “I’ll wait my turn.”
“Thanks, I’ll do you a favor someday,” she muttered, tossing him a dark look as she grabbed her pad and deliberately took her time going into Regan’s office.
He knew she’d delayed on purpose, it was in his glittering dark eyes when she opened the door after a perfunctory knock and walked in. He was leaning back in his swivel chair, his jacket off, his broad chest rippling with muscles as he clasped his hands behind his head. Under the white shirt, she could see the thick shadow of dark hair, and the woman in her involuntarily appreciated the sheer masculinity of him.
“Yes, sir?” she asked sweetly.
He looked her up and down, and something in his eyes made her knees go weak. He was always appraising her, as if she were for sale, and it disturbed her more than she liked to admit. She tingled when those cold, dark eyes traced her body, feeling things she’d never experienced until he walked into her life. She didn’t know why she felt that way, and she didn’t like it. As a result, her hostility toward him grew by leaps and bounds.
“The color stinks, but it’s an improvement,” he murmured.
She flushed, clenching the pad in her fingers. “You wanted something, Mr. Cole?”
He leaned forward. “I need to dictate a couple of letters. Have a seat.”
She started toward the chair, aware of his eyes assessing her coldly.
“Have you been crying on my brother’s shoulder?” he asked suddenly.
She sat down heavily, gaping at him. “Sir?”
“You heard me. He asked me this morning if I minded letting up on you.”
Her chin came up. “I slay my own dragons,” she returned. “I don’t need help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered? Yesterday I was a frog, today I’m a dragon...”
“I didn’t call you a frog, Mr. Cole,” she reminded him.
“At any rate, that’s the wrong fairy tale. I’ve got something in mind for you, Cinderella,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened, and he made an impatient sound. “Good God, I’m not that desperate for a woman,” he growled, and she flushed angrily. “At any rate, this isn’t the time to discuss it. Take a letter, Miss Dean...”
It took only fifteen minutes to finish the dictation, but she was almost shaking when she started out the door.
“Just a minute,” Regan said behind her, his voice curt to the point of rudeness. “Denny’s taking Friday off. Did he mention it to you?”
She swallowed. “Yes, he did.”
“Then presumably he told you why?” he added with narrowed eyes.
She only nodded.
“I’ll be out of the office for a couple of days. But I’ll expect you here Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp. We’re going to talk.”
“About what?” she asked curtly.
“Well, Miss Dean,” he said, leaning back again with his lips pursed, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’d like those letters as soon as they’re typed. I have a case this morning.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and forced herself to walk out without asking any more questions.
Denny was sympathetic when she told him that Regan wouldn’t let her off.
“I guess it’s that criminal case he’s handling.” He sighed. “Well, that’s the breaks,” he added with a sheepish grin. “We tried.”
“We tried,” she agreed, and her eyes clung lovingly to his handsome face. It was so pleasant to sit and look at him, to be with him. Oh, if only she were beautiful like Margo.
“By the way,” he said, “would you call the florist and have them send Margo a dozen red roses?”
She jotted it down, keeping her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see the sudden pain in them. “Red, hmmm?” she teased, putting up a brave front.
“Red, for love.” He laughed. “She’s a tiger, my Margo. Spicy and passionate, every man’s dream.”
“Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” she murmured, and stiffened as she waited for the answer.
He sighed, toying with a pencil on the desk blotter. “That would depend on the lady,” he murmured. “She’s not much for cages. But speaking for myself, I’m more than ready to put a ring on her finger. I’ve never known anyone like her.”
She wanted to scream and throw things. Instead, she smiled and reminded him about a letter they needed to get out on a case that they’d just won. He grinned and started dictating. And if his secretary’s face was strained and paler than usual, he didn’t notice.
Chapter Two
She wore the frontier outfit deliberately Friday morning just to irritate Regan, because she knew he didn’t like it. If he thought he was going to dominate her like he dominated everything and everybody else around him, he had another think coming.
She hung up her light coat and turned on her computer, grumbling steadily. Since Denny was out of the office—she didn’t want to think about where—she’d have to get the mail only for Regan. But he’d want it yesterday, so she headed for the door and in her haste almost collided with Regan, who was coming through it.
He lifted a bushy eyebrow at the quick rush of color that tinted her high cheekbones.
“Do you do it deliberately?” he asked her, unblinking, unsmiling, blocking her path with his cowhide attaché case.
“Do what...deliberately?” she asked.
“Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”
It was the first time she’d ever raised her hand to a man in her life. But she took a swing at him with all her frustration and wounded pride behind it.
He caught her wrist before she connected, jerking her back into the office and booting the door closed with his foot. Without breaking stride, ignoring her faint struggles, he half dragged her into his own office and slammed the door behind them.
She felt the clasp of his fingers with a sense of wonder at the new, unfamiliar sensations his touch was causing. She’d never tingled like that. Perhaps it was temper, but then why was her breathing so shallow? She disliked the surge of emotion, and her eyes narrowed angrily as she glared up at him.
He dropped the attaché case on the floor and caught her other wrist as well, just holding her there in front of him until she stopped struggling and stood still, panting with smothered rage.
When he saw that she was through swinging, he dropped her wrists and glared down his formidable nose at her.
“If you ever lift your hand to me again, it’ll be the last time,” he warned in his courtroom voice, deep and cold.
Her lower lip trembled briefly with the suppressed hatred that filled her stiff body. “If you ever insult me like that again, it’ll be the last time, too, counselor,” she tossed back, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll walk out the door, and you can find some stacked blonde with knee-deep cleavage to replace me, and see if she can type your contracts and your briefs and your petitions in between polishing her nails!”
“Calm down, Kenna,” he said after a minute. “Sit down, honey.”
He pushed her gently down into a big leather armchair and perched himself on the edge of the huge polished wood desk. He gave her time to gather herself together, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep draw.
“Don’t call me honey,” she bit off.
“Denny does. So do half the attorneys who walk in that door. Why not me?”
“Because...” She stared up at him, her lips parting as she tried to picture Regan ever saying the word and meaning it, with his dark eyes blazing with passion. Her own thoughts embarrassed her and she caught a deep breath, looking at his black leather shoes instead. “Oh, never mind.”
“He’s getting involved with Margo,” he said quietly. “And I don’t just mean involved in bed. It looks as if he’s thinking about marriage, and I don’t want him married to her.”
She felt sick all over again as he confirmed what Denny had already admitted. Denny, married! The thought was more than she could bear.
“Stop looking like the heroine of a Victorian melodrama, for God’s sake.” He spoke so sharply that she sat straight up. “He isn’t married yet!”
“How are you going to stop him?” she asked miserably.
“I’m not. You are.”
She blinked. “Excuse me, I’m always dim before I’ve had my morning coffee and my supply of razor blades.”
His mouth tugged up, a rare show of amusement that made her feel strange when she saw it. “You’re going to save him from Margo.”
She cocked her head and studied him blatantly. “You don’t look like the fairy godmother to me, Mr. Internationally Famous Trial Lawyer. And I don’t have a pumpkin to my name. And if you’ll take a good, long look at me several things will immediately occur to you. The first is that I’m drab,” she admitted painfully, “the second is that I have no looks to speak of and the third is that I’ve been here almost two years and the most intimate thing your brother has ever said to me is, ‘Kenna, how about a cup of coffee?’”
He didn’t laugh. He took another draw from the cigarette, and his eyes were busy, bold and slow as they took her apart from the face down.
“Taking inventory?” she muttered.
“In a manner of speaking.” His eyes fell on the too-ruffled blouse. “Do you wear a bra?”
She caught her breath at the sheer impudence of the question.
“And do, please, try not to faint while you’re thinking up an answer, Cinders,” he said with a mocking smile. “I’m trying to find out if you’re naturally flat-chested, or if you simply overlook the fact that breasts need support to be noticed.”
Her face was bloodred and she stood up. “Mr. Cole...”
“My housekeeper calls me that.” He caught her shoulder and jerked her against him, bending her arm back so that she was helpless. “Tell me, or I’ll find out for myself,” he threatened, and his free hand came up to hover over her blouse.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she squeaked. “All right, I don’t wear one!”
He let her go, watching with amusement as she hid behind the chair and then gaped at him over it.
“Are you crazy?” she burst out.
“No, but you sure as hell are repressed,” he replied. “Twenty-five, isn’t it?”
“We aren’t all wildly permissive,” she said, choking.
“I begin to get the picture.” He nodded. “Not much of a social life, I’ll bet.”
“I date!” she threw back.
He blinked. “Date what? You don’t look as if you’ve ever been kissed...or did you think that would get you pregnant?” he asked with an outrageous smile.
She glanced at the trash can, measuring it for his head. He followed her gaze and chuckled softly.
“Go ahead, honey,” he dared her in a soft voice. “Try it.”
“I wish I were a man—I’d cream you!” she burst out.
“Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?” he asked casually. “Men aren’t supposed to be superior anymore. Come on, honey, throw a punch at me.”
“Do I look stupid?” she asked, taking in the sheer size of the man. “On second thought, if I were a man, I wouldn’t come at you with anything less than a bazooka!”
“That might be wise,” he agreed. He leaned back against the desk, unusually attractive in his navy blue pinstripe suit. She always noticed his clothes; he had a flair for picking styles and colors that gave him a towering elegance.
“Anyway,” he continued, bending to crush out his cigarette, an action that strained the material across his muscular arms and his broad back, “what I have in mind is transforming you.”
She stared at him warily. “I’m not sure I want to be transformed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do.” He glanced up and down at what he could see of her figure behind the tall chair. “First order of business is going to be a haircut. I know long hair is supposed to be sexy, but yours looks like barbed wire most of the time.”
“Oh, you’re just great for my ego,” she ground out.
“And the second order of business is a bra,” he continued, unabashed, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you know that the worst thing you can do is sag?”
“There’s not enough of me to sag,” she said miserably, avoiding his eyes.
“I’d bet there is,” he returned, not unkindly. “You’re tall, and you have nice legs. You have a natural elegance of carriage that could work well for you. And with the right makeup, the right clothes...” He pursed his lips, nodding. “I think you might be more than enough to catch my brother’s wandering eye.”
“You’ve forgotten something,” she advised.
He cocked a bushy eyebrow. “What? Your teeth are all right,” he began.
“Oh, thanks, and they’re all my own, too!”
He chuckled softly. “You’ll do. Well? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life, or do you want to take a chance?”
“I can’t,” she said, exasperated, as she came reluctantly around the chair. “What you’re talking about costs money, and I’m not independently wealthy. All I have is my salary, and out of it has to come my rent, utilities, groceries, clothes...”
“I’ll take care of it,” he told her.
“Like fun you will,” she tossed back, her eyes flaring up.
“I said I’ll take care of it,” he replied. “It was my idea, and it’s my brother I’m trying to save from that Latin temptress. I don’t want a money-hungry tramp in my family.”
“No, you’d rather have a secretary with no money, no connections, no social position...”
“Do I look like a snob?” he asked incredulously.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she confessed. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Anyway, what’s Denny going to think if he knows you’re footing the bill?”
“He won’t know,” he promised, “because we’re not going to tell him. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at your apartment, and we’ll get started. Make yourself an appointment with Frederickson’s downtown.”
“But they’re horribly expensive!” she protested.
“Make the appointment early,” he continued, “because when we finish there, we’re going to Almon’s to have you outfitted.”
Almon’s was a charming boutique with a resident designer and some of the trendiest new styles in the country. She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“You’ll go to the ball, Cinderella,” he promised. “Even if you have to ride in a Mercedes instead of a coach drawn by white horses.”
“There isn’t a ball...”
“There most certainly is, next Saturday night at the Biltmore, and I’m taking you.” He shot back his white cuff and looked at his watch. “And that’s all the time we have this morning. Get back to your ashes, and don’t breathe a word to Denny next week. I’m going to have a photographer along just to capture his expression when he sees the new you.”
“Could he get my expression while he’s at it?” she asked hopefully. “I’ll need something to convince me I’m not dreaming.”
He looked at her for a long, long time before he spoke, unsmiling. “Have you ever had an expensive gown?”
She avoided his eyes and walked toward the door. “The only way I’m going to have one now is if I get to pay you back, counselor. I mean that,” she added, looking over her shoulder. “I pay my own way, frugal though it may be.”
“All right, we’ll deduct a little from your check each week,” he agreed, moving around behind his desk. “When you make the coffee, how about bringing me a cup?”
She nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. She went down to get the mail in a daze and wondered if her unfulfilled longing for Denny had finally pushed her over the brink into insanity. The morning had been unreal.
Chapter Three
Kenna hadn’t given Regan directions to her apartment, but he seemed to know the way. She had just finished dressing in slacks and a long-sleeved blouse and sweater when the doorbell rang at eight-thirty sharp the next morning.
Regan spared her a brief glance from hooded eyes. “Ready?” he asked carelessly, looking as if he were regretting the whole thing already. “Let’s go, I’m double-parked.”
She followed him into the elevator, approving of his casual slacks, deep burgundy–colored velour shirt and tweed jacket. The shirt was open at the throat, and she saw a glimpse of darkly tanned skin and thick, very thick hair in the opening. It made him look even more masculine, more threatening, and she wished she’d never agreed to this. Being around him at the office was bad enough, but this was...unnerving.
“I won’t rape you, I promise,” he said out of the blue, cocking an eyebrow at her as she retreated to the other side of the elevator.
“If you did, you’d be disappointed.” She sighed, not rising to the bait. “Twenty-five-year-old virgins aren’t much in demand these days.”
He seemed shocked at the comeback, and she grinned at him.
“I’m not a Victorian miss, as you reminded me the other day,” she said with a sheepish grin, “but you knocked me off balance. I had you pictured as a very staid type who wouldn’t even suggest anything remotely sexual around a woman.”
“My God, were you off base,” he remarked.
“So were you.” She sighed. “I may not be a stacked blonde, and I may look like a frump, but I don’t faint at the thought of a man’s bedroom. It’s just that I’ve never wanted to occupy one.” She glared at him. “And the reason I don’t wear a bra is because it’s the mark of a liberated woman!”
The elevator door had just opened, and a little old lady with blue-tinted hair actually gasped as she heard that last impassioned statement.
Kenna stared at the elderly woman and slowly went beet-red. “Oh, my gosh,” she groaned.
Regan, trying to keep a straight face, caught Kenna by the arm and half dragged her out of the elevator and through the lobby.
“Liberated woman,” he scoffed, giving her a mocking glance. “You might as well give up the act. I know pure bravado when I see it.”
She sighed. “I can’t even act like a normal woman,” she grumbled, jamming her hands in her pockets. “No wonder Denny doesn’t notice me.”
“I notice you.”
She didn’t even look up. “When you want a cup of coffee or a letter typed, you do.”
He stopped and turned to face her, and she looked up to find his dark, steady eyes holding her own.
“I know what it is to be lonely, Kenna,” he said quietly. “I know how it feels to look around and wonder if the world would ever miss you if you died.”
“You’ve got all kinds of women,” she faltered.
“I’ve got money. Of course I can have women,” he said with a cynical smile. “I’ve even been married, did you know?”
That was faintly shocking. Denny never talked about Regan’s private life. “No,” she admitted.
“Jessica was twenty-six. Blonde and blue-eyed and as perfect as a dream. The marriage lasted exactly a year.”