Anything You Can Do - By Sally Berneathy Page 0,23

these kooky letters, she may just decide you're nuts in addition to being a lawyer? Then she'll for sure never go out with you. Probably never speak to you again."

"I'm just trying to give her a chance to see what kind of guy I am without being blinded by her prejudice against lawyers."

Austin joined his friend on the brown leather sofa. "I'm beginning to think she may be right about attorneys."

"They're still ready to lynch you, huh?"

"They're fighting the changes." Austin noticed a small spot of butter on his crisply creased khaki slacks. He considered going home to change then discarded the idea. If he did that, Gordon might think he was unduly concerned about how he looked tonight, might think he was trying to impress Bailey. He crossed his leg over the spot. "They're stodgy," he finished, coming back to the subject at hand.

"They've done pretty good for a lot of years." Gordon leaned back and swung his legs onto the sturdy coffee table.

"But the world has changed, the practice of law has changed. If we don't change too, we'll be swallowed up by progressive firms that do. We have to streamline our work habits, cut out waste, and, of course, get a good public relations firm."

"Austin, are you sure you were sent over here because you did so well with the St. Louis office or because they wanted to get rid of you?"

"You've been hanging around your friend Bailey too long. Her abrasive personality's rubbing off." He had to do that, had to say Bailey's name aloud, as if he could thus summon her.

Gordon smiled lazily. "Old friend, if your abrasive personality didn't rub off on me over the years, I don't think I'm in any danger from Bailey. You, on the other hand—" Gordon shrugged, drained his beer can, and crushed it.

"Me on the other hand, what?" Austin sat forward, studying his friend's face closely.

"Have met your match, I'd say. I'm going to hit the shower and get all spiffied up." He stood, stretched, and looked back at Austin. "Like you. And if you keep your legs crossed, Bailey will never see that spot of butter." He strolled from the room.

Well, Austin thought, staring after his friend, either the man was awfully perceptive or he had observed the spectacle of the night before. Austin couldn't quite decide if that idea bothered him or not. But then, he couldn't quite decide what to make of the kiss either. One thing he was sure of, though. He had to take exception to Gordon's assertion that he'd met his match. She could certainly put the pressure on him, force him to give his very best, but he'd still be the ultimate winner.

True, she was mentally acute and physically trim, athletic, without an ounce of fat on her slim body. Even her rounded derriere was firm. Though, he recalled with pleasure, her breast had been soft and pliant beneath his hand, only the nipple swelling hard between his fingers.

Damn! How did he get off on that line of thought?

He forced the smile off his face before Gordon came back in and noticed.

He was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on his Caesar salad when Bailey and Paula arrived.

"That looks wonderful," he heard Gordon enthuse. "Where did you get it? A new bakery?"

"I made it." Bailey's voice rang with indignant defiance.

Gordon laughed, but Paula interrupted. "She did. I watched. It's kind of scary, really."

Gordon had told him she would bring something frozen for dessert, that she never cooked.

He leaned into the living room, eager to see what she'd come up with. Paula, cute and perky in a denim miniskirt, held Samantha in her arms. Gordon looked amused. Bailey, striding regally, carried a cut-glass cake plate holding an incredible culinary creation.

"White chocolate cheesecake with raspberry sauce," she announced, handing it to him. "Just something I whipped up on the spur of the moment."

Austin accepted the plate but continued to stare at Bailey. In a flowing cotton skirt patterned with flowers and a pale green blouse that accented her flushed cheeks and sparkling ocean eyes, she looked willowy, ethereal—his mind groped for the right words—beautiful, female, desirable.

"You made this?" he finally managed to ask, diverting his thoughts before they got too carried away.

For an instant her eyes blazed with indignant green fire at his rude question, but her reply was cool. "Umm-hmm," she said, and turned her back to him. "Gordon, is that a new painting?"

Later, as they finished dinner, Bailey had to