No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,13
began, “How do you feel about Norman Roxbury?” She peered up at him, hoping she wouldn’t disgrace herself by bursting into tears. “How do you really feel? Off the record. I’d just like to know.”
A troubled look stole across his face, then quickly disappeared. She waited in a silence that grew so aggressive it was cruel. Vaguely, she was aware of sounds around them—the clink of flatware against fine china, the rattle of a pastry cart, a tinkle of ice cubes, voices, the murmurs, and muted laughter of affluent patrons; even the faraway whine of a siren stretched across the tension-laden air to reach her ears. Around them the world marched on, but at their table, no movement existed; nothing was audible but the thundering of stark, expectant silence.
At length, Lucas started to speak, then looked away. When their eyes met again, his were angry, haunted. Yet, in that harsh contact, Jess felt a stab of comprehension, and grasped his unspoken message across the distance. It was very simple and very painful. The truth of it distressed him, distressed him so much he couldn’t admit it aloud. He cared. He didn’t want to, but he did.
With a gritted oath, Lucas snatched up the essays and, to her astonishment, began to read.
She sat speechless for a few minutes. Surprised that he’d once again come through—if under extreme duress. She took a sip of coffee, gaping at him. Without realizing the degree of her concentration, she allowed her gaze to trail over his broad torso, which was sheathed in an expensive black suit, silk shirt and bold-patterned tie. His dark-eyed, sullen face was staggering in its appeal.
When she realized what an unhealthy direction her thoughts had taken, she pulled her lips between her teeth, biting hard, forcing her mind back to the problem at hand—the problem of trying to turn Lucas Brand into a willing Mr. Niceguy. Apparently her despondent sigh was audible, for he cast her an inquiring glance. She felt a shudder at the eye contact, and was dismayed to discover she was actually attracted to this guy.
How strange and unfair sexual desire could be. Her whole life plan, since her divorce, had been to steer clear of the type A male, and here she was stupidly going over the physical attributes of the most outrageously A-type male in the state of Oklahoma, like some smitten teenager.
What was worse, Lucas Brand was the very man who’d caused her a great deal of personal trauma over the past several years. There were few people in the world for whom she held more contempt. He had a cold, shrewd nature, and there was no room in the man’s existence for flesh-and-blood relationships. Miss Mary Anne Brown had made that pitiably clear only moments ago. Jess knew she’d have to keep that in mind when her thoughts started to stray into fantasies involving Lucas’s broad shoulders and sensual lips.
To keep her mind safely occupied, she ordered a salad, but managed to eat very little of it. All the time he said nothing, just frowned down at the pages as he read.
Once, their legs brushed, and Jess drew away, feeling a flush heat her cheeks. Lucas lifted his gaze briefly, but none of his thoughts registered on his guarded features.
About the time she gave up on being able to eat, the redheaded Fletch and the stocky Sol stopped by their table. Fletch cleared his throat to catch his boss’s attention.
When Lucas looked up, Fletch said, “I think Sol came up with something. We’re going to check it out.”
Lucas pursed his lips, then nodded.
“You coming back to the office?” he added, casting a curious look at Jess.
“If I don’t get hauled in for murder, first,” Lucas muttered.
Tugging his collar, Fletch smiled uncertainly at the woman to whom he’d never been introduced, and headed toward the exit, trailed by Sol.
Startling Jess, Lucas thrust the pages at her. “Okay,” he said impatiently. “I’ve marked the ten best.”
She leafed through them. It appeared that he’d come to some solid conclusions. Reviewing her own notes, she found that they agreed on nine of the ten. She plucked out her choice along with his, and lifted them toward him. “Why Jack’s over Barry’s?”
His irritation at her continued intrusion into his life hung in the air between them like acrid smoke. He grabbed the two pages, scanning them both. “This kid’s thankful his mother let him keep the stray dog he found. At least Barry’s got a dog and a caring