mystery visitor had come across that terrific jacket, all sweeping lines and bold colors, Sissy hung up the phone and aimed her most professional smile.
'Good afternoon. May I help you?'
'I'd like to see Mr. MacKade.'
'Do you have an appointment?' Sissy knew very well she did not. Jared's schedule was filed in her brain right alongside her own.
'No, I was...' Damn, she hated this. 'I was in town, and I thought I'd take a chance he'd be free for a minute.'
'I'm afraid he's in conference, Ms___'
'Morningstar.' Of course he was in conference, Savannah thought nastily. Where else was a lawyer when he wasn't on the putting green but in conference? 'Then I'd like to leave a message.'
The name Morningstar rang all sorts of bells in Sissy's brain. It had been said through gritted teeth that morning, when Jared dictated a briskly formal letter with all kinds of interesting hums between the lines.
'Certainly. If it's personal, you could write it down and I'll... Oh.' Sissy beamed at her phone. 'Mr. MacKade's just finished his conference call, I see. Why don't I buzz him, see if he can squeeze you in?'
'Fine, great.' Restless, Savannah turned away to pace.
Sissy decided that if she grew six inches in height, filled out several more in the right places, she might just look that impressive on the move.
'Mr. MacKade, there's a Ms. Morningstar to see you, if you have a moment. Yes, sir, she's in the office now. Yes, sir.' Careful to keep her lips from sliding into a smile, Sissy hung up the phone. 'He'll see you, Ms. Morningstar. It's right up those stairs and to the left. First door.'
'Thanks.' Savannah turned toward the short curve of stairs, put one hand on the pristine white rail and climbed.
Must have been a town house at one time, she decided. Or a duplex. Though she wouldn't have called the place homey, Savannah admitted it had class—if you went in for snooty and nondescript.
There was a short hallway at the top of the steps, a print of a spray of white orchids in a white vase that was so soulless and ordinary it offended her artist's eye, and two doors facing each other.
She strode to the one on the left, rapped once and opened it.
Of course he'd look terrific in charcoal gray, she thought. A lot better than the office did, with its dull grays and punishing whites. Someone should tell him work was more pleasant in an environment with a little color and life.
But it wouldn't be her.
He rose, elegant in his three-piece suit and carefully knotted tie. A tie he'd just jerked back into place. She thought, with an inner sense of rebellion, that he looked like more of a lawyer than ever.
'Ms. Morningstar.' He inclined his head. He thought that her stepping into the room was like having some brilliant bolt of lightning strike a placid pond. 'Have a seat.'
'It won't take long.' She remained standing, stubbornly. 'I appreciate you taking the time to see me.'
'I had the time.' To illustrate the point, he moved a file from the center of his desk to the side, and sat. 'What can I do for you?'
In answer, she pulled papers out of her purse, tossed them on his desk. 'I signed them, in triplicate, and had them notarized.' Her driver's license landed with a plop on top of the papers. 'That's my ID.' She threw in her social security card for good measure. 'I don't have a birth certificate.'
'Mm-hmm...' Taking his time, Jared pulled brown horn-rims out of his jacket pocket and slipped them on to study the papers.
Savannah stared at him, swallowed hard. It didn't seem to matter that she told herself it was ridiculous. Her heart
'It's all in order,' she began.
'Afraid not.' Thoughtfully, He picked up her driver's license, perused it. 'This is invalid.'
'The hell it is. I just had it renewed a couple of months ago.'
'That may be,' he continued, studying her now. 'But as the picture actually looks like you, and is, in fact, flattering, this driver's license is obviously a fraud, and therefore, invalid.'
She closed her mouth, jammed her hands in her pockets. 'Are you making a joke? Is that allowed in hallowed halls?'
'Sit down, Savannah. Please.'
With a bad-tempered shrug, she sat. 'Did you ever hear of color?' she demanded. 'This place is dull as a textbook, and your art is pathetically ordinary.'
'It is, isn't it?' he agreed easily. 'My ex-wife decorated the place. She was a tax accountant, had the office across the hall.' He leaned back and scanned the room. 'I've gotten used to not seeing the place, but you're right. It could use something.'
'It could use an obituary.' Annoyed with herself, she pushed a hand through her hair. 'I hate being here.'
'I can see that.' He picked up the papers again, skimmed through them. 'You understand that you're agreeing to accept a payment, by cashier's check, that equals the total cash balance of your father's estate?'
'Yes.'
'And his effects?'
'I thought.. .I thought that meant the money. What else is there?'
'Apparently there are a few personal effects. I can get you an itemized list if you like, so that you can decide if you want them sent or discarded. The shipping would be deducted from the estate.'
Discarded, she thought. As she had been. 'No, just have them sent.'
'All right.' Methodically he made notes on a yellow legal pad. 'I'll have my secretary draft a letter tomorrow confirming the status and apprising you that you'll receive full disbursement of the estate within forty-five days.'
'Why do you need a letter when you've just told me?'
He glanced up from the papers, the eyes behind the lenses amused. 'The law likes to cover its butt with as much paperwork as humanly possible.'
He signed the papers himself as proxy for his colleague, then handed Savannah back her license and social security card.
'That's it, then?'
'That's it.'
'Well.' Feeling awkward, and relieved, she rose. 'It wasn't as painful as I expected. I suppose if I'm ever in the market for a lawyer, I'll give you a call.'
'I wouldn't have you as a client, Savannah.'
Her eyes fired as he took off his glasses and stood to come around the desk. 'That's very neighborly of you.'
'I wouldn't have you as a client,' he repeated, standing behind her, 'because then this would be unethical.'
He caught her off guard. She'd had no idea any man could still catch her off guard. But she was in Jared's arms and being thoroughly kissed before she had a chance to evade.
If she'd wanted to evade.
There was heat, of course. She expected that, enjoyed that. But it was the lushness of it that surprised her— the silky, sumptuous spread of it that bloomed in that meeting of lips, flowering through her body.
He held her close, in a smooth, confident embrace, no fumbling, no grappling. He gave her room to resist, and as that clever, wide-palmed hand skimmed lightly up her spine, she thought only a fool would step away from that caress, that mouth, that heat.
So she stepped into it, sliding her own hands up his back until they were hooked over his shoulders.
He'd wondered what he would find here. From the moment she stood, clumps of flowers at her feet, and looked at him, he'd wondered. Now he knew there was strength in those long, lovely arms, fire in that soft, full mouth. She opened for him as if he'd touched her hundreds of times, and her taste was gloriously familiar. The press of her body against his, every firm, generous curve, was an erotic homecoming.
