Something that felt a lot like guilt crept over Jason. “This job with Lansing would be your first real break, then?”
She nodded. “But I can’t take it if it means battling with you every step of the way. We’d both have ulcers inside of a month. No job’s worth that.”
Jason was surprised by the comment. He’d expected Dana to relish an occasional brawl. She’d struck him as the kind of woman who thrived on doing battle. After all she’d taken him on when she’d perceived him as a threat to her brother.
“You puzzle me,” he said finally. “Looking at you, I get the impression of someone with a lot of street smarts, someone who doesn’t ever walk away from a fight.”
“It’s the leather jacket,” she said.
“It’s true that no one I know would dare to wear one and none of them could carry it off the way you do, but it’s more than that. It’s an attitude. My guess is that you picked that jacket and the other clothes you were wearing when we met—the boots and jeans-on purpose as a way to defy the world, a way to define who you are, a way to cover up just how sensitive you really are.”
“You can tell all that from a jacket?” she said dryly. “Actually, Dr. Freud, I picked the jacket because it was warm and would last through more then one season. It was on special at one of those out-of-season sales at a discount store.”
“Right. Would you have picked a cashmere coat if you’d been able to afford it?”
She reached over and touched the topcoat he’d left hanging from a rack at the end of the booth. An expression of near reverence crossed her face. “Is that what this is?”
He nodded.
“It’s very soft.”
“But would you wear it?”
She stroked it again, the gesture so sensual that Jason could practically feel her touch his flesh. His pulse hammered as her fingers caressed the wool, and his breath seemed to lodge in his throat. If he got this overheated watching her touch a piece of material, what would happen if she ever caressed him with the same level of intense curiosity?
“It doesn’t have a lot of flair,” she finally admitted.
“Exactly.”
“If you hate it so much, why do you wear it?”
“The material comes from Halloran Industries. It would be tacky if the owners of the company didn’t wear clothes made from our own fabrics. According to Grandfather, we’re all walking advertisements for the company. He keeps a tailor on staff, just to do custom work for us.”
“So convention means a lot to you?”
Jason thought about the question. The answer wasn’t nearly as simple as it should have been. In his world convention meant everything—and nothing. He tried to explain, as much for his own benefit as hers.
“I’ve been brought up to believe that the world operates according to certain rules. Some of those rules may seem silly and outdated to me, but I can’t deny that they’re pretty deeply ingrained. It’s only been in the past few weeks that I’ve ever thought of even questioning them, much less rebelling.”
She propped her chin on her hand and regarded him with evident fascination. “And what would a man like you consider rebellious? Trading cashmere for leather? Having dinner with the hired help?”
Jason couldn’t miss the edge of cynicism in her voice, even though there was a glimmer of surprisingly tolerant amusement in her eyes. “It’s funny,” he observed, “I can’t tell if it’s me you’re putting down or yourself.”
“Whether I’m dressed like this or in jeans, I know who I am,” Dana retorted. “Doesn’t sound to me as if you can say the same.”
Jason didn’t like the fact that this woman seemed capable of reading him so easily. “I suppose there’s no denying that. I’ve been questioning a lot of things about my life lately.”
“Why? You have everything a man could want.”
“On the surface I suppose that’s the way it seems. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because I’m a Halloran things automatically run smoothly in my life. It’s not true. Haven’t you ever heard the expression money can’t buy happiness?”
“I’ve heard it. I just never believed it. Having money sure beats what’s second best. I’m an expert at that.”
Because she’d opened the door and because he didn’t want to delve too deeply into his own admittedly sour attitude, Jason dared to probe. “How much trouble are you in financially?” he said, thinking of her reaction to the loss of the few hundred dollars Sammy had stolen.
“I’m not in trouble. I’m not even in debt.” She gave him a wry little smile. “I pay as I go. I learned long ago that credit is a dangerous business. When my father walked out, he left us with a stack of bills that my mother couldn’t have paid if she’d worked nonstop until she was eighty. As it was, she just died right then instead. I paid what I could.”
Jason felt something constrict in his chest. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
He couldn’t hide his dismay. “What on earth does a sixteen-year-old do to pay off her father’s debts?”
Dana’s expression darkened at something in his tone. “I didn’t do it on my back, if that’s what you’re wondering about,” she said with ice in her voice. “I’ve never been that desperate.”
The angry retort stunned him. Her fury was awfully close to the surface. Why, he wondered. Had too many men assumed she’d be grateful for a little help in exchange for a closer relationship? His own tone softened. “You’re very quick to jump to conclusions, aren’t you? I never for a moment thought that you did anything like that.”
“Not even
