Ungentlemanly Behaviour. Margaret Mayo

      Hallam Lane frowned swiftly and harshly, black brows drawing together in disbelief. ‘Intimidated? Greg? By me?’ He was obviously totally shocked by the suggestion. ‘What complete and utter nonsense. What on earth put that idea into your head?’

      Abby shrugged expressively. ‘It was the impression I got.’

      ‘Impressions, impressions,’ he jeered. ‘I thought solicitors dealt in fact, not supposition. I’m telling you, Sommers, that if my son wasn’t so insistent that he wanted you to defend him then I wouldn’t waste a second of my breath talking to you.’

      Abby’s chin lifted. ‘The feeling’s mutual, Mr Lane. That’s why I don’t think it would be a very good idea, my coming to your house.’ Or was it her own feelings that she was scared of—the fact that he had this amazing ability to draw some sort of unwanted response from her? Was she afraid of what might happen if she ventured into the Lane household?

      He came round the desk towards her then, and she felt the threat of dangerous magnetism. ‘How else are you going to allow my son enough of your time?’ he questioned, his face pushed up close to hers, so that she could see every pore in his skin, the clear whites of his eyes, inhale the male scent of him. ‘Half an hour is less than adequate,’ he growled. ‘It’s nothing at all.’

      ‘We could have got through quite a lot if you hadn’t insisted on speaking to me first,’ she told him abruptly, standing her ground, refusing to back away, although she would have liked to. His powerful virility was again disturbing her pulses to such an extent that she felt sure he must see them leaping. ‘You’ve already wasted a good ten minutes.’

      ‘Which I’ve no doubt you will charge me for.’ Hard eyes locked into hers.

      ‘No doubt,’ she returned, determined that she would not be the first to look away.

      ‘Then—since I’m paying for your time—I’m afraid I’m going to insist that you interview my son in the privacy of his own home where there will be no interruptions and no time limit.’

      ‘You’ll be charged extra out of office hours,’ she told him levelly.

      ‘I understand that.’

      ‘And I shall still wish to see him alone.’

      Black eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits in his harshly angular face—glittering slits staring out at her from between lashes which were ridiculously long on so masculine a man.

      ‘I insist,’ she said firmly.

      Finally the big shoulders shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. Shall we say eight o’clock? I’ll send a car for you.’

      ‘No, thanks,’ she retorted hastily. ‘I’ll drive myself there.’

      ‘You can have a drink if you don’t drive.’

      ‘I never drink.’

      Thick brows rose. ‘Not at all?’

      ‘Maybe a little wine on occasions,’ she admitted. But she had to be careful; even a little alcohol made her light-headed—and Abby liked to be in control at all times.

      ‘And I imagine, from the lack of an ashtray in this room, that you don’t smoke either. What a virtuous female we have here.’ There was scorn in his voice and Abby was about to come back with some biting retort when he added, ‘Why aren’t you married?’

      She was startled by his question and her chin came up again. ‘Let’s say I’ve never met the right man.’ There had never been anyone even remotely serious for that matter, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Her mother said she was too fussy, but she couldn’t see any harm in it. She certainly had no intention of marrying a man who would constantly try to demoralise her, and they all did that—at least, the ones she had met did. And Hallam Lane was no different!

      ‘If you’re not careful,’ he warned, ‘you’ll turn into an embittered old spinster. And that would be a terrible shame for someone as—’ he reached out and stroked the back of a finger down her cheek ‘—beautiful as you.’ His tone had gone an octave lower, to a deeply sensual growl that shivered through Abby’s bloodstream.

      She jerked her head away, but not soon enough, not before she had felt the searing heat of his fingers. Lord help her if this was going to happen each time they met! ‘Please get out of my office,’ she said through gritted teeth.

      A disturbing smile flickered at the corners of his sensual mouth and he did not move an inch. ‘Maybe,’ he muttered, ‘it would be interesting to find out exactly what makes you tick.’

      Abby stiffened and glared, desperately wishing that she had never been approached to take Greg’s case. When fathers attended with their sons they did not normally take over as this man was doing, and certainly none of them had ever affected her pulse rate!

      ‘You’re an intriguing female, Sommers.’ The deep, sexy growl was still there, at complete odds with the harsh tones he had used earlier. ‘I shall look forward to our next meeting.’ And with that, both to her surprise and her intense relief, Hallam Lane finally moved, finally opened the door, leaving Abby with an oddly beating heart and a sense of total confusion.

      Greg looked as bewildered as she felt when his father led him away, and in the days that followed she pondered over this older Lane who had got through to her as no one else ever had, and who seemed to find a great deal of pleasure in taunting her.

      As a consequence she was discovering a sensual side to her nature that had not seen the light of day since her first, exploratory relationships before she had qualified as a solicitor. And her feelings then had certainly been nothing like this!

      It was a worrying reaction under the circumstances, and if there had been a way out of going to his house she would have taken it. She had a sneaky feeling that Hallam Lane would not leave her and Greg alone, even though he had promised.

      

      On Friday Abby was in court; it was a trying and tiring day and she would have given anything to be able to spend the evening relaxing alone. She felt drained and washed out and not in the least like another confrontation.

      Nevertheless, at five minutes to the appointed hour she halted her car outside the wrought-iron gates. A camera, which she had not noticed before, detected her presence and the gates were opened, presumably by Hallam Lane from inside the house. On her previous visit she had been compelled to announce her presence through an intercom system set into the wall next to the gates.

      She drew her Rover to a halt in front of the magnificent red brick mansion that must have cost a fortune, and turned off the ignition. But before she could open the door Hallam Lane was doing it for her.

      He had appeared out of nowhere and she looked at him in shocked surprise; then as she met the piercing blackness of his eyes Abby felt a further unexpected and unwanted jolt to her senses.

      ‘You’re on time. Good—I like that.’ He was dressed casually this evening in a pale blue knitted silk shirt, open-necked and short-sleeved, with a pair of darker blue linen trousers. It was the first time Abby had seen him in anything other than dark colours and she thought how well the blue suited him. In fact he looked even more breathtaking than before and she knew it was going to be a difficult evening.

      Abby herself had chosen to wear a chocolate-brown skirt and jacket with a cream blouse—very plain and very businesslike—her hair pinned on top of her head, no make-up at all on her face. She did not feel very comfortable; she never did when she wore such sombre clothes—they were so much against her nature—but she had not wanted Hallam Lane to get any more wrong ideas.

      It was unfortunate that her skirt rode up over her knees as she climbed out and typical of Hallam Lane not to miss a thing. In fact his eyes stayed on her legs for far longer than was necessary, and when Abby bent inside to retrieve her briefcase she knew that he was studying her posterior.

      His bold inspection sent her temperature soaring, and,