Diamond Girl. Diana Palmer

the past three minutes since I walked in the door.”

      “Not yet,” she replied sweetly. “As soon as I get back, okay?”

      He sighed. “I guess it will have to be,” he mumbled, closing his door behind him.

      “Oh, damn men everywhere,” she muttered as she opened the outer door, and came face-to-face with Regan Cole.

      She had to force herself not to start at the unexpected sight of him. He was intimidating—not only his superior height, but the sheer size of him, and not an ounce of that physique was flab. He could back down most opponents just by standing up. His eyes were brown with amber specks, and they were hard and cold as ice when he was angry. His face was broad, his mouth chiseled and faintly sensuous, his nose was too big and had been broken at least twice; it matched his hands and feet, which were equally oversize. But somehow they all suited him.

      She moved quickly aside to let him enter the office, and felt herself bristle as he came by her. He had a frightening vitality, an aura of pure menace when he was out of sorts. And he was always out of sorts with Kenna.

      “I’m expecting a letter from a colleague in New York,” he said without preamble and without a trace of good humor. “Bring the mail in as soon as you get it.”

      His broad back disappeared into his office and the door closed behind it. She glared at it and, giving in to a sudden whim, went down on her knees and salaamed in front of his closed door. Just as she was giving her best to the effort, the door suddenly opened again.

      Regan’s thick eyebrows rose while Kenna struggled to regain both her feet and her forgotten dignity.

      “I’ll need you for some dictation when you get the mail, so bring your pad in with it,” he said curtly.

      “And if you’re auditioning for the stage, don’t practice on my time.”

      He turned back into his office and slammed the door.

      There was a muffled laugh from behind her, and she turned to see Denny struggling to keep a straight face. They looked at each other and burst into laughter, rushing out into the hall together to keep from exploding where Regan could hear them.

      This was Denny at his best, a co-conspirator with a sense of humor that she loved. Regan’s exact opposite, in every way.

      “I thought you were going to faint when he opened the door.” Denny chuckled, leaning back against the wall in the deserted corridor as the laughter passed. “That made my morning.”

      “I wasn’t expecting him to open the door,” she confessed. “I couldn’t help it, he throws orders around like a conquering army.”

      “He always has. I’ve learned to nod my head and listen and then go do what I please. It works half the time,” he added with a rueful smile. “Poor kid, he’s rough on you, I know. I truly didn’t realize he was going to leave his own secretary behind in New York and then want to share mine.”

      She flushed at that unexpected sympathy and smiled up at him. “It’s okay,” she murmured, ready to wade through crocodile-infested waters for him. “I’d better get the mail before his lordship comes out with battle ax in hand. Then I’ll get your coffee.”

      “No rush, I’ll survive,” he said with a wink. “Don’t let him intimidate you, Kenna. He’s not what he seems. In a lot of ways, Regan’s had a hard life.” He straightened away from the wall. “Chin up, and all that rot,” he said in his best fake British accent. “Right, troops?”

      She saluted. “Aye, sir!” She turned and rushed down to the elevator.

      A little over an hour later, she was sitting at her desk when Denny came out, shrugging into his trench coat on the way.

      “I’m late again.” He sighed and smiled at her. “I should be back by three-thirty. You can call the courthouse if you need me before then.”

      “Will do,” she promised. “Have a nice day.”

      “I’ll do my best. Oh, pull out the Myers file and photocopy those deeds for me, will you? And do a cover letter, along the lines of, ‘Dear Mr. Anderson, enclosed please find copies of the deeds for the Myers land dispute. When you have looked them over, see if you concur with our client’s contention that the new survey confirms his ownership of land his neighbor has deeded for an industrial park. I will wait to hear from you, etc.’ Okay?”

      She was scribbling on the back of an envelope, because, as usual, he wasn’t waiting for her to open her pad. “Got it,” she agreed.

      “Hold the fort, honey,” he called over his shoulder. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, if Margo calls, tell her I’ll pick her up at six for the ballet, okay? That’s my girl.”

      And he was gone. She glared at the door, feeling vaguely betrayed. She hated Margo, because Margo was beautiful. The Argentinian woman was black-haired and black-eyed, with a complexion like ivory and the most sensuous figure Kenna had ever seen. She ached to look like that, to have that slinky walk and that air of unshakable confidence that drew men like flies. She got out her compact and stared at the plain little face in the mirror with a rueful smile. She wasn’t going to set any men on fire with desire, that was for sure. With a sigh she put away the compact and turned her attention back to her computer screen.

      The morning went quickly, and pleasantly. Regan stayed in his office. His clients came and went, and the telephone lines stayed busy, but Kenna didn’t have to see him. She liked days like this, when confrontations could be avoided. She didn’t like Regan. She didn’t exactly know why, but compared to his stepbrother, he was like winter to spring. Denny was so personable and pleasant, such a charming man. The only thing Regan might appear charming to would be something as dangerous as he was—maybe a rattlesnake.

      She was grinning wickedly at that thought when Regan’s office door opened and he came out into the office with curt, deliberate steps.

      “Get me the Myers file,” he said curtly.

      She had it on the desk, having just photocopied the deeds. He rattled her, though, when he used his courtroom tone on her, and she jumped up and started looking through the filing cabinet for it.

      His dark eyes went over her with distaste before they fell to the desk. His big hand moved, lifting the edge of the file folder. “Isn’t this it?” he asked, his voice sharp.

      She turned, flushing as she realized it was. “Yes, sir,” she said for lack of anything more original.

      He opened it, thumbing through it. His eyes shot up, pinning hers. “What are you doing with it?”

      “Denny dictated a cover letter on his way out,” she explained coldly, “and said to copy the deeds and send them along.”

      He tossed the file back onto her desk with a scowl. “I wish to God he’d take time to tell me when he’s already done something he’s asked me to do.”

      “He was in a hurry,” she said defensively. “He had to be in court by nine-thirty.”

      He rammed his hands in his pockets and studied her. She wished she hadn’t been standing up; that derisive going-over was embarrassing.

      “Seen enough?” she asked, angry at his bold inspection.

      “I saw enough the day I walked in the door,” he said, turning. “Is he taking that Margo woman out again tonight?”

      She felt a surge of pleasure at the disapproval in his voice. He didn’t care for Denny going out with Margo, either, by the sound of it. “You’ll have to ask him that, Mr. Cole,” she said demurely.

      He gave her a sideways glance. “So protective, Miss Dean,” he growled. “Denny’s a grown man, he doesn’t need a bodyguard.”

      “Most secretaries are protective of their bosses,” she parried.

      “You carry it to new heights.” His glittering eyes