Diamond Girl. Diana Palmer

when she opened the door after a perfunctory knock and walked in. He was leaning back in his swivel chair, his jacket off, his broad chest rippling with muscles as he clasped his hands behind his head. Under the white shirt, she could see the thick shadow of dark hair, and the woman in her involuntarily appreciated the sheer masculinity of him.

      “Yes, sir?” she asked sweetly.

      He looked her up and down, and something in his eyes made her knees go weak. He was always appraising her, as if she were for sale, and it disturbed her more than she liked to admit. She tingled when those cold, dark eyes traced her body, feeling things she’d never experienced until he walked into her life. She didn’t know why she felt that way, and she didn’t like it. As a result, her hostility toward him grew by leaps and bounds.

      “The color stinks, but it’s an improvement,” he murmured.

      She flushed, clenching the pad in her fingers. “You wanted something, Mr. Cole?”

      He leaned forward. “I need to dictate a couple of letters. Have a seat.”

      She started toward the chair, aware of his eyes assessing her coldly.

      “Have you been crying on my brother’s shoulder?” he asked suddenly.

      She sat down heavily, gaping at him. “Sir?”

      “You heard me. He asked me this morning if I minded letting up on you.”

      Her chin came up. “I slay my own dragons,” she returned. “I don’t need help.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered? Yesterday I was a frog, today I’m a dragon...”

      “I didn’t call you a frog, Mr. Cole,” she reminded him.

      “At any rate, that’s the wrong fairy tale. I’ve got something in mind for you, Cinderella,” he murmured.

      Her eyes widened, and he made an impatient sound. “Good God, I’m not that desperate for a woman,” he growled, and she flushed angrily. “At any rate, this isn’t the time to discuss it. Take a letter, Miss Dean...”

      It took only fifteen minutes to finish the dictation, but she was almost shaking when she started out the door.

      “Just a minute,” Regan said behind her, his voice curt to the point of rudeness. “Denny’s taking Friday off. Did he mention it to you?”

      She swallowed. “Yes, he did.”

      “Then presumably he told you why?” he added with narrowed eyes.

      She only nodded.

      “I’ll be out of the office for a couple of days. But I’ll expect you here Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp. We’re going to talk.”

      “About what?” she asked curtly.

      “Well, Miss Dean,” he said, leaning back again with his lips pursed, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’d like those letters as soon as they’re typed. I have a case this morning.”

      “Yes, sir,” she said, and forced herself to walk out without asking any more questions.

      Denny was sympathetic when she told him that Regan wouldn’t let her off.

      “I guess it’s that criminal case he’s handling.” He sighed. “Well, that’s the breaks,” he added with a sheepish grin. “We tried.”

      “We tried,” she agreed, and her eyes clung lovingly to his handsome face. It was so pleasant to sit and look at him, to be with him. Oh, if only she were beautiful like Margo.

      “By the way,” he said, “would you call the florist and have them send Margo a dozen red roses?”

      She jotted it down, keeping her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see the sudden pain in them. “Red, hmmm?” she teased, putting up a brave front.

      “Red, for love.” He laughed. “She’s a tiger, my Margo. Spicy and passionate, every man’s dream.”

      “Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” she murmured, and stiffened as she waited for the answer.

      He sighed, toying with a pencil on the desk blotter. “That would depend on the lady,” he murmured. “She’s not much for cages. But speaking for myself, I’m more than ready to put a ring on her finger. I’ve never known anyone like her.”

      She wanted to scream and throw things. Instead, she smiled and reminded him about a letter they needed to get out on a case that they’d just won. He grinned and started dictating. And if his secretary’s face was strained and paler than usual, he didn’t notice.

      Chapter Two

      She wore the frontier outfit deliberately Friday morning just to irritate Regan, because she knew he didn’t like it. If he thought he was going to dominate her like he dominated everything and everybody else around him, he had another think coming.

      She hung up her light coat and turned on her computer, grumbling steadily. Since Denny was out of the office—she didn’t want to think about where—she’d have to get the mail only for Regan. But he’d want it yesterday, so she headed for the door and in her haste almost collided with Regan, who was coming through it.

      He lifted a bushy eyebrow at the quick rush of color that tinted her high cheekbones.

      “Do you do it deliberately?” he asked her, unblinking, unsmiling, blocking her path with his cowhide attaché case.

      “Do what...deliberately?” she asked.

      “Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”

      It was the first time she’d ever raised her hand to a man in her life. But she took a swing at him with all her frustration and wounded pride behind it.

      He caught her wrist before she connected, jerking her back into the office and booting the door closed with his foot. Without breaking stride, ignoring her faint struggles, he half dragged her into his own office and slammed the door behind them.

      She felt the clasp of his fingers with a sense of wonder at the new, unfamiliar sensations his touch was causing. She’d never tingled like that. Perhaps it was temper, but then why was her breathing so shallow? She disliked the surge of emotion, and her eyes narrowed angrily as she glared up at him.

      He dropped the attaché case on the floor and caught her other wrist as well, just holding her there in front of him until she stopped struggling and stood still, panting with smothered rage.

      When he saw that she was through swinging, he dropped her wrists and glared down his formidable nose at her.

      “If you ever lift your hand to me again, it’ll be the last time,” he warned in his courtroom voice, deep and cold.

      Her lower lip trembled briefly with the suppressed hatred that filled her stiff body. “If you ever insult me like that again, it’ll be the last time, too, counselor,” she tossed back, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll walk out the door, and you can find some stacked blonde with knee-deep cleavage to replace me, and see if she can type your contracts and your briefs and your petitions in between polishing her nails!”

      “Calm down, Kenna,” he said after a minute. “Sit down, honey.”

      He pushed her gently down into a big leather armchair and perched himself on the edge of the huge polished wood desk. He gave her time to gather herself together, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep draw.

      “Don’t call me honey,” she bit off.

      “Denny does. So do half the attorneys who walk in that door. Why not me?”

      “Because...” She stared up at him, her lips parting as she tried to picture Regan ever saying the word and meaning it, with his dark eyes blazing with passion. Her own thoughts embarrassed her and she caught a deep breath, looking at his black leather shoes instead.