This month, in

TALL, DARK…AND FRAMED?

by Cathleen Galitz…

Meet Sebastian Wescott—millionaire CEO of Wescott Oil…and a murderer? Susan Wysocki, his new attorney, was determined to prove that Seb was innocent, but the sexy lawyer just might find herself guilty—of losing her heart to her client!

SILHOUETTE DESIRE IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE

Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of the state’s most exclusive club—set out to uncover the traitor in their midst…and find true love.

And don’t miss

THE PLAYBOY MEETS HIS MATCH

by Sara Orwig,

The fourth installment of the Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Last Bachelor series.

Available next month in Silhouette Desire!

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where you can spice up your April with six passionate, powerful and provocative romances!

Beloved author Diana Palmer delivers a great read with A Man of Means, the latest in her LONG, TALL TEXANS miniseries, as a saucy cook tames a hot-tempered cowboy with her biscuits. Then, enjoy reading how one woman’s orderly life is turned upside down when she is wooed by Mr. Temptation, April’s MAN OF THE MONTH and the first title in Cait London’s hot new HEARTBREAKERS miniseries.

Reader favorite Maureen Child proves a naval hero is no match for a determined single mom in The SEAL’s Surrender, the latest DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS title. And a reluctant widow gets a second chance at love in Her Texan Tycoon by Jan Hudson.

The drama continues in the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR continuity series with Tall, Dark…and Framed? by Cathleen Galitz, when an attractive defense attorney falls head over heels for her client—a devastatingly handsome tycoon with a secret. And discover what a ranch foreman, a virgin and her protective brothers have in common in One Wedding Night… by Shirley Rogers.

Celebrate the season by pampering yourself with all six of these exciting new love stories.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Tall, Dark…and Framed?

Cathleen Galitz

To Dixie, Peggy, Jackie and especially Sara, for taking me under her wing. It has been an honor working with such talented writers.

CATHLEEN GALITZ,

a Wyoming native, teaches English in grades 6-12 in a rural school that houses kindergartners and seniors in the same building. She feels blessed to have married a man who is both supportive and patient. When she’s not busy writing, teaching or chauffeuring her sons to and from various activities, she can most likely be found indulging in her favorite pastime—reading.

“What’s Happening in Royal?”

NEWS FLASH, April—One of Royal’s sexiest bachelors has been arrested…for murder! His friends at the Texas Cattleman’s Club and Wescott employees we interviewed all agree that while drop-dead gorgeous Sebastian Wescott might be guilty of breaking the hearts of eligible females everywhere, he couldn’t possibly be guilty of murder!

In fact, it looks like Sebastian may be breaking one more heart—rumor has it that Seb and his lady lawyer may be spending more time in the bedroom than the courtroom! Attorney Susan Wysocki has offered no comment to our reporters, other than her conviction that Sebastian is innocent. So what really happened that night? If Sebastian isn’t the murderer, why can’t he provide an alibi?

Folks in Royal are more than a little disappointed that this year’s social event of the season—the Texas Cattleman’s Club Ball—has been indefinitely postponed. Members of the club have decided to wait until after Sebastian’s trial before they consider rescheduling. Things at the club are looking a little grim these days…especially since the last bachelor standing may be behind bars!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

“Sebastian Wescott has been arrested.”

The news spread through the Texas Cattleman’s Club like a wildfire devouring prairie grasslands during a season of drought. Muted whispers set in motion beneath an array of mounted glassy-eyed animal heads grew in intensity until the gleaming Tiffany chandeliers overhead nearly shook from the force of its membership’s outrage. It didn’t take long for a select group to abandon games of poker and pool where enormous sums of money were at stake to make their way quietly into one of the tasteful private meeting rooms at the back of the club. Here behind closed doors where the lingering odor of expensive cigars was less noticeable, discussions of the most serious nature took place.

A silver samovar with piping hot coffee stood untouched beside a set of fine bone china embossed with the club’s distinctive crest. Nothing less than hard liquor was warranted as the rumors resonated from room to spacious room in the nearly one-hundred-year-old building. Members in this time-honored, elite institution were more than social acquaintances. Few would have guessed from its modest exterior that the club was actually a front for a prestigious social enclave working on covert missions. Placed in situations in which the members were often forced to rely on one another for their very lives, they considered themselves closer than actual blood brothers.

Word of Sebastian’s disgrace hit everybody hard.

His own half brother, Dorian, appeared inconsolable as he related to the group the events leading up to Seb’s arrest. It was no secret to anyone there that Dorian had been deeply worried about Sebastian for the past several weeks. His concern had been the topic of conversation on more than one occasion and had been so overdone that it had put some of the members off. The club was a place where they came to relax at the end of a stressful day, not to wallow in unsubstantiated gossip about one of their own.

Only now it appeared Dorian’s fears were not unfounded.

“If only there were some way of helping Sebastian without somehow jeopardizing the anonymity of the club,” lamented William Bradford. As Sebastian’s partner at Wescott Oil Enterprises, he was fiercely protective not just of the business they ran together but also of his old friend Jack Wescott’s son.

“Sebastian says he was out of town on business the night Eric Chambers was murdered, but I understand he refuses to provide his attorney with an alibi,” Dorian interjected, anxiety deeply etched on features that reminded everyone present of his half brother.

It was only at Sebastian’s insistence that the members of the club had unanimously inducted Dorian a short time ago. As a full-fledged member, he was privy to the workings of their brotherhood, but he hadn’t been there long enough to have knowledge of the details regarding the daring missions that sometimes called club members away for indeterminate lengths of time.

It was all Jason Windover, the retired CIA agent, could do to refrain from explaining to this ninny that Sebastian often used his business as a cover. He had been wary of Dorian from the start, and time, unfortunately, hadn’t improved his first impression of the man. In fact, Jason had only reluctantly agreed to participate in Dorian’s induction ceremony as a favor to Sebastian. Not wanting to endanger a friendship that spanned so many years, he had set aside his misgivings and gone along with his friend’s request without giving voice to his qualms.

Jason supposed his suspicions stemmed from his background as an agent. Looking at Dorian now, it was certainly hard to doubt the sincerity of his feelings.

“I say the least we can do is put up his bail,” William Bradford suggested, not bothering to clear up any misconceptions Dorian might have about his brother’s whereabouts on the night in question. “It’s best if no money from Wescott Oil Enterprises is involved, since those funds are under such intense scrutiny at the present.”

Dorian gasped as William’s intention dawned on him. “Are you suggesting that we somehow come up with half a million dollars in bail money between us?”

“Pocket change,” exclaimed Keith Owen. As the owner of a computer-software firm, he didn’t so much as blink at the amount mentioned. “Count me in.”

“Me, too,” Jason said. As rich as Midas, he would have given everything he owned to support his old friend.

When Dorian sputtered in disbelief at their overwhelming generosity, they assured him that no one was taking an actual risk with their money. No one among them believed Sebastian would forfeit bond by running out on them. For that matter, no one doubted his innocence.

Lamenting that he personally had little money to put up, Dorian told them all, “I wish there was more I could do. I wish I could have somehow convinced that hotheaded brother of mine not to try solving his problems all by himself. Well, you all know how he is—so worried about depending on others. He’d rather take matters into his own hands than accept help from calmer heads even when the situation demands it. Lately he’s been more short-tempered and violent than usual. I swear if I didn’t know better, I might be tempted to believe that—”

Dorian stopped in midsentence as if realizing that he may have said more than he intended. He had the grace to look ashamed.

“I apologize for rambling on like this,” he told the men assembled in the room. “It’s just that I’ve been so worried, I guess—”

Eager to put an end to the conversation, Jason interrupted and quickly changed the subject. “No apology necessary. Unfortunately there is one item of business that we can’t continue to ignore. Considering that the organizer of our annual Cattleman’s Club Charity Ball is under arrest, I think it best if we simply cancel this year’s bash altogether.”

No amount of alcohol could wash away the bad taste that announcement left in everyone’s mouth. Aside from the fact that some very worthy charity would be adversely affected by this vote, none of the men assembled wanted to tell their wives and sweethearts that they were responsible for canceling the event of the year. The number of places in Royal where designer evening gowns and diamonds were standard dress was limited, and the ladies were sure to be disappointed. It was a point not lost on William. As the first member out of the five friends who had made the bet to succumb to the allure of marriage, he didn’t fancy the idea of breaking the news to his lovely new wife. After enduring a period of restricted confinement to keep her safe, Diana had really been looking forward to this year’s ball. With so many club members attending, Will had figured the ball would be a safe enough event for Diana to attend.

“Heck of a way for Seb to avoid paying up on his bet,” Keith volunteered, hoping to lighten the mood.

Of all those present when Sebastian posed his now infamous bet about who would be the last bachelor standing at the ball in question, only three remained in the running.

“You would have lost, anyway,” Jason told him. Recognized as the club’s premier playboy, he had no plans of ever tying himself down.

The ensuing bantering lacked the usual lightheartedness. The thought of Sebastian behind bars put a definite damper on what had started out as a pleasant evening. Beyond posting bail as quickly as possible, there was little any of them could do to help their old friend besides pray.

Each did pray in his own private way, passing one by one beneath the iron-studded sign that hung over the entrance door. It proclaimed the club’s motto for all to see: Leadership, Justice and Peace. Men willing to risk their own lives to promote those ideals were at a loss as to how to help one of their own.

Perhaps, Jason mused, Faith would have to be added to that venerable old sign.

One

Sebastian Wescott looked around the drab law office and shook his head in dismay. Why his half brother would even consider such a second-rate firm was beyond him. He supposed it either had something to do with the petite pretty blonde sitting across the desk from him or Dorian’s grudging attitude toward money. Having grown up without it, Dorian was still uncomfortable with the thought of spending vast sums of money when one could get an item of comparable value at a blue-light special. As touching as Dorian’s gesture was in providing Susan Wysocki a modest retainer out of his own pocket, Sebastian wasn’t at all happy with shopping discount when it came to legal representation.

Especially when his own life and freedom were at stake.

Coming here at all had been against his better judgment. Dorian practically had to drag him here by force. Perched on the edge of the chair next to his own, his half brother looked like he was considering blocking the door to prevent Sebastian from leaving before hearing this lawyer out. If he had been more like his old man, Sebastian would simply have twisted a couple of arms and paid off the judge to prevent this case from ever going to trial. But ever since he was a boy, Sebastian had done everything in his power to ensure he was nothing like his ruthless father. Even after going into the family business and becoming outrageously successful in his own right, he could still feel the cold breath of his father’s ghost on the back of his neck.

His deep-seated need to separate himself from Jack Wescott was partially responsible for his membership in the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The state’s most exclusive fraternity boasted a men-only membership of the richest, most established echelon in the Lone Star State. Few people knew that behind the club’s elegant, polished facade was a secret organization so select, its members could work covertly to protect the lives of the innocent. When they weren’t involved in secret missions, the membership focused their collective energy on keeping their bustling West Texas hometown prosperous and civic-minded.

It wasn’t the sort of organization that Jack Wescott would ever have been invited to join. Jack’s idea of a secret mission was sneaking off to the Pussy Cat Club some fifty miles away. Indeed, Jack had been a man far more interested in pursuing his own twisted desires than in being a father to his children, both those sired within and outside the sacred bonds of marriage.

A fact not lost on poor Dorian, who showed up on Sebastian’s doorstep one fine day not so very long ago claiming they were blood kin. According to Dorian, his mother had given him up for adoption when Jack Wescott refused to acknowledge him as a son and declared that he wasn’t about to provide a single penny of child support. It wasn’t until Jack’s death that Dorian’s birth mother looked up her son and informed him that the wealthy industrialist who’d just died was actually his father.

Had Sebastian had more faith in his father and had Dorian not borne such a striking resemblance to himself, he might well have sent the stranger packing and washed his hands of the whole sordid matter. Instead, he again felt bound to atone for his father’s sins.

As it turned out, giving Dorian a job in computer services at Wescott Oil had been one good deed that had truly come full circle. If anyone had ever suggested to Sebastian that his long-lost brother would be the first to rush to his defense at the lowest point in Sebastian’s life, he would have called him crazy. Recalling the parable about the poor widow giving her last few coins to charity, he wished there was some way of refusing his brother’s gift without seeming ungrateful.

Without somehow offending him.

The circumstances surrounding the accusations leveled at Sebastian only added to his frustration and rage. Aside from a burning desire to clear his good name and secure his independence, he was determined to find out who had murdered his colleague, in the process framing Sebastian for the heinous deed. He vowed the killer would pay dearly for his treachery.

“This is utterly idiotic!” he shouted, landing a large fist upon the desk and causing the woman behind it to jump in alarm. “I don’t need a lawyer. I’m innocent!”

As a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Susan thought wryly.

“That is exactly the reason you need my services, Mr. Wescott,” she assured him with cool poise intended to mask her own misgivings.

The truth was, if the opportunity to represent the virile man sitting on the other side of her desk hadn’t been so crucial to her financial survival, Susan Wysocki would likely have handed back the substantial retainer Dorian Brady had given her and run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

For starters, Sebastian Wescott reminded her a little too much of her ex-husband. He was that sure of himself. Not that Joe had been anywhere near as physically imposing as this man. Truly Sebastian was nothing short of feral in the way he dominated the room. Not even the most expensive, hand-tailored suit in the world could hide a masculine physique that suggested the power and ferocity of a sleek panther.

A sleek, caged panther, she mentally amended.

Every so often her would-be client jumped out of his chair, paced back and forth in front of her scarred oak desk and punctuated the air with another gesture of pure outrage. It was all Susan could do to keep from leaning back in her chair to distance herself from his anger.

At the same time, it was all she could do to keep from leaning toward him as if pulled by a magnet.

She made a mental note to load the jury with women if this case ever actually went to trial. No matter how strong the prosecution’s case, they wouldn’t stand a chance if the jury happened to fall in love with the sexy millionaire accused of murdering his associate Eric Chambers, vice president of accounting for Wescott Oil.

She also didn’t like the way those silver-gray eyes of his made her go all shivery inside whenever he stopped in the midst of his pacing to train them on her. It was difficult to keep from squirming beneath his scrutiny. Susan’s body was still tingling from the perfunctory handshake they’d exchanged when Sebastian had first introduced himself. She assumed that the electrical current that held her as immobile as if she’d embraced a live wire was simply her body’s way of warning her of impending danger.

Painful past experience had taught her to trust her gut feelings.

She had been relieved when Sebastian had finally released that all-too-masculine grip. At thirty, she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t recognize her reaction for what it was—lust, in its most primitive and dangerous form. Fearing the same kind of machismo that had initially attracted her to her ex-husband, Susan reminded herself that finding the right man was a matter of choice better left to a level head than to fickle hormones.

It was unfortunate that Sebastian’s half brother, Dorian Brady, wasn’t more her type. He impressed her as being far less edgy than his sibling. Though strikingly similar in appearance to his brother, Dorian’s appeal was subtler, Susan decided. He was smaller in stature, but his eyes were nearly the same astonishing shade of silver as Sebastian’s. However, for some unfathomable reason, his gaze did not immediately hold her an unwilling captive the way Sebastian’s did. There was a swaggering seductiveness in Sebastian’s demeanor that contrasted sharply with his brother’s more understated nature.

That her body didn’t react in such openly traitorous ways to Dorian was definitely part of his charm to the wary Susan. Once burned… She cut off the thought and concentrated on the legal matter at hand.

Having received an abbreviated version from Dorian of how he had only a short time ago come to locate his long-lost family, Susan wasn’t quite sure exactly how his relationship with Sebastian stood. Other than the fact that Dorian seemed to hold no malice toward his half brother, who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. By his own account, Dorian—who had been abandoned by Sebastian’s philandering father and put up for adoption by his brokenhearted mother—could barely afford plastic cutlery while growing up. That he had paid Susan’s retainer out of his own pocket, insisting on providing legal representation for his mulish kin, spoke volumes about him. Such loyalty was rare even among siblings raised together from birth. Susan could only assume that being new in town, Dorian knew nothing of her recent string of bad luck.

Losing two close court cases in a row had done more than simply damage her self-esteem. The lack of clients beating down her door was mute testimony of her own dwindling faith in her skills as an attorney. Her once-upon-a-time dream of giving the little guy a voice in the legal system—the same dream that had kept her going throughout law school—was now strained by the necessity of simply supporting herself.

Hadn’t Joe warned her that she didn’t stand a chance of making it on her own? He’d predicted that without his money and influence, she would fold like a house of cards….

Gritting her teeth at the memory of her ex-husband’s parting shot, Susan bolstered her flagging confidence with the desire to prove him wrong. Believing that success would ultimately prove the sweetest revenge, she smiled confidently at the intimidating Mr. Wescott and offered him a cup of coffee. He declined with nothing more than a terse shake of his head.

Trying to calm this man down was like convincing a wild animal to step willingly into a cage.

With her.

Armed with nothing but bravado and determination, Susan assessed her options. Though female intuition warned her to stay far, far away from Sebastian Wescott, she desperately needed just such an incredible opportunity. A high-profile case like this could well be her ticket to a recovery that would be as much emotional as financial for her. No matter how much working with this man might stir a prickly feminine responsiveness that was best left sleeping, it certainly beat chasing ambulances—which was where she feared she was headed if business didn’t pick up soon.

In fact, if things didn’t pick up, Susan feared she might have to lay off her secretary, Ann Worthe. A single mother who had just left an abusive marriage herself, Ann would be as devastated as Susan by such an unfortunate turn of events. Not only wouldn’t she be able to continue the night classes she was taking in hopes of becoming a paralegal, Ann would have trouble feeding her three young children without the help of food stamps—something the proud young mother had vowed never to do. Aside from the heart-wrenching personal aspects of laying off a woman she considered a friend, Susan knew such a move would mark the end of her own hard-fought dreams and aspirations. There was simply no way she could do her job as a lawyer and manage the office at the same time.

Landing the case of such a prominent citizen as Sebastian Wescott would certainly bolster her standing in the legal community. Lately she had been feeling like the local pariah among the elite of Royal, many of whom were aligned with her influential ex-husband and appeared to relish her past few defeats in the courtroom. The thought of seeing those good old Texas boys, some of whom openly believed the law was best left to men alone, turn pea green with envy was enough to straighten her spine.

Now was not the time to let silly girlish palpitations interfere with good sense. Just because her mind kept wandering to thoughts of how Sebastian might look naked in her bed didn’t mean anything would ever come of such outlandish fantasies. Aside from the fact that Sebastian Wescott could have any woman he wanted, the realization that he was accused of murder should have been more than enough to cool her blood. But it continued to course through her veins in hot, pounding spurts of female awareness.

Nonetheless, by the time Sebastian stopped pacing and took his seat again, Susan had made up her mind. If by some miracle, she could actually convince this millionaire oil baron that she was the best lawyer for the job, she would represent him as if more than just his life was on the line.

In a manner of speaking, hers was, too.

“Now that you’re sitting down, let me assure you that I am more than capable and willing to take your case on and I will focus 110% of my time and energy on your behalf.”

Sebastian was caught off guard by the haunting feminine quality of the voice that entreated him to remain calm. What was it about that particular inflection that wound its way around every nerve ending in his body and made him ache with an unfamiliar longing?

Searching for the answer to that particular question in a pair of mesmerizing hazel eyes was not a wise choice, he decided. Blue? Gray? Green? He could no more get a fix on their exact shade than a chameleon could remain satisfied with any one hue. It was his opinion that lawyers with winsome eyes should be permanently disbarred on the basis of unfair practices.

Had Susan Wysocki somehow hypnotized him into actually considering adding her to his already substantial legal team? Not that it really mattered, Sebastian told himself. After all, what was one more attorney’s salary to a self-made millionaire?

From the looks of her worn office chair, Susan Wysocki could certainly use the money. Why that mattered to Sebastian was not something he chose to reflect upon for long. He was used to trusting his gut instincts. That for some inexplicable reason he was drawn to this woman was impetus enough for him to set aside his reservations and actually consider hiring her.

Up until now he’d had no reason to keep any criminal lawyers on staff, his need being more in the way of corporate and business strategists. They would be of little use in a courtroom, but he respected their collective opinion nonetheless. Besides, Seb believed that this case would never actually go to trial.

“Mr. Wescott?” Susan repeated, attempting to bring his focus back to what was becoming a distinctly one-sided conversation.

With a start, Sebastian realized that Susan was staring at him as if considering whether to dial 911. He didn’t think it prudent to explain that he had been focusing on how the sunlight spilling in through the window cast a halo about her hair. Which was a most extraordinary color. Not a brash store-bought yellow, it was a true blond.

Whiplash blond, his father would have called it.

Like wild, dark honey.

Sebastian wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. This lady didn’t seem the type to fix those long, soft curls with half a can of hairspray every day to achieve the “big hair” that Texan women made famous. Having endured the coquettish advances of countless such polished vixens, he was struck by the fact that Susan Wysocki seemed singularly unaware of her natural beauty. He wondered if she even considered what an asset her looks would be in the courtroom.

“Are you all right, Mr. Wescott?” she asked, genuine concern etching worry lines upon her countenance.

“Call me Seb,” he said, shaking his head to rid it of the cobwebs. “My friends do.”

“I’d like that,” Susan replied, keenly aware that her pulse had pole-vaulted at the sound of the shortened, softer name and the glib invitation into his elite circle of friends.

Her response couldn’t have been more genuine. As long as they could maintain a friendly relationship, Susan was fairly certain there would be no problem representing this man. As a friend, Sebastian Wescott was bound to be a powerful and affluent ally. As a lover, she suspected he would be as dangerous to a woman’s heart as an arrow dipped in poison. As an enemy, he was probably deadly.

Susan quickly amended that particular choice of words, fearing it might color her perception of whether Sebastian Wescott was actually capable of the crime of which he was accused. But before she could ascertain anything so monumental, she needed to figure out a way to get her own capricious hormones under control. Right now the way this man was looking at her was making her feel hot all over.

Decidedly uncomfortable.

And every bit a woman.

She blinked hard. Twice. Then finally succumbed to the urge to turn her gaze to the floor, where she pretended to study the toes of her sensible navy pumps. Susan knew herself to be plain and unsophisticated compared to the kind of women “Seb” was used to.

Seeing the flicker of pain in Susan’s eyes, Seb felt a protective pang deep in his heart. A heart some people liked to think was as hard and black as his father’s, but in truth was much more susceptible to weakness. As much as this woman wanted to come across as some stereotypical thick-skinned lawyer, he recognized the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide.

And was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

As a member of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, he had pledged his very life to protecting innocents. The innately honest aura surrounding this woman stirred his sense of old-fashioned chivalry—which struck him as ironic, considering that at the moment she was the one offering to save him. Seb was surprised by the intensity of the protective instincts welling up inside him. He didn’t hold lawyers in high esteem. As a rule, he thought them far more concerned about lining their own pockets than in genuinely pursuing justice. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to lump this fascinating blond creature in with such parasites.

He suspected Susan Wysocki would be shocked to discover they had much in common. Leadership, Justice and Peace were the words burned into an iron-studded plaque hung in a place of honor at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. More than just a motto, they were the tenets by which the members lived. Even if Seb were to allow this lovely lady to represent him in a court of law, he doubted whether she would be able to understand that, come what may, he was duty bound to keep his whereabouts the night of the murder a secret. Protecting the club and the nature of the assignment that had taken him away that night was every bit as important as protecting his own life.

If it wasn’t, this would be an open-and-shut case, and he could merrily go on with life as he knew it without so much as missing a beat.

And he would never have had the chance to make the lovely Ms. Wysocki’s acquaintance and become so enamored by her amazing hazel eyes. It was the only upside Seb could find to the miserable predicament in which he was mired. That she was trying to hide the nervous flutter of her hands by rearranging a stack of papers on an otherwise clean desk struck him as inexplicably endearing. He noticed that her left hand was devoid of a wedding ring.

In light of the fact that the chemistry between them was anything but businesslike, Susan’s prim and proper attitude seemed utterly incongruent. Women threw themselves at Seb all the time. Oddly enough, none of their bold sexual advances had half the effect on him as had Susan’s simple handshake. Accompanied as it was by the widening of those big hazel eyes, he knew for a fact that she had felt something, too.

Like a tremor.

The kind that precedes an earthquake.

And changes one’s life forever.

Indeed, fate’s little aftershocks were still playing havoc with rational thought. Surely that alone caused the words to tumble out of his mouth of their own volition.

“If you’d like to go over the particulars of the case, I’ll be glad to meet with you later this evening—at my place, over drinks.”

Given the condition of her office furniture, Seb would have expected Susan to jump at the opportunity to make some real money. Thus, her reaction to his invitation both surprised and disconcerted him. That she appeared less than thrilled at the prospect of spending the evening with him was an understatement. She looked downright aghast.

Something both scared and needy glistening in those hypnotic eyes was all that kept him from being insulted by her lack of enthusiasm.

“Seb,” she said in her most coolly detached lawyer voice, all the while the intimacy of his pet name on her tongue sending a delicious shiver up her spine. “Surely you understand that I have to maintain a professional relationship with all my clients.”

Unused to being rebuffed, Seb was quick to make light of her presumption. “Were you thinking along any other lines, Ms. Wysocki?” he taunted. “I have a meeting later this afternoon at the Cattleman’s Club that I can’t miss. This evening is the only time I have to go over the specifics of the case. That is, if you’re still interested in representing me.”

If she was still interested!

Only a crazy woman would turn down an offer like this one on any level—professional or romantic—though Susan knew she had ruined any chances of the latter with her uptight reproach to a simple request for an after-hours meeting. Seb’s straightforward response had left her feeling like a complete idiot. Lord knows, she had worked around other clients’ schedules on more than one occasion.

Susan was spared an immediate response by the timeliness of Dorian’s interruption. For a moment she had almost forgotten he was in the room with them. Clearly thrilled that his big brother was actually considering accepting his gift of her legal services, he jumped into the conversation feetfirst. “If you’d be more comfortable with me present, Ms. Wysocki, I’d be glad to be there, as well.”

It was all Susan could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Dorian must have read the hesitancy in her body language and come to the conclusion that she was frightened of being alone with Seb. He was right, of course, but not for any of the reasons she suspected were running through his mind at the moment. For heaven’s sake, she was no shy virgin afraid of being compromised by a big bad wolf lurking in the woods. As much as she appreciated Dorian’s concern, she did not need his protection. Even though Sebastian was accused of murder, she certainly didn’t get any creepy vibes from him. If the truth were known, she suspected that more women accosted him than the other way around. Many of her own girlfriends would undoubtedly claw their way around her for the opportunity to spend an evening alone with such a man.

What Susan was really afraid of was her own reaction to being alone with a man who, by his very presence, reminded her that beneath her professional pin-striped suit jacket beat the heart of a woman very much longing for more than business aspirations to fill the void in her life.

“That won’t be necessary,” Seb assured Dorian with a black glare that lingered long enough for him to get the hint.

“Oh, I forgot,” Dorian exclaimed, snapping his fingers and donning a hearty grin. “I have someplace to be tonight, too. Wouldn’t want to break the little lady’s heart by standing her up, you know.”

Susan winced. The ploy was so patently obvious that she couldn’t help but wonder why she had ever thought Dorian subtle. Clearly he was more enamored of the prospect of pleasing Sebastian than he was of her. Not that he shouldn’t feel more allegiance to a brother than a complete stranger, she reminded herself.

Susan wished she could rationalize away her fears as easily. Maybe Sebastian really did have a meeting at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Maybe it really was more important than clearing his name of murder. And maybe she was imagining that predatory interest in his eyes. All Susan knew for sure was that such heavy-handed tactics were reminiscent of the way her ex-husband used to manipulate her.

She smiled sweetly at her new client, the one who just might be the answer to her prayers if she played her cards right. Reminding herself that she was indeed a big girl and capable of separating past hurts from present opportunities, she tamped down her resentments. As long as she promised not to involve her heart in the case, there was really no reason to turn good fortune away from her doorstep.

“What time do you want me to be there?” she asked.

Two

It seemed fitting that Susan arrive at Sebastian Wescott’s estate on April Fools’ Day. She felt very foolish indeed waiting for the heavy wrought-iron gates to swing open and admit her. Feeling rather as if she should be placing an order at a fast-food joint, she spoke into the intercom to announce herself. A few minutes later she was parking her late-model Taurus behind a shiny new Porsche and making her way to the front door of a truly magnificent home. For a minute there she’d been afraid a valet was going to rush out and tell her to move “that piece of junk.”

Unlike Jack Wescott’s stone mansion, which was prominently displayed atop a hill overlooking Royal, his son’s ranch was more secluded and, Susan observed, far less ostentatious. A stately driveway wound its way through parklike acres of manicured lawns and mature trees. Redbrick privacy walls beckoned visitors to enjoy the world of the privileged, if only for a short time. Sebastian’s home itself was a country-style Georgian colonial, white with dark-green eaves, tiles and shutters. One could catch only a glimpse of the tennis courts, swimming pools and stables tucked neatly behind the spacious home. How a multimillion-dollar estate managed to exude an air of country coziness was enough to make Susan give silent praise to the architect who had designed it.

Wiping her palms on the front of her demure navy suit, she waited for the butler to open the door. She was surprised when she was greeted by Sebastian himself, wearing a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt. The smile on his face did nothing to lessen the impact of his devastating good looks, which had haunted her ever since he’d stepped foot in her office earlier in the day.

“Come on in,” Sebastian bid her with a familiarity she found somehow both engaging and unsettling.

If only she could get her pulse rate up this easily at her weekly aerobic workouts! Feeling the need to steady herself, Susan stopped a moment to lean against the doorway and check her watch, vowing to give this heartbreaker no more than a couple of hours of her precious time before skedaddling back to the safety of her modest, decidedly middle-class apartment. As tempting as it might be to indulge in little-girl fantasies, she didn’t need to remind herself that she hadn’t been summoned to Prince Charming’s fancy ball. Nor did she intend to leave any glass slipper behind at the stroke of midnight. Undeniably, one thing marriage to Joe had taught her was to look for the tarnish on any supposed knight’s gleaming armor. That Sebastian was facing charges for a heinous crime should have been more than enough to take the shine off his armor, were it the brightest sterling silver.

“I hope you haven’t eaten yet,” Sebastian said. “I just put steaks for two on the grill.”

The heavenly smells wafting through the house brought back the inadequacy of Susan’s dinner to her with a swiftness that overpowered her senses. The peanut-butter sandwich she had washed down earlier with a glass of milk while poring over her law books had done little to satisfy her appetite.

“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” she told him stiffly.

It was difficult to sound convincing over the rumbling of her stomach.

The sound caused Sebastian to quirk an eyebrow at her, but he gallantly refrained from making comment. Instead, he proceeded to lead her through the dining room at such a fast clip that Susan barely had time to appreciate the elegance of a room flanked by high-arched windows and vaulted ceilings. Grabbing an apron off the back of a white leather couch, Sebastian invited her to follow him through a set of open French doors onto the patio, where smoke was leaking around the edges of a barbecue grill. Slipping an oven mitt on one hand, he opened the lid and began attacking a couple of thick steaks with a pair of long-handled tongs.

“Don’t worry. I have everything under control,” Sebastian hastened to assure her.

Indeed, the man did give the appearance that nothing at all in his life was amiss. The scene had such a homey feel to it that Susan was tempted to kick off her high heels, dangle her tired feet over the side of an Olympic-size swimming pool and ask her client if he could spare a beer. As Sebastian struggled to get the steaks onto a platter and extinguish a flame that had gotten almost out of control during his absence, Susan felt a giggle gurgling up from somewhere inside her. As much as she hated to admit it, the truth was she had rather expected an envoy of well-trained servants to be waiting hand and foot on their playboy master. A man who, with a subtle gesture, would have his staff dimming the lights before vacating the premises to allow him to have his way with yet another defenseless maiden hoping to lay claim to a portion of his fortune.

“What’s so funny?” Sebastian asked, shutting off the grill and making his way to her side.

He set the heavy platter down on a round patio table and proceeded to adjust the sturdy yellow umbrella that shot out of its center like a sunflower. Susan was glad that its position blocked only the glare and not the view of a magnificent sunset. Beyond the lush grounds lay the Texas desert, equally breathtaking in its stark beauty. A profusion of bluebonnets, the state flower—named by pioneer women reminded of their own simple head coverings—draped the desert in bolts of bright homespun calico.

“You,” she replied succinctly, giving him the first genuine smile she’d been able to locate all day long.

What she would have given for the experience of coming home to find Joe wearing such domestic garb. To the best of her recollection, the closest her ex-husband had come to donning an apron was when he brushed against it hanging up in the pantry while searching for a bottle of cognac.

“I have to admit I never imagined this meeting occurring with you in an apron.”

Sebastian didn’t seem to take offense. “And just what did you think I’d be wearing?” he asked.

Susan noticed how his friendly expression softened the angular cut of his jaw.

“A smoking jacket, I suppose. An imported red-silk one that your manservant helped you into,” she replied with a blush that threatened to match the sunset in all its flaming glory.

Feigning regret, he shook his head at her. “It’s not often that I’m mistaken for Bruce Wayne. I hope you’re not disappointed that Robin can’t make it tonight and that the Bat Cave is closed for repairs.”

Susan couldn’t refrain from smiling at the witty remark.

“A smile does nice things for your face,” Seb commented. “You should think of wearing one more often.”

“The same goes for you,” she replied, recalling the fierce creature who had marched into her office a few short hours ago and left her feeling breathless and a little frightened. On his own turf this man was far less intimidating.

Susan was secretly pleased when Sebastian pulled out the chair for her and bid her to sit down. She appreciated the gesture. It was the kind of simple courtesy that, in her opinion, too many women took for granted.

“Are you sure you aren’t the least bit hungry?” Sebastian asked.

The telltale twinkle in those silver eyes could have been merely the reflection of light off the pool, but Susan didn’t think so. Drinking in the aroma of juicy T-bone steaks, she allowed her earlier resolve to dissipate amid the steam of two huge, aluminum-covered baked potatoes that Sebastian pulled off the grill and placed beside the platter of meat.

“I suppose I could eat a bite or two—that is, if you wouldn’t mind cutting one of those steaks in two and saving the rest for later,” she suggested, hoping that her host would give her arm one final tiny twist.

Sebastian hastened to assure her that she should simply eat as much as she wanted and that he would give whatever was left over to his dogs, Pal and Buddy. Since Miss Manners insisted that one shouldn’t speak with a mouthful of delicious food, Susan was saved from commenting on his dogs’ names, which seemed far too cute for such a macho man.

Not liking to cook for herself alone, Susan often grabbed a bite at the local diner, a greasy spoon that proudly splashed its name across paper place mats: “The Royal Diner—Food Fit for a King!” Looking around at her present elegant surroundings, Susan doubted that Sebastian frequented the place.

When he graciously offered to make her any kind of drink she wanted from the poolside bar, she primly declined anything more potent than a cola. It was, after all, one thing to succumb to hunger pangs and quite another to compromise her professionalism by clouding her judgment with alcohol. Furtively eyeing her client’s cold beer, she was relieved to find he wasn’t the type who favored drinks with difficult-to-pronounce names in hopes of impressing her. It pleased her to discover that her host wasn’t a snob like Joe, who sniffed corks and made a big deal out of knowing the vintage of priceless wines. And, Susan was glad to see that, also unlike Joe, Seb had no problem stopping after one drink.

How easy it had been to slip into the habit of calling this lion of a man by his pet name. Seb certainly suited him better than Sebastian, Susan thought. As she polished off the last bite of a steak she had earlier protested was far too big for her to consume alone, she wondered if Jack Wescott had deliberately chosen the imposing name “Sebastian” for his baby boy, planning to mold his son into a man who would someday take over an empire. Having grown up without the benefits of privilege herself, Susan found it difficult to imagine the woes of a poor little rich boy. Still, the thought that Seb might not have had a picture-perfect childhood bothered her more than it probably should have.

Susan refused to allow such speculative thoughts to darken the luxurious pleasure of a perfect spring evening. As she drank in the fading rays of the setting sun, apprehension slipped from her slender shoulders as easily as her jacket had earlier. It had been far too long since she had last watched the sun bid the day a glorious adieu and paused to appreciate the beauty of the surrounding countryside. Midland was the closest city, and it was a good fifty miles away. The seclusion of this lush estate, surrounded as it was by desert and buffeted by almost unceasing winds, made it seem as if Royal itself was equally distant.

“A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” Susan admitted, feeling as if she was dropping in on a mirage. With a satisfied sigh, she pushed herself away from the table and announced that the evening was growing cool and it was time to get down to business.

Though Seb grimaced, he dutifully rose to his feet and began clearing the table. Susan followed his lead.

“My housekeeper, Rosa, would have my hide if I left the dishes outside overnight,” he explained with a touch of chagrin.

Happy to pitch in, Susan was impressed both with the clout Rosa wielded over her employer and with Seb’s willingness to do what she assumed most millionaires would find beneath their dignity. The easy banter that accompanied them into the kitchen seemed somehow incongruent in their surroundings. The latest in kitchen appliances sparkled beneath soft lighting, a testament to Rosa’s dedication. All that gleaming black-and-white modernism was saved from its usual cold feel by the very same lemony scent that Susan remembered in her own mother’s kitchen. One whiff carried her back to a simpler time when she and her five siblings were all crowded together in public housing that offered little in privacy, but much in the way of inspiration nurtured by their parents’ dreams of a better life for their children.

Her background had a lot to do with shaping her dream of making life better for other children. Particularly those coping with lack of available and adequate housing, uncooperative slumlords, insufficient food and, God forbid, abusive parents. Folding her dish towel and setting it atop a spotless counter, Susan realized just how far down the road this man’s case was from her original goal. Defending millionaires was hardly championing the cause of the poor. In a system in which “justice” too often could be bought, she couldn’t help but wonder why someone with Seb’s resources would bother taking a chance on her skills as a lawyer.

But reminding herself how desperately she needed to win this case to resuscitate her floundering dream, she refused to second-guess her host. Determined not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, she promised simply do her best and prove herself worthy of Seb’s trust.

Citing the need to go to the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen a few moments later carrying her briefcase. “Would it be all right to work in here?” Susan asked, setting it on the table. “Or would you rather we moved into the den?”

“Here is fine,” Seb agreed amicably, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table himself.

Susan noticed him looking at the battered leather case and briefly considered explaining that it had been a gift from her parents when she graduated from law school. More than just one of her colleagues had hinted that she should invest in a new briefcase, but this particular one held more than just papers. In it resided her parents’ pride and her own aspirations. Every nick and scratch in its surface represented her hard-fought battle for independence. Once she had actually used it as a shield when, in a childish temper tantrum, Joe had thrown his drink across the room at her, demanding she give up this foolishness and drop out of school altogether. As the man of the house, he was deeply insulted that his wife felt the need to contribute financially to their marriage.

Vainly attempting to brush aside the memory, like someone fanning the air to rid it of the lingering smell of cigar smoke, Susan readjusted her professional face before addressing Sebastian again.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Pleased that he offered no protest to the suggestion, Susan got down to business. Sunset had reluctantly given way to twilight, and pale purple light filtered in through the windows, reminding Susan of her broken promise to stay but a couple of hours, tops. Taking out a yellow legal pad, she began asking rapid-fire questions.

Pausing a moment to jot down an important note, she told him, “I hope you don’t feel like you’re being interrogated, but I’ve got to warn you, this is nothing compared to what the prosecution will do if they ever get you on the stand.”

“I expect you to call the shots as you see them, Counselor,” Seb assured her.

Warmth flooded through Susan’s entire being at the comment. Impressed by the intelligence and charm to which she’d been subjected all evening, she found herself toying with the idea of extending their professional relationship to include a personal friendship. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s company so much without worrying about whether he was coming on to her.

Not that she would ever expect a man like Sebastian Wescott to consider her anything more than an amusing diversion. Susan didn’t doubt that he could have his pick of rich, sophisticated women at the snap of his fingers. But she didn’t much cotton to the idea of being the flavor of the month. She reminded herself that it was nothing more than circumstances that had brought them together.

“Are you married?” she asked, starting out with a standard set of questions intended not only to give her necessary background information but also to ease clients into the inquiry process itself. “And do you have any children?”

“No to both questions,” Seb replied with a trace of regret in his voice. “Someday if the right woman were to come along, I’d like to remedy that. Nothing could make me happier than to fill this house with the sound of children playing.”

It wasn’t the response she expected. Susan wondered if Seb noticed that her pen remained poised over her note pad. She could no more make it obey than she could explain why it was suddenly so hard remembering how to breathe.

“How about you?” Seb asked smoothly, switching the topic of conversation from him to her.

Susan swallowed. A private person by nature, she was reticent about sharing personal information with a client. Particularly one accused of murder. Nonetheless, the question was harmless enough, and every good lawyer understood the need to establish rapport with the person he or she was hired to represent.

“Not any more,” she answered succinctly, hoping to bring his inquiries to an end with no more explanation than the bare facts.

“Any children?”

“Thankfully no.”

Though the words sounded harsh to her own ears, something in the way Seb’s eyes softened invitingly encouraged her to continue.

“I’ve witnessed too many ugly custody battles to believe that children survive unscathed. I don’t think it’s fair to them.”

“I don’t, either,” Seb replied.

His gaze collided with hers, establishing a tacit understanding that surpassed logical explanation. Susan wondered if his conviction lay in the devastation of living in a broken home as a child himself—or in something far bigger than personal experience alone. She couldn’t help but wonder what secrets were hidden in the depths of those arresting gray eyes.

Clicking her pen, she reminded herself that she was not here on a social visit.

“We might as well get down to business,” she said, dispensing of any pretense for further conversation outside the bounds of the case at hand. “Let’s start by establishing your alibi. Where were you the night of the murder and who would be willing to testify as to your whereabouts?”

“Was your ex-husband fond of children?”

“Only in marketing campaigns promoting any product he was peddling,” Susan replied, not missing a beat. “Where exactly did you say you were on the night in question?”

Seb grinned at her, and she caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a child with chocolate smeared around his mouth and a cookie jar lid hidden behind his back.

“I didn’t. Right now I’m far more interested in you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the company of such a fascinating woman. I want to know what makes you tick.”

Caught off guard by his easy flattery, Susan feigned irritation.

“If I indulge your curiosity, can we proceed with the specifics of your case?”

Nodding, Seb smiled at her again. Susan wondered if she should brace herself against the edge of the table for fear of falling completely under his charm. Setting her pen down with a sigh, she propped her elbows on the table instead and cupped her chin in her hands.

“Then by all means, fire away.”

Despite her resolve to cut her answers short, she found herself compelled to respond in more than just the customary, perfunctory manner to the questions he asked. Perhaps it was just a way of paying tribute to his charisma. And to her own loneliness, Susan supposed on some level. It had been so long since anyone had shown any interest in her as a unique and fascinating individual that she was caught off guard by the attention lavished upon her.

There had been no need for Seb to ply her with liquor to get her to divulge more about her own background than she had intended. Merely by being attentive and interested in what she had to say, he gave the impression that he found her bright and funny and captivating. There was no denying that it was flattering. Indeed, such charm would be hard for the most jaded woman to shrug off.

Despite the circumstances that had brought her here, Susan was far from jaded. Somewhere deep inside of her still lived the same little girl who had vowed to make the world a better place through her own sheer determination to put the bad guys behind bars and represent those handsome fellows wearing white cowboy hats.

And yes, she had noticed a cream-colored Stetson dangling from the coatrack in the foyer on her way in.

Fortunately for her own conscience, Susan had become convinced over the course of the evening that, while Sebastian Wescott might well be a brutal businessman when circumstances warranted it, her attractive host was simply incapable of murder. Someone who named his dogs Pal and Buddy and was cowed by his housekeeper simply wasn’t capable of the heartlessness necessary to take a human life. Was he?

By the time Susan had exhausted her extensive list of questions, night had fallen. Putting a hand to the small of her back, she stretched her stiff muscles. How inviting that dip in the Jacuzzi sounded when Sebastian offered it, informing her that he had an abundance of swimsuits of all sizes if she happened to be the shy type. The thought of spending any time at all in a hot tub with this magnificent male specimen, whether naked or fully clothed, made her think it would be a whole lot easier to jump into a roaring fire than endure the hot flashes of passion that such images stirred in her.

Feigning a yawn, she said it was past her bedtime. She scheduled their next appointment into her time-planner before allowing him to escort her to her vehicle. Overhead the sky was a canopy of black velvet sprinkled with precious jewels.

“I’m afraid you missed your calling,” she said as Seb opened the car door for her.

He looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“The way you turned the tables on me tonight and had me answering more questions than you did makes me believe you would have made an excellent lawyer yourself,” she clarified.

Sebastian’s laugh was a wholesome sound, which echoed off the nearby sand hills and resonated in the chambers of Susan’s heart. It had a full-bodied quality that caused her pulse to thrum.

“Is it so hard for you to believe I just might be interested in you, Susan?” he asked, tilting up her chin so that she couldn’t avoid looking into his eyes. They were the same astonishing color as the stars above. Liquid and as feral as those of a timber wolf.

When she shivered beneath that predatory gaze, Seb asked if she was cold.

Feeling the warmth of his breath, Susan shook her head. Actually she was feeling oddly flushed. It was as if some secret part of her heart that had been frozen for a long time was beginning to thaw and sending the message to every nerve ending in her body. Tingling all over, she lowered her lashes in anticipation.

In anticipation of what? she wondered dazedly.

A kiss that would violate the sacred bond between a lawyer and client.

Reminding herself that she could scarce afford such a costly mistake, Susan maintained that she could not possibly be so stupid as to fall for another forceful man, cut from the same cloth as the man who had already left permanent scars on her heart. A man so sure of himself that he would rather rely on his own ability to problem-solve than depend on anyone else for help—hence his evasiveness about his whereabouts on the night in question.

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