arms in front of her.
“Don’t you understand this could ruin my career? Everything I’ve built up over the past fifteen years could go up in flames.”
“Why? Because you’re involved with a younger man?”
“No, because you’re my client’s husband.”
“Not anymore.”
“Until the divorce is finalized, the semantics won’t matter to the ethics board.”
“It is.”
What had she missed? “It is…what?”
“A judge granted the divorce Friday afternoon on special request by my attorney. I’m due to be in England for the next three months, so he convinced a judge it would be in the interests of justice to grant the order now.”
“On a Friday afternoon?”
He grinned and her heart skidded to a stop only to start again painfully. No man had the right to be so gorgeous.
“This one didn’t mind. He’s crazy about rugby and it was easy to convince him I wouldn’t be in top form if I still had this divorce hanging over me.”
The differences between them became more apparent. None of her acquaintances had the kind of influence to convince a judge to convene a full court on a Friday afternoon. Divorce cases rated low on the scale of importance to the High Court.
“Amber is still my client.”
“So withdraw from her case. Someone else from your office attended the divorce.” He frowned. “Why weren’t you there?”
“I’m on leave since Friday morning.”
“For how long?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Have you decided where to go?”
Samantha shook her head. “I’m taking it one day at a time.” She sighed. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Yes, please, but don’t change the subject.”
She watched him from the open-plan kitchen. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m no good with holidays. I haven’t taken one in the eight years I’ve been with the firm, so I’m still adjusting to not going in to work every day.”
The kettle boiled and she filled their cups. “What about your injury? Are you still going to England?”
He nodded and tucked his foot onto the injured leg. “Yes, after I’ve been declared fit. Should be in about six weeks.”
She placed his coffee on the side table and walked over to the window. London, Paris, India, Australia…all the places he took for granted were as alien to her as the surface of the moon. She hadn’t even traveled her own country and here he talked about visiting England like it was just another normal day to him.
“Come with me.”
The coffee spilled over the edge of her cup and scorched her hand. “Excuse me?”
“I’m leaving in the morning for my farm in Komatipoort. Come with me. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
She stared into her coffee and twirled the contents. Go to an isolated place with a man she’d met a couple of days ago?
No way.
She sensed no danger from him except for the danger to her peace of mind, but to consider going was way out of her comfort zone. Besides, neither she nor he could afford the publicity if someone found out she had stayed with him on his farm.
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
She turned and shook her head. “No, I can’t. Have you thought this through? If the press were to learn I’m staying with you, everybody would think I misrepresented my client because we had an affair. It would be a publicity nightmare for both of us.”
“Who will know? I live alone there with one bodyguard and a cleaning lady who comes in once a week.”
She sipped her coffee. Tempting as it was, they still had to get there and someone was bound to see them. She said as much.
He pushed himself out of the chair, put his empty cup in the sink and took her by the shoulders. “I always fly there by helicopter. Nobody will see us.” His thumb stroked the pulse racing at the bottom of her neck. “Any other excuses?”
“I won’t sleep with you.”
He chuckled. “You’ll sleep with me, but I won’t make love to you unless you ask me to.”
Her throat dried out
Learning to Kill: Stories