Fallen Angel (3 page)

The man grinned. "This isn’t a visit, Aunt Rose. I’ve leased an office, and I’m looking for a place to live."

"Oh, Thomas, you’re finally coming home!" she exclaimed before hugging him once again.

"I am home. For good," he clarified once he released her.

Geneva paled, embarrassment flooding her even though there was no way she could have known his identity. He intended to live here?  She groaned silently, then recalled Rose’s comments about her nephew, the famous attorney and the somewhat infamous ladies’ man. She fully grasped his seductive appeal, although it unsettled her to admit it.

Geneva watched closely as his gaze wandered through the spacious interior of her shop. She saw the appreciation in his expression as he took in the display shelves laden with a wide selection of jams and preserves, and she knew the instant he inhaled the fragrant aroma of the extensive array of fresh–baked breads and pastry items. Pleased by his reaction, she relaxed a little, but she remained out of sight.

"Your parents would’ve been so pleased," Rose told him. "It’s a shame you sold their house. Where will you live? What about your law practice? What are your plans?" She inspected him from head to foot with critical eyes. "You look too thin to me, Thomas. Are you eating properly? Please tell me you aren’t staying in some dreadful motel when I have a perfectly good guest room at my house."

Geneva watched him laugh at her barrage of questions. She wondered if the sound of his laughter was low and resonant, then promptly told herself it didn’t really matter. She wouldn’t ever be able to hear it, anyway.

"You should have been a lawyer, Aunt Rose."

"I’ve always made it my policy to leave the lawyering in the family to the men, as out of step as that makes me with what’s politically correct these days. Now, tell me exactly what’s going on with you."

He shrugged. "It’s not complicated. I’ve cashed out of the partnership."

Rose’s smile faded. "You founded that partnership, Thomas, so something serious must have happened."

Under Geneva’s watchful eyes, Thomas pondered her observation for several moments before responding. As he stood there, he unzipped his leather jacket to reveal a mauve cable knit sweater that stretched across his broad chest. Shoving his hands into the pockets of black jeans that molded to obviously muscular thighs, he rocked back on the heels of his western–style boots.

Geneva sucked in a quick breath as heat stole into her bloodstream. She told herself that his physical attributes were no more impressive than any other male in his prime, but she knew she lied. Although not handsome, it was easy to see just why this roughly hewn man had a reputation with women.

"Thomas?"

"A lot of things have happened over the years, Aunt Rose. When they started to add up, I decided it was time for a new beginning. So, here I am."

"You need a life." The older woman poked him in the chest for emphasis. "You need to
share
your life. You’ve been alone too long."

"Maybe."

"There’s no maybe about it."

Thomas smiled.

Geneva noticed the tension that invaded his posture, despite his pleasant expression.

"I have plenty of space…" Rose began.

"I’m forty years old, and I do not need a keeper."

"You know me too well. I’d fuss you right out of the house, wouldn’t I?"

He nodded, the angular features of his gentled somewhat by his warm smile. "Probably, but I am counting on you to feed me once in a while."

"You don’t even have to ask." Rose paused, a considering glint in her eyes. "I have a wonderful friend in real estate. Shall I call her for you so that you can start your search for a real home?"

"Let me get my office set up first," he said with a laugh. "I’ve got a place to stay for the time–being."

"A hotel," Rose said, sniffing her disdain.

"Guilty as charged, ma’am."

He grinned down at her as she shook a finger at him. Geneva liked the affection she saw in his eyes as he spoke to his mother’s sister. She’d seen photographs of Rose’s extended family, including those of her sister Grace, Thomas’s mother. All of the men in the family were tall, built with typical western sturdiness, and possessed character–filled faces. Thomas fit the mold to a T.

"How was Egypt?" he asked.

"Extraordinary, of course!" Rose exclaimed. "It exceeded every expectation I’ve ever had."

"You always talked about going there."

"And I finally did, thanks to you."

"It was my pleasure, believe me, and a modest thank you for your encouragement over the years."

"You’re family, and I love you," she reminded him as she squeezed his hand. "I’m so glad you’re here, but why didn’t you tell me about your plans before I left on my trip?"

Geneva took a step back, suddenly feeling foolish for eavesdropping. Time to stop hiding, she told herself.

She stepped into view and immediately felt seared by his gaze. She wore another body–suit, this one black, and a wraparound fringed leather skirt. As she crossed the room, the leather parted with every step she took to reveal her long legs.

Her body responded to the heat that flashed in his eyes. Geneva felt as though she was being caressed by invisible fingertips of flame.

The scorching sensations didn’t cease. They kept sizzling through her, making her more aware of herself as a woman than she’d been in many years. She strolled into the center of the spacious shop at a relaxed pace, a polite expression on her face as she approached Rose and her nephew.

She stepped past Thomas Coltrane to hug her friend. Then, she faced them both, directing her comments to Rose. "Welcome back. You’ve been missed."

Rose smiled. She signed, supplementing the introduction by finger–spelling their names. "Geneva Talmadge, this is Thomas Coltrane, my nephew."

Geneva deliberately met his gaze, her chin lifting as she kept her poise in place. "We met yesterday." Her hands wove through the air as she talked. "Unfortunately, I thought he was trying to assault me, and I treated him accordingly."

Rose darted a what–in–the–world–have–you–done–now glance at Thomas.

He inclined his head. "No harm done. In fact, if I ever need an ally in a tough back alley, I know who to call."

Geneva smiled then, and she gave him points. She loathed being perceived as the helpless deaf woman. "I gather you’re moving back to Cedar Grove."

"I already have."

"Welcome home, then."

He extended his hand.

Geneva hesitated, and then accepted the inevitability of the polite gesture. Not to respond would have been rude. The instant their palms met and mated, she knew she shouldn’t have allowed Thomas Coltrane to touch her. The warmth of his skin penetrated her flesh and sank into the finely constructed bones of her slender hand. She felt as though she’d held her hand too close to a roaring fire.

"I’m glad to meet you under more… ideal circumstances," he said.

Looking puzzled, Rose signed for him.

"Thank you." Geneva eased her hand free of his grasp.

Her eyes remained locked on his face as she searched for motives hidden beneath the surface of polite words and an easy smile. His touch stayed with her, unsettling her to such a degree that she frowned—as much at him as at her reaction to him.

"We’re neighbors," he remarked.

Geneva glanced at Rose, who continued to sign for her nephew.

"Neighbors?" she clarified, returning her gaze up to his face.

Thomas nodded. "I’ve leased most of the top floor of the building."

She felt her composure slip a notch, but she recovered quickly. "You’re an attorney, I believe."

"That’s right."

Although Rose kept signing, Geneva noticed the uncharacteristic scowl on her face. Her scowl turned into a glare. Although Thomas seemed indifferent, she wondered about the cause of Rose’s displeasure.

"We’re a small community and very law–abiding," she said.

He smiled easily. "I know. I grew up here."

As she watched his lips, Geneva realized how relaxed and composed he seemed. She envied him his poise. Hers seemed on the verge of wholesale desertion. "Rose speaks of your childhood upon occasion. To hear her tell it, you were quite the hell–raiser."

Rose abruptly stepped away before Thomas could reply. Geneva assumed that the bell above the door had alerted her to the arrival of customers. A glance at the front of the store confirmed her assumption.

She didn’t protest when he took her arm and guided her deeper into the store, but she stepped back when he released her. The heat of his touch lingered, prompting her pulse to pick up speed. Your reaction to this man is crazy, she told herself, so settle down and deal with him like an adult.

With his back to Rose and the customers, Thomas simultaneously signed and commented, "I didn’t mean to frighten you yesterday. I approached you because you looked upset. I thought you might need a friend."

At first surprised by his use of sign language, Geneva appreciated his effort. She recalled what Rose had told her about the loss of hearing Thomas’s mother had suffered following a car accident. She chalked up a few more points for him, then told herself that, points or no points, this man was too much of an unknown quantity.

"You didn’t frighten me, Mr. Coltrane, but you did startle me," she explained. "I was… preoccupied when you came up behind me, hence my reaction."

His hands, which had signed with some hesitation before, moved with more sureness this time. "Call me Thomas, please. We both know I frightened you, so let’s not debate the obvious."

Geneva asked, "How long were you in the hallway?"

"Not long."

She watched his eyes, her own narrowing. "Did you overhear the conversation that took place?"

"Not enough to make much sense of it."

"Why are you lying?"

Humor sparked in his eyes. "You’re direct."

"Yes, I am."

"I like that in a woman. In my experience, it’s rare."

"Perhaps you should…" Her voice trailed off as her brain screeched, don’t go there. "I trust you’ll respect my privacy," she amended, her reference to his profession none too subtle.

"Of course." He looked surprised that she felt compelled to question his integrity.

"Thank you."

"You’re very welcome."

Geneva sensed the predator in Thomas Coltrane, despite his good manners. She knew all about predators, just as she knew that among the two–legged kind some were noble and others personified evil. For Rose’s sake, Geneva wanted to assume that he posed no danger. A part of her, however, felt certain that this sophisticated man possessed the ability to jeopardize a woman’s emotions. She silently vowed to be very careful whenever she found herself in his company.

"Rose has often mentioned you in her letters," he remarked.

"I’m very boring."

"Unusual women never bore me. In fact, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to meet you."

Unusual? She wondered what he meant. She didn’t ask, though. Instinct assured her she didn’t want to hear the answer. "I’m a simple shop owner, Mr. Coltrane."

He chuckled. "Somehow, Geneva Talmadge, I very much doubt there’s anything even remotely simple about you."

Time to change the subject. "What kind of law do you plan to practice?"

He cooperated, but the amusement lighting his eyes assured her that he saw through her ploy. "Any kind that comes my way."

"Cedar Grove already has three attorneys."

"Are you suggesting there isn’t room for one more?"

"I’m suggesting you’ll need clients from other communities if you plan to earn a living."

"Thank you for the warning," he said, also signing the words."

"It wasn’t a warning, merely a statement of fact."

"You’re obviously well–versed in the legal needs of the area."

"I’m well–versed in the community and its residents. I’ve lived here for several years."

"Perhaps you’d like to act as my unofficial demographics consultant?"

He’s teasing me, she realized with no small amount of surprise. "I have every confidence that you’ve already done your homework, so you won’t need me."

The humor faded from his eyes.

Geneva wondered why.

"I’m still working on what I need in this life, but that’s a conversation best saved for a quiet evening, a good bottle of wine, and a friend."

She stared up at him, taken aback by his revealing remark and somber expression. Most men seemed reluctant to admit that they didn’t have all the answers.

"You aren’t married?"

"No, I’m not. Why?" she asked, wary once again.

He smiled. "I’m glad, but I’m also surprised."

Geneva cut to the bottom line. "I don’t date."

His smile faded, and he studied her for a long moment. "Why?"

"I just don’t."

"I’m not the enemy, Geneva."

She paled when she saw empathy in his eyes. She disliked the feeling of vulnerability he summoned from her.

When she looked away, he reached out and touched her chin with a single fingertip. Then, he gently guided her face back into a position that would allow her to see his mouth and hands.

Unnerved, Geneva took a step backward. "Let me make this easy for you, Mr. Coltrane. I’m not married. I have never been married, nor do I have any children. My social life is confined to a small group of established friends. I’m the co–owner of Talmadge, Inc., and I live a simple life. I intend to keep it that way. End of story."

"Simple. There’s that word again."

"Simple," she confirmed.

"I don’t think so."

"Mr. Coltrane…"

"Thomas." His gaze skimmed over her face. "Please."

She sucked in a quick breath, then told herself to relax even as he seemed to memorize her features. She studied his hard–featured face with equal thoroughness—searching for what, she did not know.

And as she stood there, she wondered what it might be like to spend quiet winter evenings in front of a roaring fire with this man. She imagined sharing confidences, laughter, even a snifter of brandy after a leisurely meal. She imagined what she always imagined, although she usually indulged in this type of thinking when she was alone. She imagined the luxury of sharing her life with a man who loved and respected her. Fool, she thought. Fantasies never come true.