Falling for Mr. December (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

A
ND
OF
COURSE
Leo still said yes. Even when Nick pointed out exactly what was involved.

So, two weeks later, Nick found himself heading to the local Crown court. Leo had arranged for Court Number Two to be used outside the normal court working hours, though there was still a chance that Nick might bump into someone he knew who'd want to know what he was doing hanging round the court building when he wasn't in a trial—especially when he looked as scruffy as he did right now.

S. J. Thompson, the photographer, had sent him a couple of very business-like texts to arrange the photo shoot and explain that Nick needed to dress casually and remove anything that might cause a mark on his skin—socks, collars, waistbands and the like—at least two hours before the shoot.

For putting him through something as embarrassing as this—not to mention the teasing he knew he'd get from his colleagues when the calendar actually came out—Fate had
better
keep Xander safe, Nick thought grimly.

When he got to the court, carrying his court attire in its usual boxes, there was nobody waiting outside. The only person he could see in the lobby was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties or so, wearing black trousers, a black silky short-sleeved top and black shoes. Her blonde hair was cropped so short as to be almost a military cut. She didn't look remotely like the man Nick was here to meet.

She looked up from her book, then closed it, stood up and walked towards him. ‘Nick Kennedy, I presume?'

He blinked. Was she the photographer's assistant or something? ‘Yes.'

‘Thank you for being on time. I'm S. J. Thompson—though you can call me Sammy, if you like.' She held out her hand for him to shake.

‘
You're
S. J. Thompson?' Even as the words came out, he realised how dim they sounded. And how stupid of him to assume that the use of initials meant that the photographer was male.

She gave him a slight smile. ‘I'm afraid so.'

Clearly he wasn't the first to have made that mistake. ‘I—er—nice to meet you,' he said, feeling totally wrong-footed.

And, when he shook her hand, awareness zinged through every pore. Sammy Thompson was the most striking woman he'd met in a long time. And that severe haircut only served to highlight how pretty and feminine her face was. There was nothing masculine at all about her. Her mouth was a perfect rosebud, and he found himself wanting to trace her lower lip with his fingertip. Worse still, he could picture himself doing that before leaning in and kissing her. Lightly at first, a touch as light as a butterfly's wing, and then deepening the kiss as she responded...

He shook himself mentally. Oh, for pity's sake. This was
business
. OK, maybe not the normal kind of business he'd conduct here in the court, but it was still business. And he wasn't exactly known for having ridiculous flights of fancy.

But he did feel uncomfortable right now.

It was nothing to do with sexism—as far as he was concerned, it was how you did your job that mattered, not what your gender or your sexual orientation or your religion was—but Sammy's gender made this situation a little more difficult. Because it meant that now he was going to be stripping off in front of a woman he'd never met before.

Either his doubts showed on his face or she was used to this reaction from the people she photographed, because she said softly, ‘It's not going to be as bad as you think. And, if it helps, remember that I'll be seeing you simply as a life model rather than as an actual person. I don't tend to hit on my models.'

‘I—yes. Of course. Sorry.' How long had it been since he'd felt in a whirl, like this? He was never this pathetic and woolly. And he really hoped he didn't look as if he was staring at her. He forced himself to look away. ‘I believe we have Court Number Two booked.'

‘My equipment's already in there, though I haven't set it up fully yet,' she said. ‘Once we've decided precisely where you're going to stand, it won't take me long. Oh, and we really ought to cover the legal details now.'

Legal details? That got his attention.

‘Firstly, I have public liability insurance, which covers any damage to person or property while we're in the location—not that there will be any—and secondly I'll need you to sign a model release form,' she said. ‘It's pretty standard wording, but I'd still prefer you to read it thoroughly before you sign it.' There was just the slightest twinkle in her sea-green eyes as she added, ‘Though I guess in your case I don't really need to tell you to ask me to explain any legal wording you don't understand.'

‘Quite,' he agreed, trying to sound cool and professional. Even though Sammy Thompson was making him feel decidedly hot under the collar. What was it about her that made him feel like this?

‘Shall we?' She gestured for them both to go in to the court room, and put a note on the door saying
Filming in progress: do not enter.

‘I take it you've worked in here before, or at least somewhere like this?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Good. Then you'll be comfortable with the setting,' she said approvingly.

True, but he really wasn't comfortable with what he was about to do. ‘Usually I'm fully dressed when I'm in this room,' he said.

She indicated his cases and suit carrier. ‘This lot contains what you wear in court, I assume?'

He nodded. ‘I brought all of it because I wasn't sure what you'd need.' Though he knew it would be a lot less than he would prefer.

‘OK. Talk me through it,' she invited.

He took his work clothing out of the cases he'd brought with him, piece by piece, and laid each one in turn on the judge's bench. ‘Tunic shirt, waistcoat, pinstripe trousers and frock coat.'

‘You don't wear a normal business suit under your lawyer's gown?' she asked, sounding surprised.

‘I did before I took silk,' he said. ‘That is, before I became a QC—a Queen's Counsel.'

‘Which is a senior barrister, right?'

‘Yes. So that's why I wear the frock coat.' He took out the gown. ‘And this.'

‘And that gown's silk, I assume?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘May I touch it?'

He frowned. ‘Why?'

‘So I can move it about and see how the light affects it,' she said. ‘Obviously I'll be careful with it. One of my best friends is a wedding dress designer, and I've taken most of the shots for her portfolio and website, so I understand how to handle material without marking it.'

‘Ah. Of course.'

His fingers brushed against hers as she took the gown from him, and it felt as if pure electricity were running through his veins. What on earth was the matter with him? He never reacted like this. Especially to a complete stranger.

Maybe he was overreacting because he hadn't dated in a while, and his body's natural urges were making themselves felt because Sammy was really attractive. Well, tough. This was business and he really didn't have time for this. Behave, he told his libido mentally. You know relationships are a disaster zone.

She peered at the material carefully from several angles, then nodded in seeming satisfaction. ‘OK. Do you wear lace at your collar, or am I thinking of something else?'

‘That'd be ceremonial legal dress,' he said. ‘Normally in Crown court a male barrister wears a wing collar that attaches to the shirt, and court bands.' He took them out of their cases for her.

‘So the bands are the things that hang down like a two-pronged white tie?'

Despite himself, he smiled. ‘Yes. Actually, they're symbolic. The Lord Chief Justice said back in the sixteenth century that they were two tongues. One for the rich, for a fee, to reward our long studies; and one without reward to defend the poor and oppressed.'

‘I like that,' she said. ‘So you defend the poor and oppressed?'

‘I'm usually a prosecutor,' he said, ‘but English barristers can defend as well as prosecute. I guess in either case I'd be defending my client's interests, and it's not for me to call them poor or oppressed.'

* * *

Sammy liked that little bit of humility. Given that Nicholas Kennedy QC was a top barrister, she'd half expected him to be a bit on the arrogant side, but she instinctively liked the man she'd just met. He had kind eyes, a deep rich brown. And, even though he clearly wasn't very comfortable with the idea of being part of a shoot for the charity calendar—especially now he knew the photographer was female—he'd obviously made a promise to someone and had the integrity to keep that promise.

She could see exactly why the committee had asked him to pose for their calendar. Talk about photogenic. His bone structure was gorgeous. He could've been a model for a top perfume house, advertising aftershave. It was rare to have that kind of beauty teamed with an equally spectacular intellect. And it made him almost totally irresistible.

But she was going to have to resist the pull of attraction. She was here to work, not to drool over the eye candy. Right now she was supposed to be putting the man at his ease. And hadn't she just told him that she never hit on her models?

Well, this wasn't going to be a first for her.

Be professional, she reminded herself. She wasn't going to let herself remember the little shiver of desire that had rippled down her spine when he'd shaken her hand. Or wonder how that beautiful mouth would feel against her skin. She was going to focus on her job.

Besides, he was probably committed elsewhere. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but that didn't prove anything. A man that beautiful would've been snapped up years ago.

‘Your hair's very short,' she commented. ‘Do you have a military background, or is the haircut necessary because you have to wear a wig in court?'

‘It makes the wig a little more comfortable, yes,' he said. ‘Speaking of which...' He took out the wig next.

There were short, neat rows of curls all the way round the pale grey wig, and two tiny tails hanging down at the back with neat curls at the ends.

‘The wig is what everyone associates with lawyers in court,' she said. ‘You'll definitely be wearing that, and probably the gown—though I might do some shots without the gown as well.'

‘What else do I get to wear?' he asked hopefully.

‘Not the trousers, the coat or the shirt, I'm afraid. Even though they're nicely cut and made from good material.'

He flinched.

‘You can wear the collar and tie thingies.'

She could see in his expression that he was dying to correct her terminology—but he didn't. Clearly he was resisting the temptation to be nit-picky and was trying to be co-operative. Teasing probably wasn't the kindest or most appropriate thing she could do right now.

‘Thank you. I think,' he said.

She smiled. ‘As I said, to me you'll be simply a life model.'

But she needed him to relax so the strain wouldn't show on his face when she photographed him. Given what he did for a living—and that he'd agreed to wear some of his court dress for the shoot—she guessed he'd be more comfortable talking about his work. ‘Talk me through the court layout, so I can decide where to put you.' Even though she knew perfectly well where she was going to ask him to stand. She'd done her research properly, the way she always did before she took a portrait.

‘Right in front of us is the judge's bench.'

‘Where he bangs his gavel, right?'

He laughed. ‘I think you've been watching too many TV dramas. English judges don't use gavels.'

She knew that, but he didn't need to know that she knew. It looked as if her plan to make him more comfortable was working. Except, when he laughed like that, it made him look sexy as hell—and that made it much more difficult for her to keep her part of the bargain, to be detached and think of him as a life model.

Not that Sammy was looking for a relationship right now. She was too busy with her job, and she was fed up to the back teeth with dating Mr Wrong—men who ran for the hills in panic, the second they learned about her past, or who saw themselves as her knight in shining armour and wrapped her so tightly in cotton wool that she couldn't breathe. None of them had seen her as a woman.

Then again, she wasn't really a whole woman any more, was she? So she couldn't put the blame completely on them.

And after Bryn had finally been the one to break her heart, Sammy had decided that it would be much easier to focus on her family, her friends and her job and forget completely about romance.

Though the wedding she'd photographed a couple of months ago had made her feel wistful; now both her best friends were loved-up and settled. And although she was really happy for both of them, it had left her feeling just the tiniest bit lonely. And the tiniest bit sorry for herself. Even if she ever did manage to meet her Mr Right, there was no guarantee of a happy ending. Not if he wanted children of his own, without any kind of complications. She couldn't offer that.

She pushed the thought away. Enough of the pity party. She had a great life. A family who loved her—even if they were a tad on the overprotective side—friends who'd celebrate the good times with her and be there for her in the bad times, and a job that really fulfilled her. Asking for more was just greedy.

‘No gavel, then. So what else am I looking at?'

‘OK. In front of the judge you have the clerk of the court, the usher, and the person who makes the sound recording of the trial or a stenographer who types it up as the trial goes along. They face the same way as the judge.' He walked over to the benches facing the judge's bench. ‘This is where the barristers sit, though we stand when we're addressing the court. The defence barrister is nearest to the jury—' he indicated the seats at the side of the room ‘—and the prosecution barrister is nearest to the witness box. The solicitors sit behind the barristers, and at the back is the dock where the defendant sits. Over there behind the witness box you have the public gallery and the press bench.'