“I can’t be responsible for a baby,” Mike repeated, wondering how long it would take to get through to her.
“You’ll be completely provided for by this will. You’ll have the Stallion Pass house, a trust fund for Jessie, a trust for daily living and a million and a third dollars goes into your account tomorrow,” she replied as if explaining something simple to a small child.
“Don’t put anything into my account,” Mike snapped. “Aren’t you listening? I’m not becoming a guardian to this child.”
“The Frateses don’t have any relatives,” Savannah stated. “There is no one else to take her. She’s only five months old.” The color that heightened her cheeks only added to the good looks he was trying to ignore. She spoke slowly and firmly, as though he was hard of hearing or just too dense to get what she was trying to explain to him. “She’ll become a ward of the state otherwise.”
“I’m sorry, but she’ll have to become a ward of the state,” he replied tersely. “It doesn’t change how I feel. There are a lot of children out there that are wards of the state, but I’m not taking any of them, either.”
Fire flashed in the depths of blue ice as Savannah’s eyes narrowed. “John Frates had the very highest opinion of you, and he placed his faith and trust in you. He praised you beyond measure.”
“That’s certainly flattering, and I appreciate his opinion, but the guy was grateful because we rescued him. It doesn’t change my decision.” Mike’s tone was forceful.
“Look at this.” She shuffled through papers and yanked out an envelope, then came around the desk. She turned a chair and moved close beside him, and he caught a whiff of enticing perfume. When she crossed her legs, his attention was briefly distracted, caught and held momentarily by her long, shapely legs.
Savannah pulled out a picture and placed it on his knee, and the slight contact caused a different kind of jolt, one that settled in a region below his belt. “This is Jessie,” Savannah said.
He looked at a picture of a smiling, dimpled baby with curly ringlets of black hair, twinkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks.
“She’s adorable, but I’m not changing my mind.”
“May I ask why?” Savannah twisted to face him. Their knees were almost touching, and he was aware of her as a very appealing woman, if an annoying one.
“I’m single. I value my freedom and I don’t know anything about kids,” he replied.
“Maybe it’s time you learned.”
His annoyance rose a notch. “No, this isn’t the right time for a baby in my life. I’m getting ready to join the CIA. I’ll be traveling. I can’t be encumbered with a baby.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s incredibly selfish of you, Colonel Remington. You’re turning down a generous income, a home, a precious baby, simply because you value your freedom?”
“You’re getting it now,” he said. The woman had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen and the most fabulous legs. And he couldn’t wait to get away from her and this unwanted legacy.
“Have you already joined the CIA?” she asked.
“Not yet, but that’s beside the point.”
“You’re single. Is there a woman in your life?” she persisted.
“Not at the moment.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said coolly, and Michael’s temper boiled over.
“Look, Miss Clay, you’re not exactly a bundle of warmth yourself. Obviously you’re single, and I’m not surprised by that, either.”
To his amazement, she laughed. Beautiful white teeth, a sparkle in her eyes. More appealing than ever. He wanted to gnash his teeth. Attila the Hun packaged as an alluring woman. “Ah, I’m getting to you,” she said with cheerful satisfaction. “You’re losing that cool control. It means your guilty conscience is at work.”
“It means no such thing,” he said, watching her dazzling smile. It took his breath away.
Glancing at her watch, she said, “It’s late. Come have a drink and dinner with me, and we can discuss this issue further,” she announced, standing.
“No thanks,” he replied as she shed her suit jacket, unclipped her hair and shook her head. Blond hair cascaded over her shoulders and fell onto a creamy silk blouse clinging to curves that made him momentarily forget his animosity. She had a waist he could easily span with both hands.
“Do you often turn down a woman’s invitation for a dinner date? Or are you scared I might win you over to my way of thinking?” Savannah asked him.
He arched an eyebrow and wanted to give that cute fanny a swat. If he had any sense, he would answer yes and get the hell out of her office and life. But she was standing there with golden hair falling over her shoulders, a challenging gleam in her blue eyes and a figure that would make most men forget all the problems in the world.
“No, I don’t turn down offers from beautiful women,” he said quietly, standing and placing his hands on his hips. “I’m not scared, but you’ll never win me over to your way of thinking on this.”
“Never is a long time, Colonel.”
“All right, since we’re going to dinner, let’s drop the formalities. It’s Mike, Savannah.”
“Fine,” she said, granting him another one of her dazzling smiles. “Sit down, Mike. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
She gave orders as casually as a drill sergeant. Far more polite, but with that same authority and absolute expectation of being obeyed. Mike walked around the office, not really curious about the place, but simply being obstinate because she had told him to sit. As she disappeared through the door, he glimpsed a leather sofa and a wet bar. She must have a very successful practice.
While he studied a painting, he called the hotel where he and his two buddies were staying to talk to Boone. “I need to talk to this attorney tonight about my inheritance,” he told him, “and I’m going to have to cancel our dinner. This is crazy. I can’t deal with a baby.”
“You looked like you’d been shot,” Boone said.
“I felt like it,” Mike admitted.
“I think all three of us are a little in shock, Mike. None of us expected this. Let’s get together another time—how about breakfast, eight o’clock, hotel restaurant?”
“Great,” Mike replied. “See you then. Tell Jonah for me, would you.”
“Sure.”
Shutting off his phone, Mike continued to stroll around Savannah’s office, reading the spines of the law books lining the shelves, studying oil paintings of seascapes and all the while remembering the first few moments of his arrival. A few hours ago, he had entered the one-story brick building with gold lettering over the doors that read Slocum and Clay, Attorneys at Law.
Mike had walked through the front doors into a spacious waiting room and told the attractive brunette receptionist that he had an appointment with S. T. Clay. She had told him to go right in, that he was expected and it was the first door on the right.
He had walked down the hall to the door, knocked lightly and went inside. The tall blonde that turned to face him had smiled. Her blue eyes were riveting, the color of tropical seas.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the office of S. T. Clay. Are you his secretary?”
“I’m S. T. Clay,” she replied, crossing the room and extending her hand. “Savannah Clay.”
His brows arched. “Oh. I expected a man.”
“Instead, you’ve got a woman,” she replied coolly. “And