Free On Thin Ice by Eve Gaddy Page B

it? Gabrielle asked herself. With a gulp, she drained her wine, then signaled to the bartender for a second one. Could she really commit an act that would get her disbarred? Only if someone finds out, a little voice reminded her. That was pure fright speaking, she knew, but just now she was all tapped out of courage.
    If no one knew and she made certain that Franco stayed behind bars, all her problems would vanish. She shook her head sharply, biting her lip. No, she couldn’t do it. Risk disbarment, risk her career? But if she didn’t—
    “Buy you a drink?” a male voice asked.
    Gabrielle turned her head. A man she’d never met before stood beside her, smiling. He didn’t really look like Franco, other than having the misfortune of being dark-haired and dark-skinned. Lacking the energy to be polite, she chose the quickest route to getting rid of him.
    “Get lost.”
    He didn’t take the hint. He pulled up a stool and parked his fanny on it like he meant to stay forever. “What’s a pretty lady like you doing here all by your lonesome?”
    Now that’s original, she thought. “Drinking. Alone,” she said, and turned her head. The man kept talking but she blocked the sound out, her thoughts returning to the cause of her misery. If Franco was convicted due to her machinations, that made her no better than him. She shuddered and downed half her wine. No better than Franco.
    Did she have another choice? Of course she did. There was always a choice.
    Gabrielle decided to choose to forget about it. She was halted at a dead end, anyway. Though just for a night, she told herself, and raised the glass to her lips.
    After her third glass of wine, the tingling sensation the alcohol gave her reminded her of the feeling she got every time a certain attorney touched her. She’d succeeded in pushing Franco to the back of her mind, but Devlin Sinclair was a whole ’nother story. What would happen if she quit worrying about his angles and schemes and just . . . did what she wanted to do? Sober, she would have called it a stupid idea, but right now it held tremendous appeal.
    A hand fell on her shoulder. Hadn’t she run that guy off yet? She swung around and snapped, “You want to lose that hand?”
    “Not particularly,” a deep, familiar voice said. “Touchy, aren’t you?”
    “You.” Gabrielle blinked and attempted to focus. It was Devlin, with an, eat-your-heart-out smile lilting on his mouth. He looked hazy. And delicious. Every single one of her nerve endings jumped in anticipation. Temptation.
    “In the flesh,” he said, and pulled up the empty stool beside her.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    “Is that your standard bar procedure?” Devlin asked Gabrielle, letting the hand in question linger on her shoulder. She’d let her hair down, he noticed. It flowed in dark, rich waves to her shoulders, looking as if she’d shoved her hands through it. Or someone else had. Would it look like that after she’d just gotten out of bed?
    She smiled, a slow, sexy smile he hadn’t seen on her face before. Devlin sucked in a breath, feeling like all four volumes of the Texas Legal Directory had landed on his stomach.
    “I only threaten men with bad lines who try to pick me up.” Her tone matched her smile.
    To give himself a moment to think, Devlin signaled the bartender. Thankfully, his brain did begin functioning again. He’d been afraid all the blood had rushed to other parts of his anatomy. “That lets me out, then. I’ve got a dynamite line.”
    She laughed and shook her head. “Do you? I wouldn’t have thought you’d need one.”
    Whatever had gotten into her, he liked her in this mood. He blessed the impulse that had led him to Alfonso’s after overhearing Nina’s invitation to Gabrielle. “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
    Her lips curved upward, but she didn’t speak. Devlin ordered for both of them and turned back to her.
    “Okay,” she said, “let’s hear it.”
    “What, the