Free Rules of Attraction by Susan Crosby Page A

sparkle. “What rule would that be?”
    â€œNever get involved with a client. Or a subject. Or a co-worker.”
    â€œI’m none of those.”
    â€œWe are working together.”
    â€œWe are working together toward a common goal.” She seemed to find it all amusing. “Do you have other rules?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œNot sharing them?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œHow do I know I’m breaking a rule if I don’t know what they are?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll let you know.”
    â€œAhh. The old hidden-rules rules. Okay. I’ll play along. I’ve got rules, too, by the way, but at least mine are typed and put on the wall for everyone to see.”
    Because he wanted so much to kiss that smile right off her face, he crossed his arms, putting a barrier between them. “What rules would those be?”
    â€œI’ll show you.”
    He followed her into a room that she used as an office. On the wall was a framed list: Rules for Teachers.
    He read the first two out loud. “‘Teachers each day will fill lamps and clean chimneys. Each teacher willbring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal for the day’s session.’ When were these written?”
    â€œIn 1872.”
    He read the rest of the list, then came back to rule number six: “‘Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed.’ See? If we obey the rules of attraction, I’m saving you from dismissal.”
    â€œAnd I’m giving your rules about as much credence as I give those,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think you should fight this, Quinn.”
    He didn’t ask her to clarify. He knew what she meant. “Rule number one, Claire. Nobody gets hurt.”
    â€œTechnically, that’s rule number two. And no one can make that guarantee.”
    He hadn’t anticipated this stubborn side of her personality. It was way too soon to be getting so serious, anyway. “Are you afraid to be here alone?” he said, deliberately steering her down a different path.
    A few beats passed. “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou’ll call me if that changes?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œIf you hear from Jenn….”
    â€œI will let you know.”
    She seemed to be waiting, probably for a kiss goodbye. Dammit. He left the room and headed for the front door.
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” she said from behind him.
    â€œI’ll be here before Jamey.”
    â€œOkay.”
    He left. There were things he needed to do at his office—prepare a request for the transcripts from Craig Beecham’s trial, contact the prison where he was housed to get permission to see him, file some reports on ongoing cases.
    Hell. None of it appealed to him.
    He drove home instead of to the office. He parked his work car next to his classic Corvette in the underground garage, then took the stairs to his two-level loft in a converted warehouse. The industrial-looking decor seemed stark compared to the warm coziness of Claire’s house, but it suited him. He’d handpicked every item, from the black leather sofa and chairs to the chrome-and-glass tables, and stainless-steel-and-granite kitchen. Splashes of blue punctuated the space in the rugs, pillows and glass art he’d collected. Everything was spotless and neat. More than neat—orderly. Everything in its place. Nothing cluttered a countertop or table. No closet door hid disorder of any kind.
    Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked an interior courtyard he shared with the other owners of the building, but he rarely used the space and knew little about his neighbors. He’d had no time for or interest in socializing, but he hadn’t alienated them, either. He was used to being alone. Enjoyed it. Some people talked about being lonely, but not him. Alone was different from lonely.
    Claire would be the type to be lonely, he decided, if alone too long.
    He grabbed