Free The First Law of Love by Abbie Williams Page B

impersonal smile. Currently he was stone-faced and serious looking, no trace of a return smile or even recognition. I had been imagining anything else present in his expression.
    â€œHi,” I said, my voice embarrassingly husky. I lightly cleared my throat and continued, “How have you been?”
    â€œGreat,” he said shortly, and his deep voice was just as I recalled, though tempered by its new, somber nature. “And you?”
    â€œWell,” I responded, just a tiny bit breathless as he came to a halt on the far side of the hip-high counter, my heart still going crazy. “Very well, thank you.”
    Case nodded at this, without saying a word, while our eyes held and I tried not to appear to be marveling at him as much as I actually was. The guy I remembered from my sister’s wedding had been shitfaced drunk. The man before me could not have been more different; he regarded me with a solemn expression and I studied him just as silently.
    He was taller than I remembered, lean but with broad shoulders, and close-cropped reddish-gold hair. I vaguely recalled at the wedding that it had been longer, and even a little curly. His eyes were a rich auburn-brown, like cinnamon, and held no trace of apparent humor, hardly even seemed to acknowledge that we knew one another, at least marginally. I did a quick calculation and determined that he was now probably about thirty years old. My gaze dropped to his lips, crisply sculpted above a strong chin, and then I realized I was staring, very non-professionally. Almost moronically.
    I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to fill what was rapidly becoming a tense silence, but then he said, a little more softly, “You got in on Saturday night, Clark said. You were still sleeping when I was there yesterday morning.”
    â€œYou were there?” I asked weakly. “I was…I was a little…”
    I couldn’t tell if he seemed amused, if that’s what was subtly present in his voice as he said, “Clark explained.”
    I swallowed at my own foolishness. What a lovely impression to make after seven years, hungover and sleeping it off in someone else’s guest room. When I had accused him of being a drunk moron, years back.
    â€œOh,” I stumbled, embarrassed and flushing, fidgeting with the bottom hem of my blouse. I was terribly self-conscious of my less-than-completely-professional appearance. To change the subject I said, “Clark invited me to dinner at their place on Friday.”
    â€œIt’s been a long time,” Case finally allowed, still holding my gaze prisoner. He seemed to be trying to get a read on me, to discern who I was now versus who I had been; or maybe that was just what I was doing to him. He added, “You’re a lawyer now, just like you wanted.”
    I flushed even worse, feeling the heat of it move from cheeks to chest. And I never flushed. I affirmed, “Yes, I just graduated this last spring.”
    â€œClark said you were out here to work for the summer.”
    â€œYes. It’s more a favor for my future boss, indirectly, who owns land out here. Apparently there’s a buyer snapping up acreage, who wants —”
    â€œCapital Overland,” Case said at once, and his face grew instantly more animated. He said, “They’ve approached everyone in the area. They want quick sales, no trouble.”
    â€œThat’s the company,” I said. “Actually, this is good. I mean, not that they want your land, but that you have information. I need all the info I can gather on them,” and I gestured behind me at the paper mess sprawling across my desk. I turned back to his eyes and my heart continued to kick at my ribcage. I ignored this and asked, even though I was fairly certain I knew the answer, “What is your position on the sale?”
    â€œOver my dead body,” he said, and for the second time just a hint of a grin lifted the right side of