Free When Somebody Loves You by Cindy Gerard Page A

an uncanny resemblance to George, was wearing his own sweatshirt, which boasted the words: “I brake for trees” in big black letters.
    Michael watched her eyes light up in totally spontaneous, totally unguarded amusement, and he decided it would be a good idea for him to make love to her right then and there. It might just teach her that it wasn’t nice to mess with a man’s cool with a smile that generated megawatts of crackling sensual heat.
    Reluctantly, he controlled his urges. “I told him it was silly,” he said, “that if he really wanted to square things with you he should have sent flowers or candy, but he insisted you’d look pretty in pink.”
    “You tell George,” she said as she avoided meeting his eyes and worked overhard in placing the shirt back in the box, “that it’s a very special gift, and I like it better than any flowers or candy he could have sent me.” After sending him a brief look of thanks, she excused herself to get her purse.
    Michael took advantage of her absence to cool himself down and to familiarize himself with her home. The one and only time he’d been inside, he’d been too angry and then too stunned to appreciate what she’d done to convert a modest, predictable suburban cottage into a unique, stylish home.
    His little lawyer loved color. He wasn’t surprised about that, or that he’d started thinking of her as his little anything. Somehow he’d known that beneath all those stoic power suits of navy and gray, she had a passion for pretty things. For some reason, though, she seemed to think she didn’t dare let anyone know it. But at home, on her own turf, she could use whatever splashes of color she chose, and she chose well. From the dramatic jade and silver in her foyer to the southwestern pastels in her living room, he was impressed with her sense of taste and style. Just thinking about what she might have done in her bedroom had his head spinning.
    Yet this was no decorator’s layout of clinical perfection. Michael felt a certain warmth, a certain love, that no professional could have achieved in January’s eclectic mix of old and new, bargain basement and home crafted. And everywhere, everywhere, were thriving green plants.
    He’d just made out the initials on a particularly stunning watercolor when he heard her come back into the living room. “You did this?” he asked over his shoulder as she walked up behind him.
    She nodded.
    He moved to study the other pieces around the room. “You did all of these,” he said, impressed. “They’re wonderful.”
    She shrugged off the compliment. “I minored in art prior to law school. It’s still an outlet for me.”
    It was the first piece of information about her private self that she’d ever offered voluntarily. He felt like she’d dropped a big fat piece of pie in his lap. He loved pie. He was going to love cracking the protective armor on this lady even more.
    Sensing, however, that now was not the time to push with questions, he helped her on with her coat. “I hope you like the Flagstaff House.”
    “I’ve never been there.”
    “Then, dear lady, prepare to be pampered, placated, and pleasured with one of the finest dining experiences of your life.”
    “That nice?”
    “Oh, yeah, it’s nice, but I was talking about my company.”
    He raised his eyebrows suggestively and was rewarded with another unguarded smile. He could get used to those smiles. He planned on getting used to them.
    But nothing ever went according to his plans. Not where January was concerned.
    He’d intended to wine and dine her out of enough personal information to fill a couple of volumes. Instead, by the time the dessert had been served to top off their five-course meal, he was the one who’d done all of the talking. The enchanting little witch had managed to make him spill his guts.
    She now knew everything about him from his shoe size to his shorts size and some embarrassing childhood stories in between. A two-hour dining