Page 33 of A Legal Affair
His father lifted a dubious brow. “Doessheknow that?”
“Of course,” Caleb retorted, even as an image of Shara’s furious expression flashed across his mind. Since their confrontation yesterday, he’d told himself that the anger she’d displayed was nothing more than that of one concerned friend looking out for another.
But deep down inside, he knew better.
His father cut him a look that said he knew better, too. “I won’t presume to give you advice on your love life?—”
“Then don’t.”
“But women can be very unpredictable and unstable creatures,” Crandall continued as if Caleb hadn’t spoken. “If you have no intention of making a commitment to this woman, you’d better make damn sure she knows it.”
“She knows it,” Caleb said shortly, then expelled a long, exasperated breath. “Look, I care for Shara a whole lot. We connect on many levels—intellectually, professionally and, yes, physically. We could probably make one helluva couple someday.”
Crandall grinned. “Sounds like the beginnings of a marriage proposal to me.”
Caleb shook his head, frustrated with his father’s relentless prying, but even more frustrated with his own inability to articulate the reasons he and Shara could never work.
Maybe because he hadn’t quite sold himself on the reasons, nebulous as they were.
Crandall brushed an invisible fleck of lint off the knife-blade crease of his trousers. Though mostly confined to the ranch, he still got up every morning and dressed as if he were heading to the office. “If you and Shara don’t work out,” he said casually, “you know Ruth’s youngest daughter is moving back to San Antonio next month. You could?—”
“Nice try, Dad.”
Crandall scowled. “Can’t blame a man for wanting to see his only son happily married off while he’s still around to witness it. And while we’re on the subject, I wouldn’t mind having some noisy grandchildren running up and down these lands, either.”
Caleb couldn’t help chuckling. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” he drawled. But his thoughts had strayed, inexorably, to Daniela Moreau.
Earlier that day, he’d been working in the offices of theLaw Journal, which were housed in the library, when he glanced out the window and saw Daniela charging toward the building, looking mad enough to spit nails. Curious, he’d paused in his task to watch her, wondering who, or what, had pissed her off. He’d been sorely tempted to go to her—just to find out if everything was okay, he told himself.
It had taken sheer willpower to stay right where he was. But his concentration was shot to hell, knowing she was in the same building. Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he’d packed up his stuff and left campus, driving until he found himself on the way to his father’s ranch.
He’d spent the whole ride alternately thinking about her, and calling himself all kinds of a damn fool for letting her get under his skin so easily. In the five years he’d been teaching, this was the first and only time he’d ever been so affected by a student. Sure, there’d been more than a few beautiful girls whose sultry smiles had made him wonder how anyone could possibly maintain a celibate lifestyle. But he’d never been tempted to cross the line with any of them. His willpower had always been strong, if not ironclad.
Until now.
Until Daniela Moreau stepped through the door of his classroom on Monday morning, shattering all precedents. Just being near her was like being trapped in the most seductive spider’s web, silky and warm and thrilling but exceedinglydangerous. Caleb was determined to keep himself from being ensnared, no matter how enticing this particular temptress proved to be.
It was after seven when he got home that evening.
Craving a drink and a cigar, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and had just taken the first deep swallow when his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. He grinned when he looked at the screen and saw the familiar face of Brandon Chambers, one of his closest friends since college and now a junior senator in Congress.
Welcoming the distraction, Caleb swiped to answer the call.
“Look at this distinguished gentleman,” he drawled, carrying his whiskey outside to the terrace. “Still crusading to save the republic, Senator Chambers?”
“Damn right.” Brandon’s grin was wide, dimples flashing. “Still terrorizing hapless 1Ls, Professor Thorne?”
“Damn right.”
Brandon’s deep, infectious laugh rumbled through the phone. He was framed by stately columns that lined the sprawling veranda of the governor’s mansion in Austin. The setting sun shot blood-orange streaks across the sky behind him.
“Wassup, bro?” Caleb said, leaning against the wrought iron balcony rail of his terrace. “Everything good?”
“Better than good,” Brandon crowed. “Cause I’m about to prove somebody wrong.”
“Nope. Not today,” a deep, indignant voice insisted off-screen. The voice belonged to Beau Chambers—Brandon’s younger brother, a famous sports agent and perennial troublemaker.
“Alright, alright, we need you to settle an argument for us, Caleb,” Brandon said as Beau swaggered into the frame, a glassof dark liquid cradled in his hand. The two brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, the picture of inherited power and dark good looks.
