Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi 2)

She reached for the top button of her blouse. “Massages feel best against bare skin, I understand.”

His tie was already off, and he tossed his jacket over the back of a nearby chair. “Most definitely.”

“But I thought it was only the client who disrobes, not the masseur.”

His hands fell to his belt buckle. “I have my own way of doing things.”

“You can say that again.”

Shedding the last of his clothes, he loomed over her. “Roll over.”

She still wore her black bra and panties. For some reason—perhaps the way he was looking at her just then—she felt more vulnerable in those expensive scraps of lace than if she had been completely nude.

He very efficiently flipped her onto her tummy.

She jumped a little when his hands fell on her shoulders.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re too stiff.”

She moved just a little, brushing against him with her hip. “You’re one to talk.”

“Be still,” he said, just a hint of amusement in his voice as his fingers made short work of the back fastening of her bra. And then he went to work on her knotted muscles.

Those other select people, who she would rather not think about, had been entirely correct, she mused with a sound that was a cross between a moan and a purr. Gideon had very talented hands.

They had been sharing a very quiet breakfast the next morning when Gideon noticed the manila envelope on the counter near the coffeemaker. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up. “Something you forgot to pack?”

Adrienne still looked a bit heavy-eyed from their near-sleepless night. They hadn’t wanted to waste a moment of their remaining time together.

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the envelope without elaborating.

He scowled when he saw Dylan Smith’s name, address and telephone number printed neatly on the outside of the envelope. “This is the reason Smith was here yesterday? Was is it, a copy of your accident report?”

But no, he thought, it was much too thick for anything like that. It felt very much like a manuscript—but surely not.

“It’s just something I wanted to see,” she answered evasively. “I’ll stick it in my briefcase.”

He handed her the envelope. “So what’s Smith done, written a book?”

He had spoken lightly, not really believing it, but the expression that crossed Adrienne’s face made him stiffen. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“The contents of this envelope are between Dylan and me,” she told him, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t think he would appreciate it if I discussed his business with you.”

It wasn’t his business, of course. She had no obligation at all to discuss anything with him, despite the past two nights. But just the thought of her having secrets with Dylan Smith was enough to make Gideon see red.

“Surely that guy isn’t trying to call himself a writer these days. And even if he is, you wouldn’t seriously consider representing him.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That would be my decision, wouldn’t it?”

“There is such a thing as a professional conflict of interest.”

“And this isn’t it,” she shot back. “You are not my only client, Gideon. You know that. I’ve never once neglected you for any of the others. In fact, I would say I’ve gone rather above the call of duty on your behalf.”

Thinking of the things they had shared during the past week, he glowered. “I damn well hope you don’t treat all your clients exactly the same.”

She rose very slowly to her feet, her eyes narrowing with the temper he had seen from her only once before. “I have never slept with another client, if that’s what you’re referring to. It isn’t something I plan to make a habit of. And you know very well that my decision to do so with you had nothing to do with business.”

Hearing a hint of hurt beneath the anger, he grimaced. “Look, I didn’t mean it that way—”