The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée by Sandra Marton Page A

through David’s head.
    â€œAmazing,” he said coolly. “Okay, I’ll talk to her.”
    â€œThank you, David.”
    â€œDon’t thank me,” David said, and smiled. “I’ll get my pound of flesh out of you, Jack. I’ll make you go to the Sheratons’ house party next weekend, instead of me.”
    Jack laughed. “Still running away from Mimi Sheraton? I wish I could oblige, but Mary’s already made plans.”
    â€œTerrific.”
    â€œIt will be. Just take out that little black book of yours and find yourself a playmate to take along for the weekend. That should stop Mimi.”
    David snorted. Mimi Sheraton, daughter of a senator and married to a client who was husband number three—or was it four?—was stunning and about as subtle as a shark. Assertive women were fine—but one that groped you under the table while you were talking with her husband was definitely a turnoff.
    â€œThe only thing that would stop Mimi,” he said, “would be the announcement of my death.”
    Jack laughed again. “Or of your engagement.”
    â€œSame thing.”
    The men smiled at each other, and then David reached for a pen and paper.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “I’ll fly down to Atlanta tomorrow. No need to let grass grow on this.”
    â€œNo need at all.” Jack dug into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “And I just happen to have the lady’s address and phone number right here.”
    â€œAll I need now,” David said, glancing at the paper as he took it from his partner’s outstretched hand, “is her name.”
    â€œOh. Oh, right. I thought I’d… Her name is Willingham.”
    David stiffened, and his fingers tightened around the pen.
    â€œIt’s what?”
    â€œWillingham. Stephanie Willingham.” Jack closed one eye in a slow, deliberate wink. “I don’t know what today’s terminology is but when I was a young and callow youth, we’d have described her as one hell of a piece of—”
    â€œI know the phrase,” David said. He tried to smile but from the look on the older man’s face, he suspected he wasn’t succeeding. “Believe me, Jack—it hasn’t changed.”
    * * *
    It was insane, agreeing to see Stephanie again. It was even more insane, not telling Jack the truth.
    Talk about a breach of ethics… David’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of his Porsche as he turned off the highway at the exit for Willingham Corners. He’d driven down instead of flying, telling himself that the hours on the road would clear his head.
    Even a first-year law student would know that what he was doing was improper. He was the wrong man to deliver legal advice to the widow Willingham.
    I already know her, he should have said to Jack. I’ve had a run-in with her.
    A run-in? Hell, he’d almost ripped off her clothes.
    It wasn’t too late to turn back. To head for the nearest phone, call Jack, tell him…what?
    Hello, Jack. Listen, I spent an afternoon trying to seduce the grieving widow, so I’ll have to disqualify myself from this case.
    But there was no case. He was only a messenger and if Stephanie had any faint hopes of going into a courtroom again, she’d change her mind once he’d laid out the facts.
    David smiled thinly, and tromped down on the gas.

CHAPTER SIX
    D UST rose into the air as Stephanie lugged her suitcase down from the shelf in the attic.
    She sneezed, wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and dumped the suitcase on the floor.
    This was not the best place to spend an already warm May morning. The attic was airless and hot. Dust and cobwebs clung to every surface, spiders skittered in the corners and every now and then she caught the sound of mice behind the walls.
    Stephanie shivered, despite the heat. She hoped they were mice, anyway.
    The attic was depressing, too. It