A Just Deception Read Free Page B

another suitable one.”
    Before reaching the stairs, he stopped and she plowed into the back of him. His mind screamed to keep going and head right out the front door.
    He grabbed the oak railing and zipped around. Her big blue eyes gazed up at him. She was tall for a woman—five-nine—but he still had a few inches on her. Why did it always have to be this way between them? The constant pushing. Probably his own fault, but at some point he had learned to duck and cover. He didn’t fit in his parents’ world, and rather than embarrass them or cause himself grief, it was easier to steer clear.
    “I like the cottage, it’s quiet. And I’ve been living alone a long time. I like the privacy.”
    “We wouldn’t bother you here.”
    He stifled a laugh. Yeah, and Santa will drop a flock of nymphomaniacs at my door tonight.
    “Fine.” She backed up a step. “I’ll have Marguerite make a plate for you. We’ll leave it at the cottage.”
    Now she was pissed. Again. Shit.
    “Mom?”
    She waved, but kept walking. “It’s all right, Peter. I should know by now not to pressure you.”
    He should say something. He knew it. But he also knew anything he came up with would be gas on fire, and he’d spent years letting the fire burn out on its own. It was better that way.
    At least he thought so.
    No. He’d go on his way now, handle this thing with Vic’s friend and then deal with his mother. He was stuck here for a few weeks on this forced R&R because, apparently, he couldn’t function at work. He might as well make himself useful and try to understand what his mother needed from him. At least he’d get something accomplished, and fixing something—anything—was all he needed now.

Chapter Three
    At eight forty-five the next morning, Peter pushed the elevator button in the Edmonds, Baker and Associates law firm building and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. These big corporate centers with their marble floors and cavernous lobbies gave him a rash. And him without his Benadryl.
    Not to mention the dress shirt and slacks. He pulled the stiff collar off his neck. Marguerite, as usual, had saved his ass and gotten everything cleaned and pressed. Even with the lightest possible starch, the shirt irked him.
    The stainless steel elevator doors slid open. Peter and an overweight, middle-aged guy stepped on. And hellooooo to the smoking hot brunette showing just enough cleavage to make a man want more. She stood toward the back of the elevator and must have come up from the lower level parking entrance.
    A stone-cold fox.
    Dark, chin-length hair, green, laser-sharp eyes and cheekbones belonging on a magazine cover. Stunning. Typically, women like her didn’t notice Peter until they saw his bank account.
    The schmo that entered the elevator with Peter pushed the button for two and, out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the brunette roll her eyes. He couldn’t take the stairs one flight?
    The number eight was already lit up. He and the hot brunette were going to the same floor. Must be fate.
    He shifted right to surreptitiously admire her. Why not? He had to wait for the jackass to get off at two anyway and couldn’t resist watching how the overhead light made her hair shine. The rest of her was a definite bonus.
    She carried her briefcase over one shoulder and her sleeveless blouse showcased one hell of a coiled biceps. She spent serious time in the gym. He could appreciate that because maintaining his ten percent body fat had become a priority. She gave him a sideways look.
    Yep, she’d caught him, but he couldn’t help admiring a physically fit woman. Hell, he’d been known to get a hard-on at the gym when he saw a toned woman sweating like a linebacker in the fourth quarter.
    The elevator door dinged and the jackass got off. When the doors closed, the brunette swung to her left and faced Peter.
    He smiled.
    She pursed her lips.
    Oh baby, what he’d like to do with those lips. Good, pouty lips that he could