Page 50 of A Legal Affair

“You missed my class,” Caleb said, deadpan.

“So I did.” Mouth curving, Daniela leaned in the doorway and crossed one ankle over the other, drawling, “Are you the truancy officer?”

He frowned slightly. “I came to see if you were all right.”

“Aw, how sweet. I’m touched,Professor Thorne.” She slid him a look beneath the dense sweep of her lashes. “Do you extend this courtesy to all of your absentee students, or just the ones you ravish in closets?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned abruptly and started away.

“Wait!” Daniela called, realizing she’d unintentionally pushed him too far. She hurried onto the porch after him in her bare feet. “I was just teasing you! Thank you for being concerned about me. I really do appreciate it.”

“Goodnight, Miss Moreau,” he said over his shoulder.

She reached out, grabbing his arm before he could take another step. Hard muscles bunched and flexed beneath her fingers, sending heat pulsing through her veins. He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I didn’t blow off your class,” Daniela said softly. “I have the flu. I’ve been sick all weekend.”

He turned then, dark, assessing eyes roaming across her face. “Now that you mention it,” he murmured, “youhavelooked better.”

“Touché.” Daniela grinned. “You should’ve seen me on Saturday when my headwasn’tin the toilet.”

His mouth twitched. “Have a good evening, Miss Moreau,” he said quietly. “I hope you feel better.”

“Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee?”

When his gaze darkened, Daniela knew he was remembering their coffeehouse excursion, and a whole lot more.

A slow flush crawled up her neck. “Or, um, I could make you tea instead?”

When he hesitated, she warned half-seriously, “The longer we stand out here, the better the odds that old Mrs. Flores across the street will call the police to report you as an intruder. She’s ninety-eight years old and somewhat senile. Last year she called the cops on the mailman. The year before that it was the garbageman. Don’t look now—she’s staring out the window at us.”

Caleb scowled, but without any real rancor. Daniela tugged gently on his arm, and after another moment, he followed her into the house.

She swept a quick look around the living room, searching for anything that might betray her true identity. Thankfully,P.I. for Dummieswas not among the rows of assorted books lining the built-in bookshelves, nor was her monogrammed messenger bag anywhere in sight. Even if she could justify an interest in learning about private investigators, she’d have a hard time explaining why she owned a bag stamped with the initialsD.R.

“I was about to brave my first meal in two days,” she said, closing and locking the door behind him. She couldn’t believe he was here. In her home. It was surreal. “Do you like tortilla soup?”

“Sure,” Caleb answered, dipping his hands in his jeans pockets as he glanced around the living room with its overstuffed sofa and chairs and canvas oil paintings hung on shiplap walls. “You have a nice place.”

And you, sir, have a very nice tush, Daniela thought naughtily. Aloud she said, “You like my shabby chic look? See, I knew you were a man of discerning taste.”

He sent her a wry look over his shoulder. “My judgment can be flawed on occasion,” he said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t just talking about her decorating skills.

She gave him a guileless smile. “I’ll try not to hold it against you,” she quipped, brushing past him to head into the kitchen. When he followed, she waved him into a chair at the breakfast table, then lunged for the stack of mail she’d been sorting when he rang the doorbell—mail addressed to Daniela Roarke.

He raised a puzzled brow at her but said nothing as she hastily stuffed the letters inside one of the cabinet drawers.

Close call, she thought.

“Do you live here alone?” he asked, sitting down while she busied herself with dinner preparations, which consisted of heating up the tortilla soup and uncorking a bottle of pinot grigio.

She shook her head, filling two long-stemmed wineglasses. “My mother lives with me. She’s in Houston visiting her sister for the week.”

“Thanks,” Caleb murmured, accepting a glass from her. He took a sip, watching her over the rim in a way that heated her skin. “You two must be close. You and your mother, I mean.”

“We are.” As Daniela walked over to the stove to check the simmering tortilla soup, she grinned ruefully. “I must confess to being somewhat of a mama’s girl. When I bought this house three years ago, I had to convince my mom to move in with me, explaining that I wanted to help look after her, and that it made economic sense to combine our two households and save money on rent and utilities. While both of those reasons are true, the simple fact of the matter is that I wanted her around. I enjoy hercompany.” She glanced over her shoulder at Caleb. “Does that make me a loser?”

A gentle smile curved his mouth. “Not at all. I think it’s very sweet, actually.”