On Thin Ice (21 page)

“Yes, ah, I know.” His pasty complexion reddened. “The thing is, she turned it down.”

Turned it down? “Gabrielle turned down the promotion?”

Sid nodded. “Yesterday afternoon, when I met with her again. Not only turned the position down, but she’s resigned from CG and S. Effective immediately.”

Devlin could think of no reason why Gabrielle would turn down that promotion. Or why she would resign. It made no sense. Quit, just when she’d gotten the very thing she’d been scheming for?

“I thought you might know something about her decision,” Sid continued.

“No. Nothing.” What did it mean? Had she quit because she thought he’d expose her?

“Too bad. I don’t mind telling you it was the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. She came in here, said she was sorry but she couldn’t work here anymore, handed in her resignation, and was gone. Took her all of a minute.” He frowned and added petulantly, “Didn’t even give two weeks’ notice. Just up and quit.”

Sid continued talking, but Devlin didn’t listen. He was too busy trying to figure out Gabrielle’s game. She must think he was going to tell Sid about her background. It was the only reason he could come up with that explained her behavior. If that was her reasoning, though, all she had to do was call in her father and Devlin wouldn’t be a threat.

But she wouldn’t do that, he admitted. Just as he’d known, even as he accused her of it, that she hadn’t ordered a hit on Franco Sabatino. No matter how ambitious she was, he knew she wasn’t capable of ordering a man’s death. He’d said it because he was angry. Because he was hurt. Because she’d made him fall for her and prove himself a fool.

Sid’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “Well? What do you say?”

Pulled out of his reverie, Devlin glanced at him. “About what?”

Exasperated, Sid repeated, “The position, man. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

No, Devlin thought, but he didn’t tell Sid that. “I’ll have to think about it. The fact that I’m your second choice doesn’t do a lot for me.”

Sid flushed again. “Dammit, Sinclair, you can’t hold that against us. Think of your career.”

He intended to. In fact, he intended to think long and hard about a lot of things. “I’ll let you know.”

A week later, Devlin still hadn’t made up his mind. He went to work every day and tried to decide why he felt none of the old excitement, none of the anticipation he used to feel at the prospect of a new case, a new challenge. He’d been offered the plum position, a chance at partnership. Everything he’d wanted and intended to have. Why didn’t he accept Sid’s offer and get on with it?

There was a new clerk in the corporate department who’d been giving him the eye. She was blonde, beautiful, eager. And Devlin didn’t feel even a flicker of interest. Nothing. Not lust, not desire, not even mild appreciation. Rather, he felt drained, as vacant and empty as a dead man’s eyes. Damn Gabrielle, he thought. She’d messed with his head even worse than she had messed with his career. No woman since Celine had hurt him so badly, and he suspected that much of his pain then had sprung from hurt pride.

With Gabrielle it wasn’t his pride that hurt. Dammit, she’d broken his heart. Or he had broken it himself when he let her go.

Every time he walked into the law library he could see her poring over her work, her dark hair gleaming in the soft lamplight. He could see her taking off those horn-rimmed glasses, giving him a better look at those gorgeous green eyes. Or he’d pass by her office and see her desk, and remember what she’d looked like the night they’d made love in there.

He couldn’t listen to the classical music station on the radio without wanting to throw something. He couldn’t sleep worth crap because often as not, she was in his dreams. And if he wasn’t dreaming about making love with her, he was dreaming about the bleak, hopeless expression in her eyes the last time he saw her. That was worse. Much, much worse. Dammit, she was ruining his life, and she wasn’t even in it anymore.

She’d set up a law office not too far from CG&S. A few streets over, in a cheaper section of town. Apparently, she and Nina still kept in touch, because he’d overheard Nina talking about it. Gabrielle had made no effort to contact him. But why would she, after everything he’d said to her?

But what about what she’d done to him? She’d lied, though he could hardly fault her for that. At least at first. But after they’d become lovers she could have told him. Could have at least tried . . . But he wouldn’t have been any more understanding, he knew. The idea that she’d played him for a fool would have taken hold and he wouldn’t have listened to her, no matter when she told him or what her explanation was.

He’d been wrong about Gabrielle, just as he’d been wrong about Donati. A few days earlier the circumstances surrounding Sabatino’s death had come out. The man in custody for the murder was not connected with Donati in any way. So she hadn’t been lying about that, either.

Devlin swung his chair around to gaze out his window. Not as good a view of the Dallas skyline as Sid’s office presented, but he could remedy that soon. If he wanted to. He could have everything; it was there for the taking. Everything he’d thought he wanted, and nothing he now knew he needed.

Because none of it meant a damn thing if Gabrielle wasn’t there to share it with him.

One more wall down,
Gabrielle thought with satisfaction, laying the paint roller in the nearly empty tray. Not a bad job, especially considering she was no painter. Absently, she wiped her hands on the back of her cutoffs. So what if she’d put nearly as much paint in her hair and on her clothes as on the office walls? It was looking good. Another couple of days and she’d be ready to open. Her new office wasn’t impressive, but it was functional. And it was all hers. She’d hung out her shingle that morning: Gabrielle Rousseau, Attorney-at-law.

She was happy, she decided. Maybe not ecstatically happy, but she was at peace. With her father, with her career, with herself. If there was a huge, gaping hole in her life, she would soon have enough work to fill it. In time she would succeed, she knew that. And she would work with the clients she wanted to work with, clients she chose to work with. She was in charge of her own destiny now, and she found she liked it very much.

But Lord, she missed Devlin so much at times, she could hardly breathe for the pain. She was surviving, but she wondered if the ache would ever dull. What was he doing? Had he already moved into Sid’s office? Nina hadn’t said so, but after Gabrielle had bitten her head off the first few times Nina had mentioned Devlin, she’d quit talking about him.

Was he happy? Did he miss her?

Right. Somehow she couldn’t picture Devlin moping around with a broken heart. He was a lot more likely to find some gorgeous babe to help him heal it. And there were plenty of those around when the man in question was Devlin Sinclair.

Gabrielle didn’t blame him for hating her. Not much. But she did blame him for believing that she’d had Franco killed. That had hurt. Had they known each other at all? If they had, how could he believe her capable of ordering a man’s death?

It’s over,
she thought,
so quit torturing yourself.
She moved the ladder, picked up the paint can, and started refilling the tray.

“Nice digs,” a voice said from the doorway.

The can jerked, spattering paint on the ladder, the drop cloth, and her legs. Devlin’s voice. The sound of it swept through her, giving her sudden joy, followed by a mix of feelings ranging from pain to happiness. Her heart thudded so loudly, she could hardly think. Carefully, she set the can down and turned to face him.

For a long moment she studied him, drinking in the sight of him. He looked as good as ever, with the sleeves of his baby-blue dress shirt rolled up and that knock-’em-dead smile on his face, but she thought his eyes looked strained. Maybe he
had
missed her. “I like it,” she said, wondering how she could sound so calm.

Hands stuffed in the pockets of his navy slacks, he strolled in and looked around. “So, how’s business?”

Unsure of his motive for being there, she simply stared at him. He expected her to make small talk, she thought, when all she could hear were the echoes of their last conversation? Bitter, hurtful, angry words. And though she understood his feelings, she couldn’t pretend the words had never been said. But it was his move, so she answered him in kind.

“Not open yet,” she said, raising her chin and meeting his gaze. “How’s CG and S?”

He shrugged and didn’t speak, taking another turn around the room before he halted in front of her. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, then cupped it. “You’ve got paint on your face.”

For an instant, she closed her eyes, and her breath drew in at his touch. “I’ve got paint everywhere,” she managed to say, with a creditable attempt at nonchalance.

His hand lingered when she started to move away, then his other one came up to frame her face. “God, I’ve missed you,” he said.

She saw the truth of it in his eyes. He really had missed her, and God knows, she’d missed him too. Unable to speak, she gazed at him with a lump the size of Texas lodged in her throat. When she didn’t move, he leaned forward and she knew he was going to kiss her. Quickly, she jerked her face away and backed up a step, nearly turning over the paint tray in the process. Kissing him would solve nothing. It would only hurt her more because she still didn’t know why he was there.

“What do you want, Devlin?” Retreating to the window, she strove desperately for balance, for calm as she asked the question, but she could hear the quaver in her voice, and she knew he could too.

“That’s the same question I’ve been asking myself. And I think I finally figured out the answer.” His gaze locked with hers. “I want you, Gabrielle.”

He wanted her. But then, sex had never been the problem between them. She didn’t answer.

He took a step forward and spoke again. “I want you back.”

Wanted her back? Just like that? With no discussion, no nothing? Was she supposed to fall into his arms simply because he snapped his fingers? After the things he’d said, and worse, the things he thought her capable of?

Her expression hardened. “Really?” she asked sarcastically. “I’m the same woman you accused just a week ago of having Sabatino murdered. The same woman you think betrayed you to further her career, the same woman—”

“The woman I’m in love with,” he interrupted. “The woman I never believed ordered Sabatino’s death.”

Damn, his voice made his words sound so convincing. She ought to be used to it, after years of hearing lawyers speak. “You certainly gave a good impression of believing it.”

“I was hurt. Angry. I lashed out.” He frowned and threw a hand up in the air. “Hell, Gabrielle, what did you expect? It blew me away when I realized who you were. And then after Sid offered you the promotion—”

“You automatically assumed that because my father is Mafia, that I must operate the same way.”

He rammed his fingers through his hair. “You’d been lying to me for weeks. Lying from the minute we met. It didn’t inspire a lot of confidence, no matter how much I
wanted
to believe you were different. No matter how much I wanted to believe you had a good reason for what you were doing.”

Turning her back, she gazed out the window. She should have told him the truth that last night, if not before. But she’d been afraid of what the truth would do, so she hadn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Hell, I haven’t done anything
but
think for the past week. If making partner had been your only goal, than you’d never have quit CG and S. If you’d been the woman I accused you of being, you’d never have quit. And I knew, deep down, that you weren’t that woman.”

Admitting that she was to blame as well wasn’t easy. Her back still toward him, she said, “You had good reason to feel the way you did.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”