Read Online The Baby Verdict by Cathy Williams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cathy Williams
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that a matter for complaint
Now, she thought, What would it be like to be a Rachel? Blonde and fluffy and undemanding, with bedroom eyes and a smile that promised sex?
Ridiculous notion, she told herself shakily.
But now that the thought had taken root, it began eating away inside her, nibbling insidiously at all her firmly held beliefs that intelligence in a woman was what mattered, that men who were attracted to the outside packaging were not the sort of men she could ever be interested in.
She heard his voice wash over her as he discussed intricacies of the lawsuit, and she knew that she was responding with all the correct answers, but it was as if she was suddenly functioning on autopilot, while her brain wandered along its merry way.
She was not an unattractive woman. She knew that. True, she might not be overtly sexy in the way that the Rachels of this world were, but neither was she a picture of plainness. Her problem, she realised, was her inability to play up her good points. Her figure was quite acceptable, but she never wore tight clothes. Her long, well-shaped legs were always hidden under calf-length skirts or trousers. Her hair, thick and long and naturally blonde, was always pinned back severely into her neck. Her approach was essential in her career, but it hardly turned heads, did it?
Just thinking like this flustered her, and she couldnât wait for the meal to finish, hastily rejecting his offer to help with the washing-up, rambling on about doing it herself after he had gone because she found it strangely relaxing. Good heavens. Washing dishes was something she found strangely tedious, but the thought of standing next to him at a kitchen sink and doing a mundane domestic chore was almost beyond her level of tolerance.
âWhat about the drawings?â he asked, after she had cleared the table and positioned herself by the kitchen door in readiness for his departure. He stood up, stretched slightly, and she dragged her eyes away from him.
âIn the sitting room, I guess,â she said brightly, with a sinking heart. She had forgotten the wretched drawings.
They walked through to the sitting room, where the lighting seemed mellow and intimate after the fluorescent glare of the overhead kitchen lights, and she sat down on the edge of the sofa and waited as he pulled some papers out of his briefcase.
Then he sat next to her and spread the drawings out on die low, square coffee-table in front of them. His weight had depressed the sofa. She could feel her thigh lightly touching his and she did her utmost to ignore the sensation. She peered obligingly at the various angles he was pointing out to her, and she nodded and made all the right noises under her breath, but her eyes were mesmerised by his long fingers, and against her his thigh was scorching through her jeans, making all her nerve-endings come alive.
These are the originals,â he said, inclining very slightly to look at her, and their eyes tangled, brown with blue. Their faces were so close that she could see the fine lines around his eyes, could appreciate the dark thickness of his eyelashes. Could eyelashes be sultry? There was something sultry about his eyelashes. âNaturally, I shall get copies for the court appearance next week.â
âNaturally,â Jessica said faintly.
âIf you want to hang on to these for the weekend...? Have a look at them?â He was looking at his watch, standing up, and she wondered whether he had had enough of her company now. The novelty of conversing with an intelligent woman was wearing off. It was time for him to be on his way. His mind was already striding ahead, planning the rest of his weekend. Was there a replacement Rachel hovering somewhere in the wings? Probably.
âYes, that would be helpful.â She levered herself off the couch and plastered a bland but wide smile on her face. âNow, I think my work with you is pretty much finished,â she said, holding
Now, she thought, What would it be like to be a Rachel? Blonde and fluffy and undemanding, with bedroom eyes and a smile that promised sex?
Ridiculous notion, she told herself shakily.
But now that the thought had taken root, it began eating away inside her, nibbling insidiously at all her firmly held beliefs that intelligence in a woman was what mattered, that men who were attracted to the outside packaging were not the sort of men she could ever be interested in.
She heard his voice wash over her as he discussed intricacies of the lawsuit, and she knew that she was responding with all the correct answers, but it was as if she was suddenly functioning on autopilot, while her brain wandered along its merry way.
She was not an unattractive woman. She knew that. True, she might not be overtly sexy in the way that the Rachels of this world were, but neither was she a picture of plainness. Her problem, she realised, was her inability to play up her good points. Her figure was quite acceptable, but she never wore tight clothes. Her long, well-shaped legs were always hidden under calf-length skirts or trousers. Her hair, thick and long and naturally blonde, was always pinned back severely into her neck. Her approach was essential in her career, but it hardly turned heads, did it?
Just thinking like this flustered her, and she couldnât wait for the meal to finish, hastily rejecting his offer to help with the washing-up, rambling on about doing it herself after he had gone because she found it strangely relaxing. Good heavens. Washing dishes was something she found strangely tedious, but the thought of standing next to him at a kitchen sink and doing a mundane domestic chore was almost beyond her level of tolerance.
âWhat about the drawings?â he asked, after she had cleared the table and positioned herself by the kitchen door in readiness for his departure. He stood up, stretched slightly, and she dragged her eyes away from him.
âIn the sitting room, I guess,â she said brightly, with a sinking heart. She had forgotten the wretched drawings.
They walked through to the sitting room, where the lighting seemed mellow and intimate after the fluorescent glare of the overhead kitchen lights, and she sat down on the edge of the sofa and waited as he pulled some papers out of his briefcase.
Then he sat next to her and spread the drawings out on die low, square coffee-table in front of them. His weight had depressed the sofa. She could feel her thigh lightly touching his and she did her utmost to ignore the sensation. She peered obligingly at the various angles he was pointing out to her, and she nodded and made all the right noises under her breath, but her eyes were mesmerised by his long fingers, and against her his thigh was scorching through her jeans, making all her nerve-endings come alive.
These are the originals,â he said, inclining very slightly to look at her, and their eyes tangled, brown with blue. Their faces were so close that she could see the fine lines around his eyes, could appreciate the dark thickness of his eyelashes. Could eyelashes be sultry? There was something sultry about his eyelashes. âNaturally, I shall get copies for the court appearance next week.â
âNaturally,â Jessica said faintly.
âIf you want to hang on to these for the weekend...? Have a look at them?â He was looking at his watch, standing up, and she wondered whether he had had enough of her company now. The novelty of conversing with an intelligent woman was wearing off. It was time for him to be on his way. His mind was already striding ahead, planning the rest of his weekend. Was there a replacement Rachel hovering somewhere in the wings? Probably.
âYes, that would be helpful.â She levered herself off the couch and plastered a bland but wide smile on her face. âNow, I think my work with you is pretty much finished,â she said, holding
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