Nora Roberts - Mind Over Matter - the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

“You’re willing to do that because she’ll be your biggest draw. I also understand ratings.”

“Seven.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten.”

“Done.” A.J. rose. Normally the deal would have left her fully satisfied. Because her temper wasn’t completely under control it was difficult to appreciate the fact that she’d gotten exactly what she’d intended to get. “I’ll look for the revised contracts.”

“I’ll send them by messenger tomorrow afternoon. That phone call…” He paused as he rose. “You wouldn’t be dealing with me without it, would you?”

She studied him a moment and cursed him for being sharp, intelligent and intuitive. All the things she needed for her client. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Be sure to thank Clarissa for me.” With a smile smug enough to bring her temper back to boil he offered his hand.

“Goodbye, Mr….” When their hands met this time, her voice died. Feelings ran into her with the impact of a slap, leaving her weak and breathless. Apprehension, desire, fury and delight rolled through her at the touch of flesh to flesh. She had only a moment to berate herself for allowing temper to open the door.

“Ms. Fields?” She was staring at him, through him, as though he were an apparition just risen from the floorboards. In his, her hand was limp and icy. Automatically David took her arm. If he’d ever seen a woman about to faint, he was seeing one now. “You’d better sit down.”

“What?” Though shaken, A.J. willed herself back. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I must have been thinking of something else.” But as she spoke, she broke all contact with him and stepped back. “Too much coffee, too little sleep.” And stay away from me, she said desperately to herself as she leaned back on the desk. Just stay away. “I’m glad we could do business, Mr. Brady. I’ll pass everything along to my client.”

Her color was back, her eyes were clear. Still David hesitated. A moment before she’d looked fragile enough to crumble in his hands. “Sit down.”

“I beg your—”

“Damn it, sit.” He took her by the elbow and nudged her into a chair. “Your hands are shaking.” Before she could do anything about it, he was kneeling in front of her. “I’d advise canceling that dinner appointment and getting a good night’s sleep.”

She curled her hands together on her lap to keep him from touching her again. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned.”

“I generally take a personal interest when a woman all but faints at my feet.”

The sarcastic tone settled the flutters in her stomach. “Oh, I’m sure you do.” But then he took her face in his hand and had her jerking. “Stop that.”

Her skin was as soft as it looked, but he would keep that thought for later. “Purely a clinical touch, Ms. Fields. You’re not my type.”

Her eyes chilled. “Where do I give thanks?”

He wondered why the cool outrage in her eyes made him want to laugh. To laugh, and to taste her. “Very good,” he murmured, and straightened. “Lay off the coffee,” he advised, and left her alone before he did something ridiculous.

And alone, A.J. brought her knees up to her chest and pressed her face to them. What was she going to do now? she demanded as she tried to squeeze herself into a ball. What in God’s name was she going to do?

A.J. seriously considered stopping for a hamburger before going on to dinner at Clarissa’s. She didn’t have the heart for it. Besides, if she was hungry enough she would be able to make a decent showing out of actually eating whatever Clarissa prepared.

With the sunroof open, she sat back and tried to enjoy the forty-minute drive from her office to the suburbs. Beside her was a slim leather portfolio that held the contracts David Brady’s office had delivered, as promised. Since the changes she’d requested had been made, she couldn’t grumble. There was absolutely no substantial reason for her to object to the deal, or to her client working with Brady. All she had was a feeling. She’d been working on that since the previous afternoon.

It had been overwork, she told herself. She hadn’t felt anything but a quick, momentary dizziness because she’d stood so fast. She hadn’t felt anything for or about David Brady.

But she had. A.J. cursed herself for the next ten miles before she brought herself under control.

She couldn’t afford to be the least bit upset when she arrived in Newport Beach. There was no hiding such things from a woman like Clarissa DeBasse. She would have to be able to discuss not only the contract terms, but David Brady himself with complete objectivity or Clarissa would home in like radar.

For the next ten miles she considered stopping at a phone booth and begging off. She didn’t have the heart for that, either.

Relax, A.J. ordered herself, and tried to imagine she was home in her apartment, doing long, soothing yoga exercises. It helped, and as the tension in her muscles eased, she turned up the radio. She kept it high until she turned the engine off in front of the tidy suburban home she’d helped pick out.

A.J. always felt a sense of self-satisfaction as she strolled up the walk. The house suited Clarissa, with its neat green lawn and pretty white shutters. It was true that with the success of her books and public appearances Clarissa could afford a house twice as big in Beverly Hills. But nothing would fit her as comfortably as this tidy brick ranch.

Shifting the brown bag that held wine under her arm, A.J. pushed open the door she knew was rarely locked. “Hello! I’m a six-foot-two, three-hundred-and-twenty-pound burglar come to steal all your jewelry. Care to give me a hand?”

“Oh, did I forget to lock it again?” Clarissa came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an already smeared and splattered apron. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, her lips already curved in greeting.

“Yes, you forgot to lock it again.” Even with an armload of wine, A.J. managed to hug her. Then she kissed both cheeks as she tried to unobtrusively sniff out what was going on in the kitchen.

“It’s meat loaf,” Clarissa told her. “I got a new recipe.”

“Oh.” A.J. might have managed the smile if she hadn’t remembered the last meat loaf so clearly. Instead she concentrated on the woman. “You look wonderful. I’d swear you were running into L.A. and sneaking into Elizabeth Arden’s once a week.”

“Oh, I can’t be bothered with all that. It’s too much worrying that causes lines and sags, anyway. You should remember that.”

“So I look like a hag, do I?” A.J. dropped her portfolio on the table and stepped out of her shoes.

“You know I didn’t mean that, but I can tell you’re worried about something.”

“Dinner,” A.J. told her, evading. “I only had time for a half a sandwich at lunch.”

“There, I’ve told you a dozen times you don’t eat properly. Come into the kitchen. I’m sure everything’s about ready.”

Satisfied that she’d distracted Clarissa, A.J. started to follow.

“Then you can tell me what’s really bothering you.”

“Doesn’t miss a trick,” A.J. muttered as the doorbell rang.

“Get that for me, will you?” Clarissa cast an anxious glance at the kitchen. “I really should check the brussels sprouts.”

“Brussels sprouts?” A.J. could only grimace as Clarissa disappeared into the kitchen. “Bad enough I have to eat the meat loaf, but brussels sprouts. I should have had the hamburger.” When she opened the door her brows were already lowered.

“You look thrilled to see me.”

One hand still on the knob, she stared at David. “What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner.” Without waiting for an invitation, David stepped forward and stood with her in the open doorway. “You’re tall. Even without your shoes.”