An Affair Across Times Square

by Rachell Nicole

  She let the halter fall down, exposing her uncovered breasts. She smiled at his sharp intake of breath, glad to know she could still steer his attention to safer topics. She dipped her finger in the chocolate coating her plate. She spread it along the top of her left breast, then dipped her head to lick it off. The cold path of saliva left in the wake of her tongue made chills spring up along her skin.

  “Damn it, Ms. Marietta. That’s got to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Won’t be in a few minutes,” she promised. Maybe she couldn’t let him know her, but she sure as hell could rock his world. She wanted to. “Mmm. I’ve always been a fan of chocolate on chocolate.” She licked her breast clean, careful not to leave even one sticky drop. He made no noise as he watched her, though she could hear his increasing breath.

  She wondered if he could hear the wet rasps of her tongue. She leaned forward in the chair, propping her forearm on the table. She slipped her finger back into the chocolate and brought it to her mouth. She sucked her covered digit between her lips and cleaned it with the same aching precision. Each pull of her mouth and flick of her tongue coiled her nerve endings tighter.

  “Agh, you’re killing me,” he ground out through clenched teeth. One of his hands held tightly to the edge of the table. The other had disappeared beneath the white cloth.

  Good. A thrill went through her at the thought of what he was doing with that other hand. She liked that she couldn’t see it. The mystery of what he might be doing made her heart pound.

  She pulled her finger from her mouth with a soft pop and rubbed her right nipple with wetness. She shook at the sensations coursing through her. She watched his right arm move, wondering what it would feel like to have him touch her. She let herself indulge in that thought for a moment. Imagined his fingers plunging deep. Her womb tightened in response.

  She watched him move his arm, and spread her legs.

  “I’m not wearing anything under this dress,” she whispered.

  He moaned. “Oh, God.”

  “I’m going to slide my hand up the inside of my thigh, right through the slit in the dress. And I’m going to slip my fingers inside, and I’m going to come for you.”

  His lips parted on a silent groan. He was close to orgasm. She wanted to join him. She pushed the silky fabric away and gasped as a cool breeze washed over her clit. Layla moved her fingers around that bundle of nerve endings once. Twice. Then she dipped her hand lower, slipping two fingers inside. She made a soft squeak in her throat at the contact. Who knew you could get so worked up with barely a few touches?

  Still she watched him. She needed more. She wanted more.

  “What’s your first name?” she said, panting.

  His hand froze for the briefest of moments, and a small smile broke out on his face.

  “I want to know what name to scream in a few seconds. Hurry.” Her voice came out higher than normal. Strained. God, he’d better answer her soon.

  “Tyler.”

  He licked his upper lip, opening his mouth again as his hand continued to move. Hers was just as busy under the table, and she angled her fingers up, deeper, adding a third. Then she moved her right hand from its grip on the table to flick her clit. He groaned just as she started to come.

  And she screamed his name.

  SHIT. THAT WASN’T how he imagined the night progressing. Tyler grabbed a napkin off the table and cleaned himself up. He should be wooing her, not letting them get all hot and sweaty. But damn. That little stint with the chocolate and it had been all over for him.

  She’d asked for his name.

  And hearing it on her lips had been like the best Christmas and birthday presents he’d ever received, all wrapped into one. Her smile as she sat up straight was completely devilish. Like the cat that ate the canary and the dog’s bone, then lay down to take a nap. He wondered if he had the same look on his face. Probably. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

  “I should go now…Tyler. It’s getting late, and I’m sure you have to be back in that office bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  The pause before she said his name told him she knew they had more than just some sordid fling. His efforts at wooing her had been successful, at least in part. And he refused to give up now. It was almost time for a pinch hitter. But not yet.

  “I, uh, had a fu—a nice time,” she amended.

  He was starting to learn his opponent, the way he did in the courtroom. If he pushed too hard, too soon, she’d flee again. So he would bide his time, waiting for the linchpin to present itself. Waiting for the time when he would lay out all the facts, the undeniable proof that something more than passion flamed between them.

  Tonight was not that time.

  “I had a fucking nice time too.” He could keep things light. He would. Because that was where she wanted them to be for now. And for now, he’d be okay with that.

  She laughed, and with that sound still in his ears, he whispered good night and disconnected the line. Better to leave now, while he was up by three, than to wait around to say something stupid. She waved good-bye and waited, watching him clean up his office. He felt her eyes on him like the trickle of a hot finger down his spine, both comforting and erotic. He liked the idea that she might also be getting a bit swept up in their blooming relationship. But he needed to get to work. He would be back in the office bright and early, and something told him he’d have quite a bitch of a night trying to sleep.

  He finished rearranging things where they belonged and loaded the trays and plates and folded table onto a wheeled cart he’d left in the hallway. Then he waved good-bye and blew her a kiss. She didn’t turn her cheek this time, and he grinned as he left. He still didn’t know Ms. Marietta’s name. But she knew his, and boy, had she known how to use it.

  He returned the cart and trays to the hotel and went on his merry way home, knowing all the way that he was turning into a lovesick fool, and not caring one bit. He got to his apartment and tried to focus on the case; he really did. But he only lasted half an hour before he was bounding around the small but open space, listening to music and doing anything he could to get rid of the nervous energy. After a few hours of lifting dumbbells and cleaning and reorganizing his entire place, he tried to go to sleep. An hour later, he closed his eyes.

  He woke to a horrible sound. Not his six a.m. alarm clock. That would have been much more preferable. No, this morning, he had the pleasure of waking up to the ringing of his phone and the bright light of sunshine in his face.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tyler sat in Johnson’s office, his gaze on the older man. It would do him no good to look down or avoid his boss’s glare as he continued his tirade. Johnson didn’t yell, and Tyler wasn’t twelve and sitting in the principal’s office, but it sure as shit felt like that.

  “I’ve seen the card logs from the security system. I know how many hours you’ve been working, so I could maybe overlook your lateness this morning, almost. What I cannot ignore is the call I got from the DA wondering why the blasted hell they didn’t have our witness list. I cannot ignore the fact that you’ve been putting in all of these extra hours and coming up empty-handed. You haven’t even scheduled your visit to see Paulson yet. What the hell, Lachlan? What am I supposed to take from this? You’ve been giving it everything you’ve got for the past twelve months, and your performance was still damned good before then. Whatever is going on, son, it ends now.”

  Shit. He’d known from the beginning that she would distract him, that getting involved in any kind of relationship would pull his focus away. Let alone one he had to engage in while at work, with a woman who didn’t trust him, one who had weaseled her way so far under his skin he couldn’t function. How had he lost focus so quickly? He’d only been entangled in her web for a few days, and it was threatening to tank his whole career. His whole plan.

  “There’s no excuse, sir. I’ve been looking for the linchpin. Trying to see the whole picture and
seal the deal on this case. I was dragging my feet on the list,” he lied, “for just a few more hours to see if I could find it.”

  “I need you to do your job, Lachlan.”

  But he needed that undeniable proof. He didn’t want to win on a technicality. He wanted to make sure everyone knew Paulson was innocent. That he hadn’t killed Jeannie Rose. Tyler had to prove that the cops were wrong and needed to go looking for the real killer. But the time for stalling had long since passed.

  “Of course. I just know how hot the DA is over this. I know he’s out for blood, and I wanted to have an ace in the hole.” He stared at his boss, hoping to project his truthful dedication to this case. He did want that ace in the whole. But that was not what had been taking up all his time. “And I think better here. In my office. With the city below me. I don’t know why—it’s just how the process works.”

  “Well, you get that list together and get it over to their office. And I mean like six hours ago.” The grim lines on Johnson’s face made the man look closer to sixty than fifty today. Getting called into a partner’s office like this did not bode well. If Tyler didn’t know any better, he would have thought the man was worried about the case. Why would he care about the stupid pro bono case? Wasn’t the fact that they took it on good enough press for the firm? Maybe the man just couldn’t handle the idea of a loss on the firm’s record. “Then you get down to see Paulson, and you find our ace, because we might actually need it. The judge has approved another push forward. Jury selection starts next week.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tyler stood and shook the man’s hand, then forced himself not to run to his office, praying the curtains across the street stayed closed. Maybe not forever, but at least until he got his head screwed on straight. He sifted through the papers he’d put back in his briefcase last night and found the fax number that snarky woman had given him on the phone. He tried to call her back, but she was out.

  He compiled the list in record time, checking it twice. He couldn’t afford a mistake now. He faxed the paperwork over and called the jail where Paulson was being held. He made an appointment for later that afternoon, and the curtain opened. He hadn’t meant to look. He meant to take all his shit into the conference room on the pretense of using the big table to spread everything out.

  But she sat there in a chair, her feet tucked under her, a cup of coffee cradled in her long fingers. He did the only thing he could. He shook his head and ran away like a pansy.

  WHAT THE FUCK? Layla sat staring at the window across Times Square. She blinked a few times, looking for the cartoonlike streaks behind him. She’d never gotten a brush-off quite like it, and it burned her chest. She swallowed a too-hot gulp of coffee and winced as it scalded a path down her esophagus. Mr. Times Square, Tyler, had barely acknowledged her presence before turning tail and hauling ass out of there like the building had caught fire.

  She didn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense. He’d been in full Prince Charming mode last night. If she’d been on a first or second date with him, she would have thought he was working hard to get into her pants. He’d already done that, in a manner of speaking. As dates went, it had been the nicest one she’d been on in…well, ever. She took another sip, hoping it would chase away the numbness. But the hot coffee couldn’t fix the sour taste in her mouth.

  Damn him.

  No, damn me. She couldn’t blame him for her letting him close enough to hurt her. She should know better. Maybe he’d had his fill of the crazy exhibitionist across the street. Maybe he’d realize that no nice, sane woman would do what she’d been doing. But no one had ever accused her of being sane. Nuts, sure. Trouble, absolutely. Sane hadn’t ever been high on anyone’s list of adjectives to describe Layla Morgan.

  She thought back to high school, to college, wondering what Marge would say if she could see her now. She yanked the curtains closed and sat, refusing to acknowledge the burning in her throat that now had nothing to do with hot coffee and everything to do with stupidly letting herself get carried away. Letting herself hope that this time would be different.

  How could she have been so idiotic to think she could bend the rules without someone getting hurt? She wasn’t usually the first one the fallout reached, though. And something about this one seemed to dig deeper. Maybe because she’d put the rules in place and so quickly disregarded them. Maybe because Tyler seemed intrigued by her wild nature instead of fearful of it. Her ringing phone made her jump. She looked at the caller ID.

  Brian. Certainly not the person she should be talking to right now. She might do something really stupid, like cry in front of her boss. But she couldn’t not answer.

  “Hello?” she said, biting her bottom lip.

  “Hey, Layla. I was wondering where you put that list from Malcolm, Johnson, and Klein. The witness list for the Paulson case?”

  That asshole.

  “I was assured it would be sitting on our fax machine by eight a.m. I blasted somebody over there but good on Friday. Lachlan.” She didn’t feel bad passing along his name. He deserved whatever he got. That list should have been in last week.

  “Well, I’ve put a call in over there. I did that before I thought to call you. And, of course, I didn’t want to wake you. I know your sleep schedule’s a bit screwbally. But if you’re up, could you maybe come in for a while? We could use your help in here today. The judge has agreed to move up the trial date.”

  A few days ago she’d wanted nothing more than to escape from this city and go home. And with the fresh sting of Mr. TS’s rejection, maybe that would be best. But she didn’t think they’d be ready for the trial quick enough. Despite the recent brush-off from across the street, she still wanted to see Mr. Times Square again, if only to ask what he was doing.

  “We go in to do jury selection next week.”

  Shit. That soon? She knew Bob would use all his connections as mayor to push the case through quickly, but jeez. “I’ll be there within the hour.” She had some serious work ahead of her.

  “Thanks, Layla. See you in a bit.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice, picture it on his face. For the first time in over three weeks, the thought didn’t come accompanied by a flash of heat and the following guilt and admonishment. She hung up the phone before she could examine the reasoning behind her lack of reaction. Making sure the curtains were closed and not going anywhere anytime soon, she jumped in the shower and got ready to go in to the office. It wasn’t like she’d had anything special planned for today. Except maybe a quick nooner.

  That thought had been destroyed with the shake of a head.

  Forty minutes later she walked into Brian’s office. His greeting smile thawed some of her frostiness.

  “Got the list, right after I got off the phone with you. They’re scrambling to make this work. The witnesses they want to pull, I can’t believe it. Character witnesses for the most part. It’s pitiable. Really, they should skip the trial and put this scumbag away for life. I think they may be considering putting the psycho on the stand. Not that I’d mind. It would make things go a lot smoother if they did. I’d rip his pathetic story to shreds.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say. She knew Paulson had to pay for what he’d done to Jeannie Rose, but the idea of not even having a trial scared her. Worse, she’d never heard Brian talk like that before. Not in the few weeks she’d been here this time and not on her last trip either. She sat in the single chair facing his desk. He handed her the list, and she couldn’t help but notice as his gold cuff link glimmered in the light. She’d spent the last three weeks wondering if she should ask him about them. He still wasn’t wearing the set she’d bought him two years ago, before he’d gotten back together with Stephanie. But that was for the best.

  “Where would you like me to start?”

  “I want you to pull any case you can find that convicted a murderer without the weapon. I’d like a full list as soon as you can get it together.”

  She started running through cases in her he
ad, knowing which ones she’d look for first. If she could stay focused on the task before her, on finding the right evidence for Brian, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the ache she still felt burning in her chest.

  * * * *

  Two hours later Layla was bending over a filing cabinet, looking through the index for Columbia’s case files, when she heard the door open.

  “Hi, Layla,” Brian said from behind her. Like right behind her. She straightened quickly, determined to put some physical distance between them. She spun to face him, and he still stood too damned close.

  “Hi. I was just pulling another index to see if I can’t get the files you want straight from Columbia instead of having copies faxed or e-mailed over.”

  “Good. That’s great. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some things, and I’ve got a spare minute. Do you think you could take a break for a few?” He smiled.

  “I don’t know. My boss is a real hard-ass. He might get a bit perturbed if I’m seen lying down on the job.”

  Something other than amusement flashed in his eyes for a moment, but then he chuckled. He reached out and rubbed her upper arm. She stiffened at the touch. Oh, no—absolutely no touching allowed! She moved back, waiting for the rush of heat that made her want to jump this man. To strip off every piece of fabric he was wearing and have her way with him right here in the basement archives. She’d fantasized enough about it in the past. But the rush never came. Instead, she just felt awkward.

  “So…what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “My wife.”

  Okay, not what she’d expected, but whatever.

  “Listen…uh, I know that the last time you were in New York a few years back, we shared a few, shall we say, moments?”

  She swallowed hard, remembering the way she’d thrown herself at him, kissing him senseless in the office one night. Yet another impulsive move. And he’d kissed her back. It was only after that he told her he had a “sort-of” girlfriend, though they weren’t together at that moment.