Shit, he thought as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Where did that come from?
A vague frown marred her face as she fidgeted with her pen.
Mike watched her closely, letting her squirm. Watching her squirm was immensely gratifying because it meant she remembered.
He had no idea what he hoped to accomplish by reminding her of the night they met. He wasn’t trying to tease her; that much he knew. His feelings about her were much too troubling for that. Maybe it was just that he’d been desperate to know whether she remembered that night and the connection they’d had, as brief as it had been.
He skated on a frozen pond with her. Every day the popping and cracking sounds of the breaking ice got louder, but still, he skated right toward the center, as though some shameful part of him wanted disaster to strike.
Nothing good could come of his attraction to Dara, he kept reminding himself. Sean would never forgive him if he went after her.
But, God, he couldn’t stop wanting her.
Mike reined himself in, hard. “You should get back to work,” he said brusquely.
“Let’s get some lunch.”
What the—?
Mike’s jaw dropped into a gape that probably made him look pretty damn stupid. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Another one of her irritating offers of friendship? Did she not realize he had as much business spending time with her as an alcoholic did going into a liquor store?
Could it be that she just wanted to spend more time with him?
“Lunch?” he echoed dully.
Her smile faded a little. “Yes. Lunch. A tasty midday meal. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
He laughed, but his instinct for self-preservation, weak as it had become, kicked in.
“I, ah,” he said, sobering, “I have a lot of work to do. I better not.”
For just a second, he thought he could see a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes, but then she smiled brightly. “Okay.”
Slowly, as if she were a mastodon trying to make her way across the tar pit, she got to her feet and left, pausing once to glance back over her shoulder at him.
Mike stared after her, reminding himself he’d absolutely done the right thing by refusing her lunch invitation.
And that would be his cold comfort during the long hours before he saw her again.
After dinner [at the awards ceremony], Mike and several other prominent attorneys in the city were duly recognized for their work with the poor. Dara watched while Mike walked stiffly to the podium to receive his plaque. She almost laughed at the expression of extreme discomfort on his face. She knew he hated attention like this. Still, she was proud of him.
The second the presentations were over, he rocketed back to the firm’s table, his gold-plated plaque in hand, like a laser-guided missile. He sat at the only empty place, on the other side of Amira and her date, watching Dara to the exclusion of everyone else.
She knew because she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
She knew they were out in public, and she should be discreet. But she couldn’t look away from him. She would trade, do or give anything if only she could kiss him tonight. His obvious hunger for her only made her want him more. He stared at her with eyes so hot and intense she almost felt feverish. Already she was wet and could feel her terrible aching need for him high up between her thighs. When she could no longer resist the urge to squirm and press her legs together, she excused herself and headed to the bathroom.
Mike watched her go, seething and aroused. He kept his napkin tucked into his lap and prayed the fire alarm wouldn’t go off and force him to stand up and reveal the tight front of his pants. How had she done this to him? How could that one girl worm her way under his skin and into his blood and his dreams and his every waking thought? Why couldn’t he think about something else besides Dara for one lousy second out of sixty? Why did he want—no, crave—her so much? To the point where his skin felt like it was on fire. To the point where the idea of having sex with someone else had become inconceivable. To the point where he almost felt like his life would never be complete unless he could possess her.
What was so special about Dara? Why couldn’t he root out the source of his fascination with her? Sure, she was beautiful, but every woman he was with was beautiful. Why couldn’t he get her out of his fucking blood?
“Mike?”
When would he have his life back? He didn’t have time for this nonsense. He had a firm to run, cases to work, clients to bill. To accomplish his goals, he needed a clear, thinking brain free of clutter and distractions— something he couldn’t maintain when Dara was anywhere in the vicinity.
Take the Johnson case. She’d talked him into it even though he’d known Johnson was trouble. He’d taken the case because he couldn’t stand to tell her no. Then he’d worked hundreds of hours on it before he’d had to quit and return the retainer. And those were hundreds of hours he could have been working on paying cases.
“Mike?”
So now he was out twenty-five large and had no real idea how he would earn it back anytime soon. And the scary part was, he’d been more concerned with making sure Dara didn’t feel guilty about the whole incident than he had been with figuring out how he’d pay bills next month. What was that about? And why . . .
“Mike!”
Mike jerked and looked around to find Jamal looking at him from across the table, a knowing little smirk on his face. “Did you say something?”
“Yeah. Congratulations. You deserve the award.”
Mike grinned. “Thanks, man. But you’re still not getting that raise you asked about.”
Jamal shook his head sadly. “Didn’t anyone tell you slavery was abolished about a hundred years ago?”
“It was closer to a hundred and fifty years ago, you ignoramus.” Mike sipped his ice water. “If you’d study a little harder, you’d know that.”
“If you didn’t work me like a slave, I’d have time to study harder.”
“When you get your GED, we’ll talk about a raise. But not before.”
“When I get my GED, I’m outta your little sweatshop operation.”
“If you think someone else’ll hire your sorry butt, then good riddance.”
Jamal snorted.
Mike stood and dropped his napkin in his chair. “You ready? Let’s go.”
Jamal frowned. “What about Dara? Aren’t you gonna wait till she gets back and tell her good-bye?”
Mike didn’t care for Jamal’s disapproving tone. And he had no intentions of getting anywhere near that siren in the black dress again tonight. He considered himself lucky he’d made it this far into the evening unscathed.
“You tell her,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
It was nine thirty [the morning after Dara’s car accident with Jamal] before Mike got back to the office. He went directly to Dara’s office, too far gone to worry about wearing his heart on his sleeve. She sat at her desk, with Laura leaning over her shoulder, both heads bent low over some document they were discussing. But the second he stepped into view, Dara looked up and smiled, a wide, glorious smile that made his chest ache with indefinable emotions.
“Good morning,” she said.
Laura looked up and saw him. “Hey, Mike.”
He stared at Dara, barely aware that anyone else was present. One of Dara’s brows rose slightly in amusement. Clearing his throat sharply, he tried to come to his senses, an impossible task.
“Good morning. Laura.”
Laura looked back and forth between them, comprehension dawning on her face. Very quickly, she gathered her papers from Dara’s desk and scurried out, grinning all the way. “I’ll see you two later.”
Mike walked slowly into the office, watching Dara the whole time and feeling as though he’d been mesmerized. He’d always thought she radiated some sort of inner light or something, but today she seemed to glow, with flushed skin, bright eyes and that killer smile. Did anyone else see what he saw? Did he make her
this happy? It seemed impossible, like holding the moon in his hands.
He sat on the edge of her desk and, reaching out to cup her cheek, kissed her gently on the lips.
“I missed you,” she sighed.
“Yeah,” he said around the basketball-sized lump in his throat. “Not sure I can wait till tonight.”
“There’s a lot of that going around,” she said, tipping her face up so he could kiss her again.
Mike woke up slowly, stretching and feeling a strange but exciting combination of utter relaxation and boundless energy. He knew why: he and Dara had been having the best non-sex of his life. Her flexible, eager little body, clever hands, and sweet mouth had, in fact, reduced him to a quivering mass of flesh on more than one occasion.
When was the last time he’d engaged in this much foreplay? He couldn’t begin to remember. Generally, the women he dated were happy to jump in his bed at the end of the first date, which was, he supposed, the reason he dated them. Not that he wasn’t anxious—desperate, actually—to make love with Dara. It was just that he absolutely did not want to rush her, nor did he want to hurt her. For now it was enough to revel in getting to know her, emotionally and physically.
Besides, he had the feeling she was going to blow his mind when they finally did make love. Worse, he feared that when they made love—when she became his—he would never let her go. Could never let her go.
Smiling, his eyes still closed, he reached across the rumpled pillows. She wasn’t there. Disappointed, he opened his eyes and sat up. Bright sunlight streamed through the closed blinds. At the foot of the bed, dressed in exactly the kind of skimpy little black yoga outfit he’d fantasized about, sat Dara on a purple mat.
Except she wasn’t really sitting. She was balancing on her tailbone, her mostly bare legs straight and about three feet apart, her toes pointed toward the ceiling, with her hands gripping her ankles. She looked like a huge V.
He gulped, his throat suddenly dry and tight.
Shit, man. Shit.
Never had he seen anything as erotic as Dara with her legs in the air. He had the sudden and nearly irresistible urge to leap out of bed and take her now, roughly. He watched, riveted, while, still holding onto her ankles and keeping her legs straight, she rolled onto her back, then back up into the original position.
Mike made a strangled sound.
Startled, Dara dropped her legs and twisted on the mat to face him.
“Good morning,” she chirped, smiling as brightly as the morning sun filtered through the window. “Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”
He crept to the end of the bed, keeping the sheet at his waist to cover his violent arousal. “Wha—” He cleared his husky throat. “What are you doing?”
“Pilates work.”
“Pi ...what?”
“Pilates,” she said, laughing. “Stretching. Toning. It’s good for the abs.”
Pilates was good for a whole lot more than abs.
“I thought you did yoga,” he said weakly.
“I do.” She resumed her V position, causing his groin to ache. “You slept through yoga.”
She rocked back again, and he lost the last threads of his self-control. He lunged off the bed and came down on top of her. Dara squealed with surprised delight and wrapped her legs around his waist. He ground his erection against her, fitting himself to the place where he belonged. Dara scratched his back, pulling him closer.
“Tomorrow,” he said, burying his lips in her neck, “I’m setting the alarm clock.”
Mike strode down the crowded sidewalk at dusk [the day after he and Dara made love for the first time] and marveled at how different the beaten path looked when the sun was still up. Normally, he only saw the world in the black predawn and post-sunset hours, unless he had to run to court or remembered to take time during the day to look out the window. Twilight over the city, with the lights beginning to twinkle on the river and the setting sun a fiery pink against the graying sky, was a sight to see.
It was five o’clock, possibly the earliest he’d ever left the office. He’d stunned Jamal, Amira, and Laura into speechlessness when he’d announced he planned to go home early, and they could therefore also go home. And he did plan to go home—to Dara’s.
The ridiculous bout of panic had ended during lunch with Mama, when she’d thankfully refrained from mentioning love and marriage again. Over his turkey club and iced tea, he’d had an epiphany that had calmed him right down and put things into perspective: He didn’t have to figure everything out today. He and Dara were in a great place. They were ecstatically happy. That was enough for right now.
There was no emergency, and Mama’s desperate desire for a grandchild notwithstanding, there wasn’t even a rush. He and Dara had plenty of time to explore their relationship. And if they fell in love—if they were in love— it would certainly not be the end of the known world. And—he gave a mental gulp—if he decided she was the woman he wanted to marry, well, he could think of worse fates than spending the rest of his life with the most fantastic, sexiest woman he’d ever met.
He turned the corner, picking up his step. He just had the one errand, and then he was anxious to get to Dara’s and touch her again. Keeping his hands off her all day at the office—after last night’s orgy of feeling and exploration—had been a special agony. He’d meant it when he’d told her he could wait to make love to her, but now that the waiting was over, he felt profound gratitude. He needed to touch her the way he needed sunshine on his face.
Veering around a woman pushing twins in a stroller, he caught sight of a Christmas display in the window of a clothing store. The holidays were almost here, and he had no idea how they would spend them, although he suspected they would not be at his mother’s house, sharing turkey with Sean. Most likely, Dara would want to go home to her parents in Chicago.
He hated the thought of not seeing her for a couple weeks, and he’d had an inspiration: he would surprise Dara by taking her to Miami with him the week after Christmas. He’d signed up months ago to attend a conference for criminal defense attorneys. Why not buy an airline ticket for Dara as her Christmas present? They could have several days alone in the sun together.
The thought was his idea of heaven. He turned one last corner and hustled into his travel agent’s office to pick up the tickets. He’d surprise her with the trip in a little while. He could hardly wait to see the glee on her face.
[After they broke up and he ended her internship], Mike sat in his SUV in the parking lot of Dara’s apartment building, staring at the front door, willing her to appear. He needed to see her, even if it was only for a second, and even if it was from fifty or sixty feet away. His life seemed to depend on it.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Dara came out with her backpack.
His heart lurched hard.
She went down the steps, with her typical brisk, purposeful walk, and headed toward her new car. Her head was down, but she looked grim and determined. And tired. He stared, wishing he’d brought his binoculars so he could see her better. It didn’t matter, though. He could tell she was ready to ace her finals. He didn’t have a single doubt about it.
God, he was proud of her.
At the door to her car, she stopped. For no apparent reason, her head turned over her shoulder, and she looked directly at him, or, rather, directly at his SUV, though she couldn’t know he was there; he was too far away.
He slumped down, agitated at the prospect of being caught stalking her, which would be humiliating, to say the least. Plus, he didn’t want to distract her from her first day of finals.
He held his breath.
She stared in his direction for several seconds, then shook her head as if to clear her thoughts.
He relaxed. Of course, she couldn’t have seen him. He was several rows back, much too far away.
She got in her car and drove away, and that was when the searing pain came. It mushroomed out from his gut, swallowing him whole. He’d known there’d be a reckoni
ng; the price for the pleasure of seeing her was the agony of loss he felt now. He didn’t know when—or if—he’d ever see or talk to her again. He’d have to wonder how she did on her finals.
But for now he knew she was okay, and that made it a fair trade.
Seeing her from a distance was enough.
It had to be enough.
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If you enjoyed Trouble, stay tuned for a sneak peek at the next sexy contemporary romance in Ann’s It’s Complicated series, Risk, which is now available!
Ten Years Ago
Justus Robinson had to find her. Soon.
A quick glance at his watch told him what his knotted gut already knew: time was running out, and when time ran out, he’d be screwed. The wedding reception hummed along at full speed, and he’d survived enough of these gigs in his seventeen years to know how they worked: dinner, then cake and dancing, then everyone split. The chattering, overdressed crowd had already swilled their gourmet dinner like starving pigs at a trough, so he figured they’d slice the cake any second. His frustration grew. With each tick of his watch he felt chances slipping away, precious opportunities evaporating. Magic vibrated in the air tonight and he meant to take full advantage of it.
If only he could find her.
“Nice party, man.”
Justus turned to see Brian Henderson walk over, his tan face flush with excitement.
Justus grunted, unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, shoved his hands in his pants pockets, and leaned against the nearest marble pillar.
“I guess.”
The place did look beautiful, he thought grudgingly. Glittering crystal chandeliers lit the gilded art deco carvings on the walls and ceiling. Tall candles on taller candlesticks flickered on the white-clothed tables. The centerpieces? Round glass bowls crammed with enough fragrant pink and white roses and lilies to stock a florist shop for a month. It was pretty, sure, but Justus couldn’t get over the waste. By morning every one of those flowers would droop, and by tomorrow evening this time they’d be nothing but a distant, expensive memory.
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