He started the car, and the engine purred to life. “Am I making it harder for you to hate me?”
Yes. “No.”
He turned my way, then leaned toward me. His eyelids hooded, just like they had right before he kissed me last time.
My belly fluttered, and I held my breath. . . .
But he reached past me, pulled the seatbelt across my lap, and clicked it into place. “Safety first, buttercup.”
“Thanks.” I let out my breath, frazzled that I’d forgotten my seatbelt, since I was religious about buckling up. My mind was ready for this night to be over, even though my body wanted so much more. I waited for the car to move. When we remained parked, I twisted to see what the hold up was. “Why aren’t we rolling?”
“I don’t know where you live.” He brushed a lock of hair back from my face, like somehow he had needed to touch me. “We were having a good time inside. What happened?”
My eyes burned, so I immediately closed them, and faced forward. “Get onto J Street, and hang a left at forty-third.”
With a sigh, he thrust us in reverse, then sped off. We arrived at my house in less than ten minutes. Ryan got out first, then I pushed my door open, and we ambled up the walkway in silence. A cool breeze blew by, and my bare arms prickled.
He put his arm around me. “Cold?”
“Tired.” Drained. Worn out. Like my heart had been run over by a Ferrari.
I felt his gaze on me as I reached into my pocket for the keys. A war waged inside me. I knew I should unlock the house, run inside, then slam the door behind me. But for some reason my body hovered on the doorstep, unable to insert the key into the lock and end this night.
Finally, I lifted my lashes. “Thanks for going out tonight.”
“It wasn’t exactly an imposition.” He laced his hand through mine, rubbing his thumb in soft circles that had my insides doing flip-flops.
My breath caught. “You don’t have to hold my hand. There’s nobody here to witness it.”
“We’re here.” He lifted my chin, then lowered his head slowly until his lips brushed mine.
Tingles flashed across my chest, then turned to raging fire as he nudged my mouth open, and brushed his tongue against mine. He teased my lips again, and repeated this method several times before my keys dropped to the porch with a loud clank.
I threaded my fingers through the back of his hair. As his mouth flirted with mine, teasing and tasting, he ran his thumb along my jawbone leaving a trail of heat along his path. Then he slipped his hand behind my neck, massaging the base of my skull in slow circles that matched his delicious kisses.
After heavenly minutes, his mouth stilled against mine, and he placed soft kisses across my cheek before enveloping me into his arms. He gave me a gentle squeeze, before releasing me. Then he planted one last kiss on my lips, and whispered. “Good night.”
“Good night,” I gasped, barely able to get the words out as I gazed into those heavy-lidded hazel eyes. Feeling like I was floating, he bent down and picked up the keys I’d forgotten I’d dropped. I slowly turned, fumbled to unlock the door, then slipped inside.
Unable to stop myself, I scurried over to my front window, and peered out between the wooden slats of my plantation shutters. I watched him walk down the path, open his car door, then disappear inside. His headlights came on, then he sat there a moment fiddling with something, before he pulled away from the curb and sped down the street.
Beep! Beep!
My heart pounded as my cell went off. Had he decided this was a huge mistake? Had I scowled one time too many? With shaky hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket, then ran my finger across the screen: Sweet dreams, buttercup. I’ll be thinking of you.
Me too, I typed back, and meant it.
* * *
I arrived at the office Monday morning wearing my favorite black, pinstriped pants suit. The suit was symbolic since I’d worn it the day the partners had denied me the promotion. It was essential that I move back into professional mode, because that’s who I was, and that’s what I enjoyed. No more complaining. No more pity party. Just good, old-fashioned, hard-working Jill to make myself feel right again.
It would be a little challenging on only a few hours of sleep, since I’d cozied under my covers and relived Friday night’s kiss over and over in my head until the wee morning hours. Ryan had texted me on Saturday, then again on Sunday. He was visiting family all weekend, and said that he’d see me at work. I’d had a ton of catch up work to do thanks to my going out Friday night, but it was weird. Usually, I happily took a break from a guy. But with Ryan, out of sight was definitely not out of mind.
I strode through the glass entry door to Corbett, Gray & Shaw at eight a.m. The receptionist was already on the phone. She twirled her gray and black, peppered hair as she spoke quietly into the receiver. Personal call.
Ruth covered the mouthpiece with her hand, and gave me a guilty look. “Good morning, Jill.”
“Good morning, Ruth.” I nodded. The old me would’ve frowned at an obviously unimportant personal call. But, after the last two weeks, I figured she should take all of the personal calls she wanted, because if Stan’s cousin needed a receptionist job, he wouldn’t think twice about booting Ruth out.
I strode past Scott Broderick’s office, gripping my briefcase in my hand. I spotted Valerie leaning her hip against his doorjamb. She wore a red, knit shell over tight white slacks, and her hair tossed over one shoulder.
As she passed by, Val met my eyes with a look that said ‘I have a secret’. Her bow-like mouth puckered and her nose twitched. “Hi, Jill.”
A dreaded feeling came over me. Could she know about Friday night? Maybe Ryan had played basketball with Scott and let something slip to the team. Would my name be passed around Corbett, Gray, & Shaw like in a men’s locker room? My legs felt like jelly, but I kept my face blank as I nodded in her direction. “Morning, Val.”
I rushed to my office, plopped into my chair, then dropped my briefcase with a thud. Really, what was the likelihood that they were talking about me? I unbuttoned my suit jacket. My power suit. Must show control. Must get back into work mode. True, my career had sunk deeper than the Titanic, but it had nowhere to go but up. And I was nothing, if not motivated.
Time to make things happen at work. Like I used to. Now was the opportune moment to bring my career back from the dead. As of today, I’d be asking for, no demanding a raise. One so big it would take the edge off them hiring Ryan for my job. Then, I’d (hopefully) be hired at McKenzie of McKenzie, Atkins, Haugan, & Hall on Friday and could leave with my head held high.
I turned on my computer, then checked messages to see if Stan had responded to my Friday email. No dice. Not a great start to my week.
I unlocked my briefcase and pulled out the Somerset files. Despite Ryan’s picayune interference, this was my case. My biggest case. The trial was only a month away and my client was counting on me. I thought about Marie Somerset, who’d filed a wrongful death action against Peter Perkins. Perkins was a Sacramento lobbyist who had driven his SUV into Stanley and Marie Somerset’s compact car. Marie’s husband died a day later as a result of his injuries from the accident.
I heard a rustle in the doorway and looked up to see Sarah enter, drop the weekend mail into my in-box, and turn to leave without so much as a “good morning.”
“Sarah, would you sit down for a moment?” I closed the Somerset file, wondering what was with her tightly wound face. “Close the door behind you.”
She shut the door, took a seat in the black leather chair, and crossed her legs.
“Something’s bothering you,” I said. Even though that was obvious, I figured I should spell it out just in case. Then, I waited. My specialty when questioning a witness was to state the obvious then wait. Nine times out of ten, the witness would explain himself without ever realizing he hadn’t been asked a question.
Sarah wasn’t falling for it. She simply crossed her arms.
I sighed. “
Tell me what’s going on.”
“You’re not going to like it.” Sarah kept her eyes level with mine. “In fact, you might not speak to me ever again.”
“Of course I’ll speak to you. You’re my assistant.” For some reason it felt weird saying that. “And my friend.” There, that was better. “So spill.”
She grimaced, then stared at the ceiling. “Bud and I have been seeing each other all weekend.”
“Bud?” I asked, wondering who he was and why I’d care. Then it clicked. “Oh, Bud.”
“I’m a horrible friend.” She started wringing her hands. “He totally tried to pick up on you first. But then I went to the restroom at The Oasis after you all left. When I came out, he offered me a drink. Then we danced. Then we went to Six Flags Discovery Kingdom on Saturday, then the Sacramento Zoo on Sunday.” She gestured with one hand as she spoke. “You know how I love animals.”
I set my elbow on my desk, then slumped my chin on my fist. “You’ve had a busy weekend. I was exhausted after dancing Friday.”
And from thinking of Ryan until late each night. . . .
She bit her lip. “We’re renting Benji tonight, then taking tomorrow night off, because I’m going to an art class with Ginger. It’s drop-in, cheap, and she says it’s been good for her creativity.”
I shook my head. “The only time I’ve heard Ginger be creative, is when she offered to paint her friend Kaitlin’s house. And, in that instance, I believe there was bribery involved.”
“I read that art is good for the soul.” She tilted her head. “Want to come?”
Staring at the stacks of work on my desk, I shook my head. “I need to get caught up on work this week. But, thanks.”
She placed her hands over her chest. “Are you turning me down, because I’m a terrible friend and deep, down you resent me?”
Beep! Beep! The intercom gave two perky beeps.
“Jill?” Ruth’s voice chirped out. “Defense attorney in the Beaumont case on line one for you.”
“Please send her to voicemail.” My brows immediately rose as I realized I’d just prioritized my friendship over my career. I wiggled my head, to shake the crazy feeling off. “What were we saying?”
“That I’m an awful friend.” She made a puppy dog face. “Bud was interested in you. And you’re single . . .”
I lowered my chin. “I think you know who I’m interested in, and it isn’t Bud.”
“You finally admitted it.” She squealed, and clapped her hands. “So you don’t think it’s tacky that I date Bud?”
“Of course not.” I waved my hand in the air. “He seems nice. You two go, have fun, and visit the SPCA or something.”
“I’m so relieved.” She let out an audible breath. “How about I take you out to lunch today to erase any last lingering guilt. Anywhere you want.”
The corners of my mouth rose. “How about that sushi place at 5th and L? I believe you know the restaurant.”
“Of course I do.” Instead of looking guilty, a wicked grin spread across Sarah’s face. “And, you’re welcome.”
* * *
I bent over my computer for several hours that night, perfecting my résumé. I needed it Friday for my meeting with Madison and her partners. Or, in case the meeting didn’t go well, I’d have to start applying to the masses. Stretching my arms high above my head, I rose from my office chair, plodded to my bedroom and fell onto the bed. It had been an exhausting, but pivotal day. I was taking charge of my career again. And that felt incredible.
Beep! Beep!
I lifted my cell off my nightstand, then ran my finger over the screen: Stuck in court all day today. Miss you.
Although I missed him, too, I protected myself by keeping the words inside. Instead, I sent back: No worries. See you tomorrow.
I hadn’t seen Ryan since Friday night. Three days. Something nagged inside me, wondering if my ten minutes might be up and he’d moved on to the next woman. I considered calling him to flat out ask if he was seeing anyone else, but then my cell rang. “Hello?”
“Buon giorno.” Kristen’s cheerful energy rang through the line. “Come stai?”
“I’m not sure what you’re saying, but I think it might include hello.” Holding the phone to my ear, I felt a chuckle escape. “How’s your honeymoon?”
“It’s beyond words, English or Italian.” Her tone sounded wistful. “But I’m calling to check on you. Have you been applying fun to your life?”
I fluffed the pillow beneath my head. “I went dancing Friday night.”
“That’s great,” she said, sounding excited. “With who?”
“Ginger, Sarah, and, Ryan.” I blurted, without thinking.
Long pause. “Ethan’s best man, Ryan?”
My mouth twisted. “Yes, he’s the one who got my promotion at work.”
“The nephew?” She sounded stunned. “I knew he’d landed a job at a firm downtown, but I’d been so busy with the wedding I hadn’t asked which one. That must be awkward.”
She didn’t know the half of it, but I may as well share everything. “He kissed me at your wedding, then again Friday night. It’s kind of a long story, and I’m not sure how much this is costing you per minute.”
Long pause. “As Ethan’s wife, I can assure you that Ryan’s a great guy. But, as a woman, I feel compelled to tell you that he tends to break hearts.”
I felt a deep pang in my chest, and I pressed my hand over my heart trying to soothe it. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Kristen sighed. “Ethan’s waiting for me. We’re going on an all-day tour of Venice. The guide will show us amazing frescos that we’ve always wanted to see. But, before I go, tell me what you have planned for this week. For fun, I mean.”
“Um . . .” I racked my brain, and came up with zip. It felt like I’d been busted. “I was sort of considering going to an art class with Ginger and Sarah tomorrow night.”
“Art is good for the soul,” she said, quickly. “I have to run. Have fun at the class tomorrow night, and don’t work too hard. Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye, Kristen.” I hung up the phone, and continued rubbing my chest.
Ryan was a heartbreaker. Just like I’d thought. Touching my bottom lip with my finger, I could almost feel our kiss on the front porch. How could he show that much passion if he didn’t have feelings for me? I sighed, remembering why I’d never invested myself in a guy. Men were just unreliable.
Keeping my eye on my goal, which Kristen had reminded me of—and, that was supposed to help my career—I dialed Ginger’s number. “Hey. How are you?”
“I’m great.” Ginger’s voice was cautious. “But you sound down.”
Biting my lip, I said, “I’m miserable, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded sincere. “Anything I can do?”
My throat squeezed. “I want to sign up for your art class tomorrow night. Is it too late for me to get in?”
She made a dismissive sound. “Not at all. I know the teacher, Patti Smith. I’ll call her tomorrow and let her know. Sound good?”
“Works for me.” My voice was flat, and I felt drained of energy.
“Does this have to do with Ryan?” she asked, in a suspecting tone.
My eyes burned, and I felt like I might lose it if I confided in her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I ended the call, squeezing my phone. Kristen’s words circled my brain, prompting me to reread Ryan’s text. Miss you.
He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would say something unless he meant it. But uncertainty flowed through me, and one thing was for sure. I’d be getting even less sleep tonight.
Chapter Eight
Ryan stopped by my office the next morning, but I brushed him off claiming I was overloaded with work, and glued to my desk the rest of the day. Not a lie. Then he surprised me by dropping by take-out from Takeshi at lunch, making it hard to keep a tight leash on my growing feelings for him.
After work, I
carpooled with Sarah to a beautiful Victorian building in mid-town where Patti Smith’s art classes were held. Ginger handed me a large tablet of sketch paper as they converted the room for art class. “You talk to Ryan today?”
“Barely.” I tore a large piece of paper from the tablet, then handed it to Sarah. “I’m trying to focus on work.”
“You’re still worried about his bad boy rep?” Sarah accepted the sheet and clipped it onto one of the twenty-some-odd easels that circled the room, then she gave me a guilty look. “Just because of what Kristen, Ryan’s friend, and Ryan’s assistant from San Francisco said?”
“His assistant told you he’s a player?” My stomach coiled, as the confirmation list seemed to be rapidly increasing.
Sarah twisted her hand back and forth. “More that he was a hot commodity among the female masses.”
Was that recommendation supposed to be better?
My gaze snapped up to Ginger. “How did things go with Greg?”
“It was fun.” She shrugged. “He flew back to San Diego, and I’m not into long-distance relationships.”
“I understand,” I said. Once my sheet was pinned to my easel, I surveyed the room. Every participant in this class was female. Most of the ladies were young, had their hair done, make-up fresh, and wore dressy clothes—that looked better for a nightclub than an art class.
I looked down at the jeans and basic shirt I’d chosen, considering the high probability that I’d spill paint my first time out. “Why is everyone so dressed up?”
“Oh.” Ginger smirked. “I probably should’ve mentioned it. A lot of us are actually here to learn, but there’s a select number who come to gawk at our model.”
My brows rose. “We’re not painting fruit, or an Asian vase?”
She shook her head. “This class isn’t for still life. Patti hires a live model.”
The woman next to us leaned over. “Our model is absolute eye candy. You’re going to love this class.”
Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set Page 82