by Ally Decker
Dean could admit, if only to himself, that he was looking forward to that.
When she opened the door, he forgot how to think. She was dressed in a long, sleeveless black dress that had a single silver ornament on it, curling around Marissa's left side and drawing the eye to her curves. She looked breathtaking, and there was no way he was going to survive the evening when she looked like that and he wasn't allowed to touch.
Marissa stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.
"Please come in, I'll be ready in a minute."
He couldn't drag his gaze away from her, and when he looked up to her face, he saw it didn't escape her attention. Her mouth opened slightly, and her eyes shone in the light of the hall, and maybe, just maybe, he could be allowed to touch her after all.
He took a step closer, and she inhaled sharply. He paused, hand raised and then dropped to his side. He knew it was terrible timing, they were about to go play a happy couple to expose a scheme, but, like always, his patience and resistance were nothing when confronted with one Marissa Ratner.
"Can I…" he asked, lifting his hand again and hovering close to the line of her jaw. So close.
She nodded, and then closed her eyes as his fingers brushed over her skin. God, how he missed this. The small shivers down his hand, the heat in his stomach, the electric energy cracking in the space between them.
And then there was no space between them. He stepped closer and leaned in, pausing right before he could kiss her. Waiting.
When she opened her eyes, her pupils were completely black, the desire in them unmistakable. But it was the familiar heart tug, that moment of stepping over the edge, of jumping off of a cliff—this was what undid him.
This was what he had been missing the most.
He brushed his lips over hers with his eyes open, and he watched her eyelids flutter closed as she kissed him back. Then keeping his eyes open became too much, too much sensation as he tried to take everything in.
They fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, finally fitting into place. As he slid his tongue over hers, as she closed her hands over his neck when she let him in, deeper and deeper, everything was like it had been years ago.
How he had managed for so long without kissing her, he had no idea.
When they broke the kiss, both needing a breath, he didn't let her go far. He couldn't stop touching her now, and he kept brushing his fingers over her neck, watching in rapid fascination as she shivered under the caress.
She ran her hands down his chest, stopping to close her fingers over his hips, all the while not dropping her gaze away from his mouth. Dean wished they could forget about everything and stay inside. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, with her, for her.
Most importantly, he didn't want to let her go ever again.
CHAPTER NINE
When he nudged his knee between her legs, Marissa wanted to throw the entire plan away and just fuck him right there and then. She could already picture it, too, and she moaned into his mouth, pushing against the hardening cock she could feel pressing against her stomach.
"Fuck," he whispered as he drew back. He put one hand at the nape of her neck, and she went boneless. It always, always worked on her when he did it, and in turn, her reaction drove him crazy, too.
Marissa met his gaze, and the black pupils shone in the bright light of her hall. His lips were red and wet—I did that—and his breath was fast and shaky, just like hers. They stared at each other, and as she watched him, she could see everything she remembered and everything she hadn't been right there with him for, like the line on his forehead that didn't disappear anymore or the little scab near his ear.
She hadn't been with him for so many things, and she wished with all her heart that she had been.
She closed her eyes and could almost feel their bubble burst and crumble to the ground. She was back in reality and reality meant, among other things, that they needed to get to that dinner.
Dean had to have come to the same conclusion, or maybe he saw something in her expression, because when she opened her eyes again, he nodded and took a step back. He hesitated before taking his hands off of her, and she missed his touch as soon as it was gone. One hit and she was addicted again, the want buzzing under her skin and slowly sizzling off.
Later, she promised herself, and him. Later.
***
The dinner was held in one of the new hotels on the East Side, apparently also the work of Dalio Developments.
"If you see any cracks in the walls, yell," Dean whispered into her ear and she chuckled, while fighting down the shiver as the warmth of his breath tickled her sensitive skin.
There was over a hundred and fifty people there, and the dinner was served in two large rooms, before they would all move to the theater hall for the "presentation" that was scheduled to start in an hour. Marissa looked around the room they were in, but she didn't recognize anyone. There were mostly couples, probably offered the same deal as she and Dean, to sway the undecideds. She wouldn't be surprised if the entire "presentation" was a bunch of crap about going after their dreams, taking big chances for a bigger future, or other pseudo-motivational salesy bullshit. She just hoped that, between the lines, the presenter would also say the same things the realtor had told them, and they would be able to use that later on.
For now, she tried to enjoy the surprisingly good food and not-surprisingly good company.
"How often do you have to go to things like this? Or like the charity dinner?" He'd used to hate parties and avoided them with a passion, but maybe it was one more thing that had changed along the way.
Dean grimaced, picking up his glass. "Hardly ever, thank God. The benefit was actually the first event I went to in, I think, about two years." He shook his head. "Shawn's good at it, so he's the one who goes to most of the parties. Luckily, Alicia likes them, too, or we'd be in deep trouble."
"That's how she ended up going with you to that dinner?" Marissa asked. Now that she knew the two of them weren't dating, it was much easier to talk about Alicia.
"Shawn was sick, and Nate and Claire were out of town. I had to go, and Alicia showed mercy and went with me. Or," Dean added with a self-deprecating smile that made her heart sped up, "more likely, Shawn begged her to keep an eye on me and knock me down if I was about to destroy our reputation forever."
Marissa laughed as she pictured that. Alicia's small figure against Dean's bulk… "Not an easy task."
"No, but I wouldn't put it past Alicia. She may be small, but her family owns a boxing gym, and she grew up around this stuff. She can hold her own."
"You're twice her size and an Army vet," Marissa reminded him dryly. "You would sit on her, and she would break. She would sit on you, and you'd barely notice."
"I don't think anyone was going to sit on anyone. She might distract me long enough to keep my temper in check, though."
Marissa nodded. Come to think of it, she was happy that Alicia wasn't going to use any forms of distraction that involved sitting on Dean.
As soon as that thought appeared, Marissa shoved a piece of a grilled carrot into her mouth to stop herself from blurting something stupid out loud.
"I'm glad that I went, though," Dean said quietly, and it wasn't until she caught his careful, focused gaze, that she understood.
Oh. "I'm glad you went, too."
He reached out and put a hand on her thigh, and just like that, a wave of heat swept over her. Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a second before she forced herself to look away. She gripped her wine glass as if it was her lifeline, but the wine didn't really help. She still wanted to clasp his hand in hers and move his hand higher. She wanted to feel his fingers between her legs, she wanted them exploring her again, driving her crazy. He'd always been so infuriatingly patient when he'd touched her there. He would make her come by playing with her clit long before he'd even move his fingers inside her, regardless of her urgent pleas or threats.
"I'd ask what you're
thinking," he told her with a gritty, low voice, "but I'm afraid we would get thrown out of here if you told me."
Judging from his flushed skin and dark eyes, he probably knew what she was thinking about, anyway. Or at least he had a pretty good idea.
He slid his hand off of her thigh, and Marissa swallowed her protest. She bit down on her lower lip and then took another sip of her wine, looking away and trying to compose herself. She tried to focus on anything other than his presence next to her—the guests, the bored-looking waiter near the door, the flower arrangements in the room—but it didn't work. She couldn't even distract herself by chatting up the woman sitting next to her, because she didn't appear to be interested in anyone other than her husband. She hadn't stopped whispering to him since the moment they'd sat down.
The tall, older man stepping onto the small stage in the corner of the room caught Marissa's attention.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, let me welcome you on behalf of Dalio Developments." He paused for the polite applause from the guests. "I'm Martin Sharley, and I'm the vice-president of the company. We hope you've been enjoying your evening. Soon, the waiters will be delivering desserts, and after that, the bell sound will signal it's time for all of us to head to the theater hall for the second part of the evening. I look forward to seeing you there."
The man walked down the few steps to another short round of applause and disappeared into the other room. Marissa turned to Dean, who was back to business. He straightened in his seat and didn't take his gaze off of Sharley until the guy disappeared from sight.
"I've never seen him before," Marissa whispered, leaning closer.
"Good, then there's a chance he won't recognize you, either."
She nodded. That was what she counted on, too.
The rest of the dinner went by quickly, and soon enough, the bell rang over the sound system. She put her glass down. Show time.
Dean offered her his arm, and she took it. Her body still reacted to his closeness, but most of her was focused on their task now. They needed more information, and this was it, this was their chance.
They sat in the back, partially hidden from the majority of the room, just in case someone might recognize her. It also made it easier for Dean to pull the small recorder from his jacket pocket without being seen.
The "presentation" started with the greetings again and then introducing a few key people from Dalio, including two men Marissa recognized. She resisted the urge to slide lower in her seat to hide, since there was no way anyone from the stage could see that far, especially with the dim light in the room.
Then one of the men started talking about "the idea for a better home" and how it translated to, basically, buying a house from Dalio. It was a pretty good sales pitch, including videos of happy families walking around the neighborhood, playing with kids or animals, and being friendly to everyone.
In between spiels about community and belonging, the guy talked about how they'd already created a project like this before, and then he proceeded to showcase the previous housing project. Of course, he didn't say anything about the difficulties they were facing or even admit that they'd learned new things and were taking into account previous mistakes.
She also noticed they were careful not to use the name of that previous project. She suspected they were afraid someone would recognize it from the news, since in the coverage she'd seen that name had been used much more often than the name of the company. Up until now, no one had mentioned the video interview, and she wondered if it was possible none of the guests had connected the two.
Marissa tangled her fingers on her lap and squeezed them hard. She wished she could tell the guy what she thought of him and his "enterprise of dreams", but instead, she was forced to sit there and listen to him wax poetic about houses she knew were ruined or on their way to being ruined. But she stayed put. Dean was recording this, and it was enough to argue fraudulent misrepresentation when they were selling the same faulty houses to other people.
She glanced at Dean, who nodded at her, one corner of his mouth going up. We've got this, he seemed to be saying, and Marissa couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. It was relief, mostly, mixed with satisfaction, the one that came from seeing justice done. It was also joy to be here, with him, nailing the bad guys who had no idea they were going down.
She quieted quickly, not wanting to draw attention to herself, then she looked around the room to see if anyone noticed. Her gaze swept over the crowd in the near dark, and then she saw him.
Fuck.
Palmer was there, standing at the entrance door and lit by the light coming from the corridor. He was talking quietly with one of the men introduced earlier, the VP of Dalio. They looked like they knew each other rather well. An alarm went off in the back of Marissa's head.
Was it a coincidence that the case had been reassigned to a man who was quick to settle when the other side was friendly with one of the name partners? Wasn't it weird that a case that could put their firm on the front pages of every major newspaper got shoved to the settlement part of the program as soon as possible?
Marissa wanted to give Palmer the benefit of the doubt, but she couldn't quite manage it. She wondered if other partners were in on it, if it had somehow been agreed upon to let Dalio off the hook easily.
Her stomach turned at the thought. She couldn't look away from the men at the entrance, only happy that there was no way Palmer could spot her from where he was standing.
"You okay?" Dean whispered, and she turned to him, shaking her head.
"Palmer's here, in the entrance."
She watched Dean look up and behind her, and she could clearly see the moment it clicked for him, too. He frowned and narrowed his eyes.
God, what a mess.
"We need to get out of here," she whispered. "He can't see us."
Dean's gaze met hers, and he was still frowning as they looked at each other. Before she could ask anything, he nodded sharply and paused his recorder.
"Fine."
Marissa turned to watch Palmer, and she noticed in relief that the two men were coming down the aisle on the other side of the room towards the seats at the front. She waited until they sat down and then reached out to catch Dean by the wrist and tugged.
"Come on, let's go."
CHAPTER TEN
Dean knew that seeing Palmer and fleeing from the hotel to avoid being seen was only partially to blame for the tension he felt in every part of his body. And he didn't need to look far for the main reason, since it was a woman sitting right next to him as they drove away from the hotel.
"I can't believe this." Marissa leaned back in her seat, hands flailing for a bit before resting on her lap. "Damn it."
He nodded, but didn't say anything. Thoughts were running wild in his head, demanding attention, while he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and just keep focus on the professional part of the whole thing.
"Do you think he's—"
"Yes," he cut in before she could finish the question. Yes, he thought Palmer was in on it. Yes, he thought Palmer had been playing her—and the plaintiffs—from the get go. Yes, he thought Palmer was a lying asshole who should be disbarred, fired, and a number of other things that were less civilized than that.
Just yes.
"Fuck," she muttered, running her fingers through her hair. Even in moments like this, a part of him focused on how beautiful she was, how a small gesture like this could make something tighten in his chest.
Professional. Stay professional. "We should head to the office. I want to copy the recording and get it to Kevin. He might still be there."
Marissa hesitated, and he clenched his hands over the wheel. Don't do this, don't do this, you're better than this.
"Yeah, sure, let's go," she said, sagging in her seat, and turned to the side window.
There was silence in the car, once again tense and uneasy, and Dean wished they could go back in time by about two hours. Maybe they would decide th
e dinner wasn't worth it and the viral video was enough. Maybe they would never leave Marissa's apartment.
Or maybe they would end up exactly where they were right now, because this was exactly the kind of people they were. Pushing harder and harder, until something broke.
Dean grimaced at the thought, refusing to acknowledge this as a metaphor for their relationship in the past.
Thankfully, they didn't have to drive for long. As they got to the office, only an automatic light in the corridor was on, so Dean got his keys out. He moved through the dark lobby and went straight to his office, Marissa following right after.
The dim light was visible under the door to Kevin's office, so either he was still working or he had fallen asleep again.
Dean turned the light on in his office and walked to his desk to turn on the computer. He made himself busy with the cables, trying to connect the recorder to the right one, all the while trying to ignore the way Marissa was walking back and forth between the door and the windows.
"I can't believe this," she finally said, and he looked up. She was gesturing with her arms like she sometimes did in the court, but this time it seemed like she was having a discussion with an invisible person. "I can't believe this. Maybe I should've seen that coming, but I—"
He knew what the right thing to say here was and the words You had no way of knowing were almost at the tip of his tongue. But with their history, with his distrust for the senior management at his previous job and her unwillingness to listen to his arguments back in the days, anything like that could seem like empty words.
On the other hand, while he'd considered Palmer could have an ulterior motive to reassign the case, he hadn't thought about this, exactly.
"If any of us should have seen it, it's me. And I wondered…" He hesitated and then shrugged. "I wondered, but I hadn't taken it this far."
Marissa paused, crossing hands against her stomach. "Maybe there's another explanation."