Balancing Act (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 3)

by Blake, Jill

  She didn’t answer, but he could feel her inner muscles starting to tremble. He added a second finger, and it too was soon coated with her juices.

  Her sudden intake of breath as he increased the speed and pressure of his thumb had him gritting his teeth and resuming his silent recitation of justices.

  “Zach. Please…”

  He lost track and had to start over. Elena Kagan. Sonia Sotomayor. Samuel Alito.

  Her breath was now coming in rapid puffs, interspersed with tiny sounds that had him fighting to hang on to control. He changed the angle and depth of penetration.

  John Roberts. Stephen Breyer.

  She clamped down around him and shuddered. “Oh, God…”

  Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

  Her tremors peaked and then slowly subsided. Zach eased his hand away and gently lowered her leg back down to the floor. His palm settled on the small of her back, stroking softly as her body relaxed.

  Several minutes passed, with only the sound of their mingled breathing.

  Finally she stirred in his arms. “You didn’t…”

  His lips brushed her temple. “No.”

  “I could…um…”

  He smiled in the dark. Now she was feeling self-conscious? His cock twitched, reminding him that they were far from finished. She must have felt it, because after a brief hesitation, she tilted her pelvis forward and rubbed against him.

  He stilled her movement. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her fingers found his jaw. A second later, her lips followed. “By the way…”

  “Yes?”

  Her lips curved against his. “That condom in your pocket? From a whole new box I got this morning. The rest are in the bedroom, in case you’re wondering.”

  ~

  A faint wash of moonlight spilled through the open window. She should probably get up to pull the curtains, or risk getting awakened by the sun—she glanced at the LED display on her bedside alarm clock—in another three hours.

  But at the moment, Angie felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut, limbs splayed every which way, unable to move even if she’d wanted to.

  Zach nuzzled her neck. “What are your plans this weekend?”

  “I don’t know.” She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. Apparently she was capable of moving, after all. “The usual, I guess.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Run. Do laundry. Go over some briefs. Have dinner at my parents’.”

  His fingers drifted lightly over her bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Want some company?”

  She turned her head to look at him, but the light was too dim to make out his expression. “You want to help me do laundry?”

  His fingers paused. Had she misunderstood? Surely he wasn’t asking for an invitation to meet her parents? She held her breath until he resumed tracing lazy patterns across her abdomen, dipping into her belly button, then reversing course to travel up and around her breast. He pinched the nipple into a stiff peak.

  “Maybe,” he said. “I can be pretty handy when it comes to doing things around the house.”

  “I bet.”

  “You don’t believe me?” His erection nudged her hip. “Sounds like I need to do a better job of convincing you.”

  “I don’t know.” She pushed against his chest, and he obligingly rolled onto his back. As she surveyed his body, her memory filling in what the semi-darkness obscured, she marveled over the fact that all this rugged strength and physical perfection was hers to enjoy. At least for tonight. And maybe even this weekend. She swept a hand over his pecs and washboard abs, following the treasure trail all the way down. “There is such a thing as trying too hard.”

  He groaned, whether at her pun or the feel of her fist wrapping around his rigid length, she couldn’t tell. She stroked him a few times before his hand closed around her wrist. “Angel…”

  Her pulse quickened. “Yes?”

  “You talk too much.”

  “I’m a lawyer.” She leaned over him and reached inside the bedside drawer. They’d already made a sizable dent in her condom supply. At this rate, she might have to stop by the pharmacy again before the weekend was over. “Goes with the territory.”

  He swatted her bottom.

  She yelped, rearing up. “What was that for?”

  “For being all talk and no action.” He pulled her into a sitting position atop him, thighs straddling his hips.

  “You’re not into any kinky stuff, are you?”

  His teeth flashed. “What kinky stuff?”

  “I don’t know. Whips and chains and paddles and things. Fifty Shades of Human Bondage.”

  “I think you’re mixing your genres, Angel. Somerset Maugham is serious literature. E.L. James—not so much.”

  She couldn’t figure him out. Clearly he was well-read in the classics, but it also sounded like he knew what he was talking about with regard to the breakout phenom that had introduced erotica to the masses. Did that mean he had some experience with the BDSM lifestyle, or an interest in exploring it? Or was it simply a reflection of how attuned he was to popular culture, especially insofar as it concerned women?

  She tore open the wrapper with her teeth and rolled on the condom. “So are you?”

  “What I am—” he grasped her hips, positioning her entrance right at the tip of his erection “—is all suited up, and ready for action.”

  And with that, he effectively ended the conversation before she could pin him down. Typical, she thought. And then she stopped thinking at all, too swept up in the pleasure of the moment to be able to string together a coherent sentence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They ended up cooking—or, rather, burning—breakfast together. Turned out he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know a mandoline from a mezzaluna.

  At least the coffee was good. Apparently there weren’t too many ways to ruin a cup brewed from a pre-measured single-serve pod of ground beans that slotted neatly into a “push-here-idiot” automatic machine.

  “I’m the last holdout,” Angie said, as she sprinkled chocolate cereal puffs over yogurt. They’d used the last of the milk in their failed attempt at making pancakes. “Eva was always Betty Crocker. And now Logan’s gotten all domesticated too. You’d think he has nothing better to do than to put up recipes for organic quinoa pilaf on his Facebook page.”

  Zach laughed and accepted a cup of yogurt. “You don’t feel the need to become domesticated?”

  She rolled her eyes and perched on one of the bar stools at the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area. “Clearly I’m not cut out for it.”

  “In that case, why did we go through this exercise in the art of how not to make pancakes?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping to impress you.” She shifted, and the movement caused her robe to part slightly, revealing a hint of breast before she re-tightened the belt. He felt a stirring below the waist. Remarkable how little it took for her to spark his libido. She continued speaking, apparently unaware of his response. “Don’t you ever feel like doing something completely out of character?”

  “Yeah.” Now that she mentioned it, this entire thing with Angie was out of character. He never stayed the full night at a woman’s house. Never wandered through a woman’s living room, hoping to pick up clues about her character from the decor. Never asked about her family or inquired about the portraits on her walls. Never sat in her kitchen eating kids’ cereal with yogurt, plotting ways to prolong their time together.

  She licked her spoon. “Frankly I don’t think it’s worth the hassle.”

  “What?”

  She gave him a look similar to what his third grade teacher used to give him when he wasn’t paying attention. “Learning to cook. I can always drop by Eva’s or Logan’s house for dinner. And there are three grocery stores and at least a dozen take-out places within walking distance of here that have a ton of quick and easy meals to go. Seriously, what else does a busy working p
rofessional need?”

  “A working fire alarm and some good ventilation wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Oh. Right. I have some nine-volt batteries somewhere, I just need to find them.”

  “I’m sure they sell batteries at the grocery store,” he said. “We can head there after breakfast and pick some up. When was the last time you tested all your smoke detectors?”

  “Um…never?”

  Was she for real? Shit. Good thing he’d asked. “You’re supposed to do it every month, and replace the batteries once a year. I’ll go ahead and do that today.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Oh, I didn’t mean for you to—”

  “I know, Angel, but it’s a matter of safety. And the exhaust hood—”

  “I didn’t know it was broken,” she cut in. “I promise I’ll call someone to have it repaired.”

  Zach tried to gauge her sincerity. “I could get a guy in this weekend to do it for you.”

  “Really?”

  “One of the perks of working in this business is you get to know a lot of handy people.”

  She hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “No imposition.” He fished out his cell phone, eager to make the arrangements before she found some excuse. “Let me make a few calls. This afternoon work for you?”

  “Uh…sure. As long as I can be out of here by five.”

  He scrolled through his contacts, pushing aside his curiosity. If she wanted to elaborate on her plans—or, better yet, invite him to participate—then she would. He wouldn’t press. And he wouldn’t take it personally that she seemed less enthusiastic about prolonging their time together than he was.

  The call connected. “Hey, Raoul. Zachary Stewart here. Sorry to bother you on the weekend…”

  He explained the situation, and rose to take a closer look at the hood configuration so he could answer the handyman’s questions. By the time he thanked the man and hung up, Angie was at the sink, rinsing dishes.

  “All set,” he said. “He’ll be here at twelve-thirty. Plenty of time for you to get to your parents’ house.”

  It wasn’t his subtlest effort—but then fishing expeditions rarely were. Besides, she had mentioned a dinner with her parents.

  He’d met her entire family years ago, at Eva’s wedding. Since then, he’d run into Angie’s father a few times at various legal functions, and once he’d even argued a case in Judge MacDowell’s court. The man was intimidating enough in his pressed suits and black robes. How much more intimidating would he be if Zach showed up at Angie’s side? Not that Zach was angling for an invitation.

  Angie finished loading the dishwasher. “I appreciate it, Zach. This is really above and beyond. You must have a ton of things to do, so seriously, if you need to go, I don’t want to keep you—”

  He leaned in and kissed her, effectively shutting her up. After several seconds, he felt the tension in her muscles drain. She sighed into his mouth.

  When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “What?” She furrowed her brow. “No, of course not.”

  “Good. In that case, go get dressed, and we’ll get those batteries. Maybe even pick up some food while we’re at it. For later.”

  She blinked. For a moment, he thought she might balk. And then her lips curved in a beatific smile. “Okay.”

  He watched her disappear down the hall. On the way back from the store, he’d have to make a short detour. If he was going to spend the rest of the day with Angie—at least until she kicked him out—then he’d need some toiletries and a change of clothes from the gym bag he kept in his car.

  Out of character didn’t even begin to cover it.

  He checked that he had his keys and wallet, and then settled down to wait.

  ~

  Saying that Angie was a bit distracted over dinner was like calling Mount Kilimanjaro a bit of a climb.

  Luckily, the entire family descended on her parents’ house that evening. Eva and Max came with twelve-year-old Ben and three-year-old Andrew. Logan and Grace brought their six-month-old twins. Grace’s grandmother arrived with Grace’s father and his partner, who were at the moment visiting from New York.

  Amid all the noise and chaos, Angie was able to shrug off her mother’s concern with a vague reference to a heavier-than-usual case load at work.

  Little did she know how prophetic that excuse would be.

  The following morning at seven, the ringing of her cell phone woke Angie up.

  “My water just broke.”

  “Cheryl?” It took a moment for the words to sink in. “But you’re not due for another four weeks!”

  “I know—” Her swift intake of breath had Angie switching to speaker phone and bolting out of bed. “My parents aren’t flying in for another couple weeks, and Gil won’t be back from Sacramento until tomorrow.”

  “Okay, don’t panic. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Angie pulled on the first clothes she could find. “Did you call Naomi?”

  “She’s on her way. She said she’ll pick up Itai and keep him overnight.”

  Shoving her bare feet into a pair of tennis shoes, Angie grabbed her phone, keys, and shoulder bag. “I can babysit.”

  “I need someone with me at the hospital.”

  Angie locked her front door and raced down the stairs to the underground garage. “No offense,” she said, as she dumped everything onto the passenger seat and pulled out into the street. “But maybe Naomi should take you to the hospital while I stay with Itai.”

  Cheryl’s low moan had Angie wincing and pressing the accelerator. Despite having a brother-in-law who worked in the ER and a sister-in-law who practiced psychiatry both in the inpatient and outpatient setting, Angie was squeamish when it came to anything that smelled remotely of blood or hospital antiseptic.

  “Keep breathing,” Angie said. “We’ll sort it out when I get there.”

  In the end, Angie accompanied her friend to labor and delivery, while Naomi took Itai home, where she could ride herd on both Cheryl’s son and her own children.

  What followed was a blur of anxiety-provoking activity as a nurse whisked Cheryl away to start an IV and hook her up to a monitor, while Angie dealt with the paperwork and fielded calls from Cheryl’s frantic husband, who was apparently still stuck in Sacramento and scrambling to book an earlier flight back. A doctor who looked barely old enough to vote swept in to do an ultrasound and sterile speculum exam. Another nurse hung a bag of antibiotics.

  When the anesthesiologist arrived and started prepping Cheryl for an epidural, Angie averted her eyes from what looked like an awfully long needle. The nurse kept up a running monologue while Angie struggled to swallow down her nausea and hang onto Cheryl’s hands, even as she felt the bite of her friend’s nails digging into her skin.

  It was almost enough to put Angie off the idea of having kids of her own.

  In the hours that followed, in between contractions and periodic checks by the nurses and on-call obstetrician, Angie and Cheryl discussed the transfer and management of Cheryl’s active cases.

  By the time baby Nadav entered the world, red-faced and squalling loudly enough to bring a smile to his tired mother’s face, Angie realized that Cheryl wasn’t the only one who was going to have her hands full over the coming weeks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  After an entire day of having his calls routed straight to voicemail and receiving no response to his text messages, Zach was relieved to finally hear Angie’s voice. Even if it was just a monosyllabic “Hi.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, fighting the impulse to rush over to her condo and see for himself.

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Listen, Zach, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Wait—” He broke off at the sound of a low voice in the background. A male voice. And then the soft click of the call disconnecting.

  No way. He refused to believe that she’d do this to him.

  Just
yesterday they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It wasn’t just sex, either. They’d laughed and bought groceries together and tested out her newly operational exhaust hood. Pasta with ready-made tomato sauce wasn’t exactly haute cuisine, but for a couple of novices, they hadn’t done too badly. He’d changed the batteries in all of her smoke detectors. He’d even told her about his mother. That was a topic he’d never discussed with any woman before.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat in his darkened living room, staring out at the night sky. A dense fog rolled in from the ocean and he shivered. He must have left one of the windows open, but it didn’t seem worth the effort to get up and close it.

  The phone rang.

  “Zach? It’s Angie.”

  He blinked, as if awakening from a stupor. Did she think he wouldn’t recognize her voice?

  “Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier,” she said, when he remained silent. “Is this a good time?”

  He gripped the phone. “Who was it? The man you were talking with?”

  “The man I was…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, you mean the doctor?”

  Doctor? What was she doing with a doctor at nine-something on a Sunday evening? A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “Where are you?”

  “At the hospital.”

  “At the—” he broke off. “Jesus, are you okay?”

  In the few seconds it took for her to answer, a dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through his brain. Please, God, let her be all right. He clung to the thought that she wouldn’t be calling him if she were severely ill or injured. The fact that she was on the phone had to be a good thing.

  “My friend Cheryl had her baby,” she said. “A little early, but the doctor says he’s fine. And the kid sure has a good set of lungs on him.”

  Zach felt something in his chest loosen. “You’re okay. Not sick or anything.”

  “No, of course not. Oh, did you think—” she broke off. “I’m sorry, Zach. Did I scare you?”

  Hell, yes. “Maybe a little.”