by Blake, Jill
“I didn’t mean to. Everyone’s fine.” She yawned. “Sorry. We’ve been here since early morning.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Thanks, but we’ve got it under control.” She paused, then continued in a softer voice, “About the other night. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it.”
The words warmed him more effectively than a dozen heat lamps. “Enough to do it again?”
This time the pause lasted longer. “Cheryl’s going to be home for a while with the baby. Which means that work will be pretty crazy.”
Was that her polite way of saying, “Thanks, but no thanks”? He’d issued plenty of brush-offs in his day, but this was the first time he found himself on the receiving end of one. If that’s what it was.
No. He refused to accept that. In the cutthroat business of real estate law, Zach knew that the difference between success and failure hinged not just on smarts and creativity, but also on sheer audacity. And that he had in spades. Time to go on the offensive.
“I’ll come by your office with lunch,” he said. “Say, one o’clock tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I’m meeting with a client.”
“Tuesday, then.”
“Zach…”
“We both have to eat, Angel.”
“Just lunch?”
“If you like.”
“I’m keeping the door open,” she warned.
He grinned. “I promise to be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”
“Zach, I’m serious. I really have a lot of work to do.”
“Me too, Angel. So I’m going to say goodnight now. I suggest we both get some rest.”
~
The days flew by. Angie felt like she was drowning in emails, phone calls, meetings, briefs, and court appearances. She worked late into the night, slogging through the massive caseload that had been dumped in her lap as a result of Cheryl’s premature delivery. Naomi pitched in, but she had her own family and kids to deal with, so by default, the bulk of the work fell to Angie.
“Why not hire a couple of associates to help?” Zach asked during one of their occasional snatched meals together.
She’d migrated her laptop and active files from the study to the dining table, where there was more space to spread out. Which was why they were again eating at the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Half-empty take-out cartons sat abandoned beside plates and utensils that had been hastily shoved aside.
“I’m thinking about it,” she said, voice muffled by her folded arms, which were resting on the counter-top, supporting her head. His fingers dug into the muscles of her shoulders and upper back, working out the knots. “You know, if this whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out for you, you could probably make a killing as a masseur.”
He laughed and nuzzled her neck. His hands moved lower, shifting gradually from therapeutic to sensual strokes.
She sighed and stopped his questing fingers before they went too far. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” His lips found a particularly sensitive spot and she shivered.
“Because I promised a client I’d have all the contract revisions done by tomorrow, and I’ve barely started.”
“I can help.” Zach swiveled her stool around, closed his hands around her waist, and lifted her atop the counter. “I’m good at writing contracts.”
“I know.” Angie tried to push the hem of her skirt down, but he circumvented her efforts by stepping into the vee of her thighs. “Except I’d have to get the client to okay your involvement. Then you’d need to sign an engagement agreement and an NDA. Kind of defeats the purpose if I’m trying to save time.”
“Hm,” he murmured against her skin. Her breath quickened. She could feel him, hard and throbbing, through the denim of his jeans. “You might have a point.”
“Zach.” She pressed her palms flat against his chest and made a final half-hearted attempt to dissuade him. “You promised.”
“This won’t take long,” he said, sealing her lips with an open-mouthed kiss that melted the last of her resistance.
A quick tug got rid of the damp scrap of silk between her legs. The flick of a button followed, then the slide of a zipper, the tearing of a condom wrapper—and seconds later, the hiss of his breath as he slid into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and held on tight as he pumped in and out, keeping up a steady rhythm that was broken only when his hand slipped between them and his thumb stroked her to a rapid climax. A couple more hard thrusts and then he groaned and stilled, still buried deep inside her.
By the time they’d recovered, and cleaned up, she was surprised to find that he was right: it really hadn’t taken long, and she was feeling a whole lot more relaxed. Certainly in a better frame of mind to handle the pile of paperwork that still awaited her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was Wednesday night, and Zach didn’t have the heart to cancel dinner with his dad for the second week in a row.
They ended up at Chaya again, with the same waitress as last time. When Tom pointed that out, Zach managed an absentminded nod.
“Y’all enjoy now,” she said, as she brought out their appetizers.
Tom’s gaze lingered on her departing back. “Still not interested?”
Zach sighed, wondering if he should tell his dad exactly why he wasn’t interested. He’d never talked with Tom about the women he’d dated before. Not even Jeannine, though they’d been together six months, and she’d broached the idea of meeting his family on several occasions.
But with Angie, the thought had crossed his mind.
Of course his dad already knew Angie, which ought to make it easier. Or at least eliminate any concern Zach might have over whether the two would like each other.
Then again, it might also complicate things. He wouldn’t put it past Tom to try to “help” the relationship along by raising the issue of marriage and kids.
While under ordinary circumstances that would have Zach heading for the hills, the last few weeks—hell, the last few months—had been anything but ordinary. He’d even started to entertain the idea himself. Or, perhaps more accurately, he’d stopped cringing at the mere thought of it.
Of course there was no guarantee that things would work out. It was early days. And his dad’s intervention—no matter how well intentioned—might end up scaring Angie off. She might even decide that a long-term relationship with Zach wasn’t something she wanted.
Shit.
He stared glumly at his plate.
Tom apparently took his silence as a no, not interested. Just as well. Zach wasn’t sure he was ready to have this particular conversation with his dad.
“You’re not eating,” Tom said.
Zach took a deep breath and reached for the soy sauce. “Neither are you.”
Tom speared a slice of tuna sashimi with his fork and eyed it suspiciously.
That alone lightened Zach’s mood. “It tastes better if you use chopsticks.”
“Raw fish is raw fish,” Tom said. “Doesn’t matter how you slice it, dress it up, or what utensils you use.”
“You don’t have to eat it.” Zach turned the platter around to offer his dad the side with the California roll. “Try this. It’s cooked crab with cucumber and avocado.”
“I know you mean well, Zach. But next time, we’re ordering the calamari.”
Not if Zach had anything to say about it. Fried food was the last thing his dad needed. Just because the cardiologist told Tom at his last appointment that his cholesterol was in a good range didn’t mean he could backslide on his diet. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. Even if he did look more relaxed, now that the lawsuit was history and things were finally starting to move along with the project.
They had gotten word just yesterday that S&L’s revised plans were on the City Council agenda for next month. They still needed to submit an amended EIR, detailing the environmental impacts expected as a result of the proposed changes, as well as an outline of mitigation efforts that
they planned to implement both during construction and after project completion.
“So,” Tom said, “you think the paperwork will be ready in time for December’s meeting?”
Zach washed down the last of the sashimi with chilled sake. “We hired the same firm that did the initial study. They’re the best in the business. And the fact that they’re already familiar with the project should save us both time and money.”
“Good.” Tom nodded. “It’ll be a relief once this is all over.”
“We still have to deal with the Architectural Review Board,” Zach reminded him.
Tom waved that aside. “We’ve dealt with them before. A pain in the ass, but nothing we can’t handle. And once they approve the design, we can start pulling permits.”
The waitress whisked away their empty plates and returned with their entrées. Tom thanked her. “Now this is more like it.”
Zach glanced at the grilled sea bass on his father’s plate. “It’s still fish.”
“Yes, but it’s cooked.” Tom took a hearty bite. “And you’ll notice there’s not a trace of seaweed.”
Zach smiled. “Okay, Dad, I get it. No more sushi or sashimi for you.”
“Damn straight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Angie stood in the checkout line at the grocery store, trying to remember if there was anything else she needed. It would have been easier with a list. But after all the conference calls, document reviews, emails, and clients she’d dealt with today, getting organized had been less important than getting out.
She’d even thought about calling Zach and canceling their evening plans, pleading exhaustion. But the fact was, she was looking forward to seeing him. So rather than cancel, she’d asked for a change of venue. No fancy restaurant with fusion cuisine and pretentious clientele could compare with a simple, low-key dinner at home.
She unloaded her cart onto the conveyor belt: hummus, olives, pita, falafel, ready-made Greek salad, and a bottle of Riesling. Some cut-up fruit and baklava for dessert. It might not pass muster with the LA Times food critic, but for a casual impromptu meal, it would do.
At home, she placed the perishables in the fridge and headed for the master bath. Zach wasn’t due for another half hour. Plenty of time for a soak.
The peal of the doorbell woke her. She jerked up, spilling tepid water over the side of the tub. Crap.
She met Zach at the door, wearing an ancient terry-cloth robe, her hair a straggly mess, her face completely devoid of makeup.
“Not a word,” she warned, when he glanced up from the phone he was holding.
“Angel.” He smiled, ignoring her grumpy greeting. “I was just about to call you. I thought maybe I’d gotten the time wrong.”
“No.” She sighed and rubbed at the frown lines forming between her brows. “Come in. There’s wine chilling in the fridge, help yourself. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
“Don’t get dressed on my account,” he said, reaching for her.
They never got to the wine or the salad or any of the other food she had bought. One kiss turned into two, which resulted in a trail of clothing leading to the couch, and Angie flat on her back while Zach licked and nipped his way from her mouth to her neck, then down her chest and stomach, before finally settling between her legs. His tongue burrowed into her folds, exploring, dipping inside her, then licking a path up to her clit, where he remained, applying increased pressure and suction to the tiny bundle of nerves, all the while working one finger, and then two, up inside her, until she came with a long keening cry.
He was easing his way back up, keeping her thighs spread to accommodate his hips, when she suddenly remembered the one item she hadn’t gotten at the store. “Zach.”
“Hm?” He kissed the angle of her jaw, then just below, where she could feel her pulse beating frantically against his lips.
“We need a condom.”
His thumb circled her nipple, which beaded beneath his touch. “In a minute.”
“I’m all out.”
His fingers paused mid-gesture and he lifted his head. “What?”
“Please tell me you brought some.”
“Probably.” His fingers started moving again, tracing the contour of her breast, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip.
She shivered. “Now, Zach.”
He cupped her bottom, angling her pelvis for easier access. He flexed against her, probing for entry.
No. She panicked. This wasn’t what she’d meant. She pressed a hand against his chest. “Wait.”
He groaned. “You’re kidding me.”
“No.” She pressed harder. “Not without a condom.”
She could feel the galloping of his heart against her hand, the tension of his body.
“You want me,” he growled. “Feel how wet you are, Angel. Don’t deny it.”
She wasn’t about to. But neither was she willing to take any chances. “I’m serious, Zach.”
His breath tickled her ear. “I’ve been tested, if that’s what you’re worried about. Last month. And I’m clean. You?”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. “I’m not the one who’s slept with half the women in LA.”
That had him lifting up again, looking at her. “Okay, then what’s the problem?”
“Are you insane?”
“No.” He seemed awfully calm, considering the subject matter. “You’re not on the pill?”
“No. Not since—” she broke off. Discussing health status was one thing, but invoking the name of a former lover when she was about to have sex with someone else seemed downright crass.
Zach sighed, and pushed up to his knees. She used the opportunity to ease away, off the couch. Scooping up her discarded robe, she covered up and pulled the belt tight before turning to face him.
“I don’t get it,” he said, rising slowly to stand, completely unselfconscious, as if he weren’t still naked and fully aroused. “You’re thirty-two—”
“Not for another few months.”
He ignored the interruption. “Don’t you want kids?”
She stared at him. If he had reached up to unzip an outer shell, revealing a three-headed alien beneath, she would have been less taken aback than she was now.
“I’m not necessarily talking right this minute,” he continued. “But in general. Your brother and sister both have kids. And your partner, Cheryl. You were there when she gave birth, right? Don’t you want that for yourself?”
She shook her head and backed away. “We are not having this conversation.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” she floundered.
“Because, what?”
“Because that’s not what this—” she waved a finger between them “—is about.”
“Really.” He frowned. “What is this about, then, in your opinion?”
He wanted her to spell it out for him? Fine. If he wanted bluntness, she’d be blunt as a rubber mallet.
“Sex,” she said. And then, just in case he didn’t get it, she added, “It’s about having a good time.”
He stared at her. “Are you telling me that the only reason you’re with me is because you’re looking for a good time? That all you want from me is sex?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He strode past her and snatched up his jeans from the floor, pulling them on with jerky movements. Without bothering to button them, he grabbed his shirt and headed for the door.
With every step, she waited for him to turn around, tell her…what? That he was sorry? That she was wrong? That this was all just a huge misunderstanding, and maybe they should just pretend that tonight had never happened? That they could go back to the easy rapport they’d developed over the last few weeks?
Was that what she really wanted?
Her vision blurred, and she blinked, surprised by the tears.
He did stop, just for a moment.
“Angel…”
“Yes?”
&n
bsp; “Don’t forget to lock the door.”
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Her nephew Ben answered the door.
“Hey, Aunt Angie,” he said. “You just missed dinner.”
“Bummer. What did you guys have?”
“Beef and broccoli. And double chocolate brownies for dessert.”
“Ooh, my favorite.”
Eva emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Angie. You should have let me know you’re coming. I would have saved you a plate.”
“I’ll settle for one of those brownies, if there are any left.”
“In the kitchen. Help yourself.” Eva turned to her son. “And you, young man, have homework to finish.”
“Aw, Mom. Me and Connor were planning to play Minecraft.”
“Connor and I,” Eva corrected. “And you know the rules. First you do what you need, then you do what you want.”
“But—”
“No buts, Ben. You have a math test tomorrow and a book report due Wednesday.”
“But I promised.”
“Should have thought of that sooner, kiddo. You can text Connor that the plans have changed. The sooner you start your homework, the sooner you’ll be done.”
Angie managed a faint smile as Ben tromped up the stairs. “Nice. You could’ve been a lawyer.”
“No thanks.” Eva pulled a couple mugs from the cabinet and turned on the kettle. “I don’t have the killer instinct.”
Angie washed her hands at the kitchen sink. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“Max is working. Andrew’s in bed.” She offered Angie a plate and pointed her to the brownies. “You want some ice cream with that?”
“No, I’m good.”
Eva shot her a sharp glance. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
Eva leaned against the counter. “You never turn down ice cream.”
Angie studiously ignored her sister’s assessing gaze. “I’m just not in the mood tonight.”
The kettle boiled and Eva turned away to pour the tea. “Mint or chamomile?”