Lust on the Rocks

by Dianne Venetta

  We’re perfect for each other.

  She shook her head again and stood. No, we’re not. We’re fun together, hot together, but we’re not perfect.” Definitely hot, she thought, recalling the sensation of his mouth on hers as it tugged at her lips, then her swung down her neck, the skim of his tongue more “tease than please” as it made its way down to her breasts, and of course a trip south to her—

  She groaned aloud, smacked the file onto the edge of her desk and realized getting over Vic was going to take longer than she imagined. Distance wasn’t doing the job as it usually did, but instead, “out of sight, out of mind” was turning into “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  And not like her at all. “Damn…” she murmured to no one.

  “Boss?” Maria strolled into her office.

  She whirled around.

  “You okay? I’m hearing voices in here.”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. But work was not working. Her thoughts were mutinous!

  Big black eyes blinked in surprise at the terse reply.

  Sam flashed a sheepish glance toward her secretary. “Sorry. Pre-case tension, I guess.” Something she never experienced before. She placed forefinger and thumb to her temples and felt the frustration build. What was wrong with her? She’d never had trouble drawing the line between business and pleasure. What changed?

  “Anything else you need before I go?”

  “No.” Sam turned, grabbed the stack of opening argument notes from her desk and asked, “Diego around?”

  “Just saw him,” Maria replied, gesturing over her shoulder with a thumb. “He’s in his office.”

  “Thanks.” Without another word to Maria, Sam blew past her. Time for a pow-wow with her partner—her trial partner—she clarified silently. She didn’t need a partner-partner. No time, no desire, no nada. She only needed a trial partner and one who’d better keep her brain on track and away from Vic.

  Located down the hall and around the corner from her own, she walked the distance to Diego’s office at a brisk clip, offering a slight nod to the one associate who crossed her path. Late in the day, too much on her mind, she was in no mood for smiles or small talk. Breezing through his doorway she was met by a smile. “Hey, look who’s here.” He raised a hand in her direction. “It’s the woman of the hour.”

  Sam was about to reply when she caught sight of Vic. She hadn’t seen him at first, standing off to the side behind the door. She halted cold. But she did now. Dressed in his customary white shirt and khakis, a shirt that spanned the expanse of his broad chest magnificently, pants that clung to his hips and long legs with snug perfection, Sam swallowed hard. Add the brilliant blue tie loosened at his collar revealing the rim of his white undershirt—the T-shirt that fit him to a T—and Sam couldn’t help but visualize the last time she’d seen him pull one off just like it. Up and over his head revealing the flat muscular wall of his stomach, his—

  “Hey Sam,” he said softly.

  With the breath trapped in her chest, she nodded. Easy and polite, his greeting was nothing out of the ordinary. To the casual observer, maybe. But to her the sound of his voice felt like warm silk against her skin. A tingle zipped across her breasts. Damn.

  Spying the pages in her hand, Diego brightened. “Whatcha got?”

  “Nothing,” she said automatically, self-conscious of her sleeveless tank and form-fitting skirt. It made her feel oddly bare at the moment. Exposed. Met by a bewildered look from Diego she cleared her throat and said, “My notes for opening arguments. I wanted to go over them one more time before we go to trial next week.”

  “Great. With Vic here, this will be a great time. We’ll polish them up real shiny,” Diego said with a grin, but Vic remained silent.

  Unusual for him, she thought, but he was probably giving her space—like she asked. She clenched her teeth. Unfortunately his heated gaze did anything but, pinning her squarely in place instead. So far she’d done well keeping her distance, avoiding this very scenario, but now, face-to-face with him, Sam was torn. While Diego wasn’t privy to their separation, Vic knew full well what had transpired and Sam sensed he remained displeased.

  Could she blame him? Breakup 101 was not her best subject and her performance last week had been less than stellar.

  Pressed between expectation and discomfort, she decided to exit. This was no good. No good at all. It would prove distraction not strategy and a complete waste of time but before she could utter the first excuse, Vic intervened.

  “Hey, if you guys don’t mind running through this without me, there’s some work on my desk I really need to clear out before we get started with the trial.”

  “Hey, no problem bud. Do what you need to do,” Diego said, then lit into a smile. “Just make sure you’re ready when we gut Perry and throw their carcass out to sea, man!”

  “Absolutely.” Vic tossed a nod of agreement Diego’s way, but his attention remained on her. And while his jaw was set in a rigid line, his eyes were lined with emotion something akin to hurt, vulnerability—or was it anger, resentment? Sam stepped aside as he passed and as he did, he swiped her with a sharp glance, one that said this is for you.

  She tried to ignore the cologne trailing his exit, the presence that lingered behind, filling the office with an uncomfortable vacancy. Sam tried to suppress the welling sense of guilt and unease churning within. It wasn’t fair he should have to leave. Not when he had every right to be here and contribute as part of the team. He should be here. This case was now his as much as it was hers.

  Sam blew out the breath she’d been holding. They shouldn’t be in this situation and it was all her fault. If this didn’t teach her why office relationships were a bad idea, nothing would. She peered at Diego and felt zero desire to strategize. “Hungry?”

  He gaped. “Huh?

  She handed him the papers. “Take a look at these, will you? I’m going to run to the lounge for a quick bite.”

  Diego took the notes from her with a quizzical expression. “Sure. No problem.”

  Sam made an abrupt about face and headed for her office, focusing on the patterned carpet as she walked. This would not do. This would absolutely not do. Longing for Vic at the same time she was pushing him away and trying to work with him? Unbelievable. How could she let this happen?

  Sex, the annoying little voice in her head piped up. Hot and heavy and with the most handsome of men—that’s what landed you in this predicament.

  Oh butt out, will you?

  “Great,” she muttered. “Now I’m talking to myself.” Just great.

  The entire drive home was spent weaving through objection and compromise.

  You don’t want the same things from life. Your futures aren’t compatible.

  You love him, give it a chance. You can make it work.

  He’s Catholic. You’re not.

  Frustration boiled over. Why was it so damn difficult to cut him loose? They were together a matter of months. It’s not like they had years of memories to wade through. They were in, they were out. Bam. The prospect of new lovers should be tempting and enticing, not distasteful.

  But try as she may, Sam couldn’t shake the feelings of loss cascading through her heart. She never realized how well she could rationalize her wants, ignore life’s realities…

  Until Vic, a man whose memory refused to fade.

  Sam pushed through the door of her condo and shoved it to a close behind her. She plunked briefcase and purse onto the kitchen counter, stopped and turned. Standing alone in her home, the calming white décor beckoned her mind to relax, to let go of all things busy and assume a blank state of mind. Her gaze skimmed the smooth wood floors, moved easily past the stone patio and sailed outdoors into creamy purple skies. Mellow and blue, they lacked even a hint of orange glow. Where had this relationship tripped her, blindsided her? When did it become this all-consuming beast that wouldn’t let go?

  It was madness. Half of her believed Vic was her perfect match while the other
half knew such a man didn’t exist. She wasn’t even looking for a partner! Yet part of her felt trapped by the fantasy of what-if while the other ached for new horizons, new beginnings.

  Even if it meant marriage? Are you serious?

  Sam shuddered to think she was actually considering it. Even to Vic, the prospect of marriage was not on her agenda. At all. She crossed arms over chest. Not even a little bit. Marriage would do nothing but interfere with her career, her ambition. And despite the fact she may be slipping into insanity at the moment, even her heart knew kids were out of the question.

  Releasing her arms, she walked through her living room, glancing from glass sculpture to candle, from sleek furniture to expensive artwork and thought, please—do you know how fast a kid could destroy this room? The image of a small boy with a toothy grin swinging from her cool blue anemone-like chandelier was stark and sudden. Oh my God—think about the injuries they could sustain! Like a giant screen, the scene rolled out in her imagination. Kicking his legs as he hooted, the boy swung up, the cord broke and he crashed to the tabletop, rolling off and onto the floor. Sam shook her head with a burst of nervous laughter. Do you know what I would do to that child?

  Images of the youngster screaming at her hip as she hauled him upside down and into his bedroom came to mind and she laughed aloud. “Children, hell—I don’t have near that kind of energy!” Spending time with kids on a volunteer basis was one thing, but 24-7? That’s like Superwoman powers. It was only a year ago when Blake had his stroke and she had to step in and help her sister Patty with the kids. Racing down halls, whipping through the bathroom, tearing up the kitchen—their morning routine alone was enough to wear her out by 8:00am!

  Sam enjoyed a chuckle at the memory. Getting the kids to school while her sister sat vigil by Blake’s side had convinced her once and for all that Patty was definitely Supermom material. But not her. She’d keep her ambitions to Super lawyer.

  Breathing in deep and full she allowed the momentary pleasure to carry her gaze back outside. Lingering along the horizon, the familiar view of the ocean pulled the tension from her body, unlocked her pensive mindset and begged her to let go. Let go of what isn’t meant to be. Let go of what could never be.

  Vic needed commitment—fifty years’ worth. He needed family and kids, a supportive loving wife at home to be there when he needed her most. His image slipped in and she could see him standing in Diego’s office, his expression guarded, his gaze tortured, as though cutting him free was not the selfless act she imagined, but a prison sentence.

  Her spirit flinched. But it had to be done. She couldn’t change who she was, though sadly, there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. Be whoever she had to be to stay with him. She wanted to replenish his life with joy, share the fairytale of happy-ever-after. For as sure as she was breathing, Sam knew she loved Vic. Loved him with all her heart. Tears pricked her eyes as she stared out over the water, the distance, and felt an emptiness slither into her soul. And she always would love him. Sam breathed in, then blew the breath out in one long controlled exhalation. But she and Vic weren’t meant to be. Their future wasn’t to be tied together by marital vows or physical passion. Theirs was a moment in time. Penetrating to the core, it was an affair she would remember for a lifetime.

  A heavy tear slid free as she urged herself to stop pining and let go. Jess was moving on and now it was her turn. It was time for her to move on and move forward and away from Vic. Sam brushed the moisture from her eyes. She wiped her cheeks dry and ignoring the faint rumble in her stomach, marched right past the kitchen and into her bedroom. She needed a session of yoga. She needed to get back to the business of her life and stay true to the woman inside. Toying with a fantasy lifestyle would only disappoint.

  Stay true to yourself. Life is good. Life will always be good.

  I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything?

  Sam’s heart softened at the thought of Vic. Of course it did. Of course. But eventually the truth will find you. It will knock on your door and ask where you’ve been. What have you been up to? If you answer with truth, the sun will continue to shine and the breeze will blow balmy and light. But if you’re hiding behind a façade of make-believe, you’d better hope your doors are locked.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sam watched as Mr. Rouse he took his seat in the witness stand. A tall wiry man, he bore an air of indifference crucial in a star witness, indispensable to her case. Dressed in khaki suit and non-descript blue tie, his wire-rimmed glasses gave him an air of detached intelligence, objectivity. No longer an employee of the company, she was confident he would hold strong.

  He’d better. His presentation had to be irrefutable in the eyes of the jury.

  Or Perry’s counsel would rip him to shreds, claiming disgruntled ex-employee, hell bent on making trouble. But he wasn’t. Rouse was her slap in their face. She glanced across the room and suppressed a smile. Harry Goldman and his team of legal eagles were coiffed, poised and ready for the kill. Seated between Goldman and two others, was Scaliano. Like an Italian mobster in his gray pin-striped suit, purple tie and lavender shirt. His hair was a slicked back salt and pepper, his complexion a mottled brown. The man looked guilty.

  Behind them the courtroom gallery was sparsely occupied. A few curious onlookers, but mostly today’s spectators were comprised of press members. It was their job to be here, like it or not.

  Well, Sam mused sardonically, time to wake up boys and girls. Goldman and his cohorts were about to board a rollercoaster to hell. It was the testimony of this witness that would prove Perry—more specifically Scaliano—cared nothing for the health and welfare of its membership. She planned to use Mr. Rouse to illustrate the man’s greed like an artist on canvas and paint him as the corrupt, felonious, self-serving man he was interested only in money.

  And today, she intended to strip him of as much of it as possible. Rolling through the preliminary name, title, and purpose of his visit to the courtroom, Mr. Rouse calmly doled out dry, simple responses.

  “Are you currently employed by Perry Fitness?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Fired?”

  “Quit.”

  “You simply moved on in your career?” she pried, standing erect before him, beneath the wary gaze of the judge. The man presiding over this case was not one of her fans, which meant she must tread lightly as she delivered the lethal blow. “Or is there a reason you left?”

  “I quit, because I no longer wanted to work for the company.”

  “Bad blood?”

  “Not on my part.”

  “Okay.” She pivoted and returned to the plaintiff’s table, careful to make reassuring eye contact with Mrs. Albright—more careful to avoid the same with Vic. For some reason, having him in the courtroom was like a cramp in her side, distracting at best, painful at worst.

  Especially when she was seated because despite the barricade Diego’s body posed, she could feel Vic’s presence, detect drifts of his cologne.

  And every time she leaned over to consult with Diego, there were those black penetrating eyes, just over his shoulder, plowing into her with questions about them. The man made no attempt at polite indifference. He didn’t look away, or avert his gaze. No. To the contrary, his eyes fired questions at her.

  What happened to us? Why are we over? Can’t we try again?

  Sam could hear his thoughts as if they were spoken aloud and where she could turn down the heat on his curiosity, she found it damn near impossible to turn down her reaction to his smile.

  Throughout the proceedings he’d branded her with quick grins. For scoring with the jury or earning points with the judge, and when she sunk one in the hole, his admiration simmered, smoldered, just beneath the propriety of the courtroom.

  Add the encouragement she felt in his every tacit nod, his gratitude built from a foundation of grief and she knew what this meant to him. At times she wanted to reach out and hug him, murmuring close to his ear, “this one’s
for you.”

  For Anna.

  She would have to shake herself back to the present when that happened, and remind herself they were in a court of law, their personal relationship far outside this jurisdiction. But drawn by his presence, Sam bucked common sense and continued to sneak peeks in his direction, most met by a smile, the current one quiet and knowing.

  She bit back a curse.

  And groaned inwardly. To say the man was a distraction wasn’t the half of it! Sam snatched a piece of paper from the table and strode back to the witness stand, putting as much distance as possible between the two of them.

  She swung her glance toward the jury. Bored expressions stared back. From experience, she understood their focus was wandering. They were growing tired with the standard name, rank and serial number. She indulged in a private smile.

  Time to rise and shine.

  Sam settled the crisp sheet of paper on the ledge in front of Mr. Rouse. “Are you familiar with this letter?”

  He glanced over it and looked up. “Yes.”

  “Mr. Rouse, can you explain to the jury what it details?”

  “Of course. It’s a recommendation letter from the American Heart Association.”

  “A recommendation?” Sam feigned a dose of mild shock. “To my reading, it was a very generous offer on their behalf,” she implied, purposefully vague.

  He shrugged.

  “Do you recall the reason you declined?”

  “Yes. I was instructed to do so.”

  “Instructed?” She angled toward the jury, determined to catch their instant first impressions. “By whom?”

  “Upper management.”

  “Did they give you a reason?” she pressed, and studied the faces staring intently at her witness. Men and women, young and old they were with her alert and listening—right where she wanted them.

  “They did.”

  “It had to be a good one for you to decline more than two dozen Automatic External Defibrillators...” She stole a glance toward Goldman practically bridling on objection, though she had given him no reason to do so—yet. “Free of charge, no less. “