Healing Dr. Alexander

by Tracy Wolff

  They talked about work the rest of the way to the restaurant. He was glad to have a few amusing stories from the clinic that week, instead of the usual stories of poverty, pain, and desperation. Then he asked her how the court case she’d been working on had gone.

  “Really well, actually. We got everything we asked for, so it couldn’t have gone better.”

  “You know, I don’t think I even know what kind of law you practice.”

  She glanced at him from under her lashes, her expression more mischievous than he had ever seen it. “What kind do you think I practice?”

  “Seriously? You’re going to make me guess?” he asked, but when she nodded he decided it couldn’t hurt to play along. “Okay. I’ll bite. So, I know you go to court pretty regularly because of your schedule and because you knew the judges well enough to know which ones are going to keep you late and which ones aren’t.”

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “You wear suits every day, even when you don’t have to go to court, though you have a tendency to wear pantsuits on days when you’re in the office. I’m not sure that the differentiation means anything—”

  “Comfort.”

  “Right. Of course. But both are professional, fancy even, so that could mean big law firm or corporate.” She didn’t say anything, so he continued, “You don’t travel a lot, or at least I don’t think you do—” He looked at her for confirmation.

  “Nope.”

  “And you keep fairly regular hours, though I have seen you go out at odd times occasionally, always dressed in a suit.” He looked at her again, to check how he was doing, and he found her grinning, like she was enjoying his analysis. If he was totally honest, so was he. He hadn’t realized he’d noticed so many things about her in the past few weeks, hadn’t thought he was keeping track. But he supposed his subconscious had been intrigued by her long before he’d acted on it by rushing her into his bed.

  “So,” she asked, after he’d been quiet for a while. “Have you figured it out yet?”

  “Well, I’ve got it narrowed down to private defense, corporate tax, or family law. At a solid firm with a good, solid reputation, but not one of the big four here in Atlanta. You just don’t strike me as the kind of woman who will crawl over people’s dead bodies to advance her career—which is what, I hear, a lot of attorneys at top firms have to do.”

  “So make a decision already. We’re almost to Eugene’s.”

  “Hmm, a little bit touchy about that last part of the analysis. That must mean I’m close.” He narrowed his eyes, thought about it a little more. “Well, you don’t really seem the type for corporate tax laws—”

  “Thank God!”

  He smiled, happy that his instincts were so right on. “And you seem a little soft for a defense attorney, so I’m going to go with family law.”

  “I’m not soft,” she objected.

  He laughed. “Yeah, right. You’re a marshmallow. It’s written all over your face.”

  “No, it’s not.” The words sounded deadly serious, like she was suddenly sick of the game, and when he looked at her she had wrapped her arms around herself. A second layer of protection, but he didn’t know from what. He started to push, but she was much better at deflecting than he was. Not a big surprise. She was a lawyer.

  “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He held his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “You’re as tough as a nail. Tougher, even. Is that hard enough for you?”

  “That’ll do.” She forced a smile, but he could tell she didn’t mean it. She was showing way more teeth than she usually did. “And I’m not offended. I hate being taken for a cream puff because I’m small and…” She broke off, gestured to the curves he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off all evening.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, slowing to a stop for a light. “I didn’t realize it was a sore subject.” When she didn’t answer, he reached over and tipped her chin up so that she had to meet his eyes.

  She sighed. “When I was in the system a lot of men tried to take advantage of me because of the way I looked, so— It’s my turn to apologize. I overreacted to a conversation that I initiated. Which is stupid.”

  Anger welled up inside him. He’d worked in a lot of different countries through the years, countries where the light veneer of civilization had worn away years before he’d gotten there. While there, he’d seen what the strong did to the weak, what the monsters did to the innocent, simply because they could. The idea that Sophie had been subjected to something like that made him furious…and sick.

  His first instinct was to press, to find out specifics of what had put that bruised look in her eyes. But this wasn’t the time or the place, no matter how much he wished it was. Plus, he had his own secrets. Pushing Sophie for hers would be hypocritical in the extreme. Besides, he couldn’t stand the idea of hurting her just to satisfy the vicious curiosity burning inside of him.

  Still, it took a couple minutes for him to tamp the rage down, and the silence between them grew awkward, which he couldn’t stand. So, determined to scale the wall that had sprung up between them before it got even higher, he did the only thing he could think of. He reverted to the beginning of the conversation. “So if you aren’t a defense attorney and you aren’t a tax attorney, that leaves family law. Am I right?”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, watched as she did her best to shake the last vestiges of weirdness between them off. It was one of the things he really liked about her—the way she didn’t hold a grudge but dove right in to help. “You’re almost right. I’m the attorney of record for three battered women’s shelters. I help women get divorces, obtain protection orders, file charges when applicable. The case I’ve been dealing with for the past two weeks was a rough one. The husband’s a cop and a real bastard.

  “He beat her constantly when she was with him, and when she finally worked up the nerve to leave him then he stalked her and tried to kill her. His conduct was always ignored or brushed under the carpet because of the blue line, and she couldn’t get any help. By the time she came to us, she had resigned herself to the idea that she was going to die. All she cared about was making sure her children were safe.”

  Her fists clenched in her lap, her nails digging into her palms for long seconds before she relaxed again.

  “You helped her?” he asked.

  “We were able to push the divorce through yesterday and get a restraining order. Plus her husband’s lieutenant was ordered by the judge to deliver a departmental reprimand that goes on his record and could affect his pension if there are more incidences, so basically it was a slam dunk in all areas. Thank God.”

  “You did all that?”

  “Marlena helped. She was so unshakable on the stand, so calm and determined. I’m so proud of her and how far she’s come in such a short time.”

  “How long have you been working with her?” he asked as he pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

  “Four and a half months.”

  He stared at her, amazed. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible. I had no idea that’s what you were doing.”

  “You thought I was charging five hundred dollars an hour in some swanky office building somewhere, huh?”

  “I guess I did.” He reached forward, brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face. It wrapped around his finger, a silky flame that chased away a little bit of the cold that had taken up residence inside him. “Seriously, I’m really impressed.”

  “It’s really not that impressive. More paperwork than anything else. It’s a far cry from, oh, I don’t know, running off to disaster-stricken nations to bring medical care to people who rarely have electricity or running water. I still have indoor plumbing and air-conditioning, so you totally kick my butt in the whole contest.”

  “Well, the
re is that. Indoor plumbing and central air cannot be underappreciated.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  He pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car. “Still, you done good, kid.” He winked at her and she smiled, a shy little upturning of her lips that said, clearer than words, that Sophie wasn’t used to getting compliments. Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Another one to her left cheek and a third to her right. She shuddered a little, her hands sliding over his chest, tangling in his shirt as she tilted her face up to his.

  She looked beautiful. Her green eyes luminous in the moonlight, her long, red hair glowing with silvered flames. Her sweet pink lips parted a little bit as he ran his thumb over their softness.

  She gasped then a little, and he took the opportunity to slide his thumb against the edge of her teeth.

  Sophie tensed, opened more, then sucked the pad of his thumb inside the warm heat of her mouth, biting down with her sharp, little teeth. It took every ounce of control he had not to lift her up and over the center console, onto his lap, steering wheel or not.

  Figuring that would embarrass her, but needing more—so much more—than she was currently giving him, he pulled his thumb away, trailing it over her chin and down her slender, elegant neck to the pulse beating frantically at the hollow of her throat. And then, when her breath was coming faster and her eyes were glazing over, he kissed her.

  * * *

  JACK’S MOUTH on hers nearly made Sophie scream at the heat of it. The sexiness of it. The downright deliciousness of it.

  He tasted like he smelled—of sex and satin sheets and long, sultry nights.

  He was delicious, and she wanted more, so much more than the meeting of their mouths could give her.

  Her hands crept up his neck to bury themselves in his shaggy hair. It was cool and silky against her fingers and felt so good she couldn’t help grabbing on. Tugging a little, so that his lips were pressed even more firmly against her own. And then she surrendered completely, giving herself over to the heat flashing between them.

  She’d thought maybe she’d exaggerated the heat of yesterday afternoon, blown up the encounter in her own mind until she remembered it as hotter than it had actually been. After all, the first time a woman made love in five years was bound to be intense.

  But she’d been wrong. This moment, this kiss, was as wicked and wild and wonderful as she remembered. Maybe even more so, since they’d had all those hours yesterday to learn each other. Whatever was on offer, she was going to take it. Take him.

  Jack’s lips were hard against her own, firm but a little out of control. And his tongue—it was everywhere. It swept over her bottom lip, nuzzled at the corner of her mouth before darting inside and stroking against her own tongue. Back and forth, over the roof of her mouth, down her cheek, along the inside of her upper lip before delving deep to explore the most hidden recesses of her.

  She gasped, and he pulled back a little, a questioning look in his eyes. But she refused to let him go—not yet, not now when she had barely gotten a taste of him. Instead, she pressed her advantage and sucked his lower lip between her teeth.

  He groaned, and the hand at the small of her back slipped lower to cup and knead her bottom. It was her turn to moan, and as she did, he hit a button that moved his seat back. Before she knew what was happening, he had lifted her over onto his lap. Her tailbone rested against the steering wheel, her legs straddled his and her sex was nestled against his hardness.

  She saw stars—there was no other word for the blinding flashes of light that pulsed behind her closed eyelids—and her hands slipped down to clutch at his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

  A warning bell was going off in the back of her head, telling her this wasn’t the time or the place for this. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not now¸ when his lips were skimming over her neck and his hands were anchored on her hips, lifting and lowering her against him.

  Heat moved inside of her with every flex of his hips, building and building and building until all she could see or feel or think was him. She moaned, pressed closer, needing a little bit more stimulation.

  Jack seemed to understand, because his good hand came between them, slipped into the open neckline of her dress, and cupped her breast. His thumb brushed back and forth against her nipple, once, twice, again and again until she was in a fever pitch of excitement. Then he squeezed, lightly, and she exploded, gasping his name as fireworks went off deep inside her.

  Jack held her for long seconds, stroking his hands over the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck as she tried to get her breath back.

  Reality crept in slowly and when it did, she felt her cheeks start to burn. She’d let Jack bring her to orgasm in a restaurant parking lot, while his friends waited inside. Even worse, she’d taken everything he’d offered and given nothing in return. She could still feel him resting, hot and hard, against her sex.

  Too embarrassed to look at him, she buried her face in his neck. Moaned. “I’m so sorry.

  “I’m not.” He shifted a little, and as he did he pressed more deeply against her. It was his turn to groan.

  “Do you want me to…” Her voice drifted away because she was too embarrassed to say out loud what she was offering. But she slid her hand down his chest to his belt buckle, in case he misunderstood what she was offering.

  Jack laughed, even as he caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm. “Much as I’d love to take you up on that offer, we’re already late.” He lifted her gingerly off his lap, returning her to her side of the car. “But when we’re done in there, I will definitely take you up on your offer.”

  As he got out of the car, adjusting himself, she flipped the sun visor down and checked out her appearance in the mirror. He circled the car, opened her door for her and she moaned as she combed frantic fingers through her hair. “Oh my God, I look like I had sex in a car.”

  “You did have sex in a car—or close enough,” he told her, holding a hand out to help her out. She stood facing him, and he straightened her dress for her, his hand lingering over her neckline.

  She swatted him away. “I thought you said we were late?”

  “Yeah, well, one more minute won’t hurt.” He pulled her toward him and, this time, kissed her gently on the lips.

  Then he cleared his throat, asked, “So, are you ready?”

  Something in his tone sounded a little off. “You make it sound like we’re going to the guillotine.”

  “Not at all. Amanda and Simon are great.”

  “But?”

  “But nothing.” He held out an arm to her, waited for her to take it. “You’ll love them,” he told her confidently. Too bad the look in his eyes told a different story. Suddenly she was uneasy on a whole new level, one that had nothing to do with the fact that her dress was wrinkled and her lipstick long gone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  JACK’S FRIENDS WERE waiting for them in the bar, but when he led her toward them, Sophie froze. “You didn’t tell me your friend Simon was Simon Hart!” she whispered furiously. She’d been a fan of the journalist and his heavy-hitting, investigative documentaries for years and had been thrilled when he’d moved to CNN, where she could watch him regularly.

  “I didn’t realize it mattered,” he told her, bemused. “Are you a fan?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Great. We should all get along really well, then.”

  He put a firm hand on her lower back and guided her toward the table. But the closer they got, the more nervous she became. Simon had been her idol since she’d seen a story he did on Bosnia in the late nineties. He’d dug deeper than a lot of people had at the time and had been one of the first Western journalists to report on the atrocities that had happened to women and children of all the races in the shad
ow of the ethnic cleansings.

  She’d been in her last year of high school and toying with the idea of becoming a journalist. While she’d eventually decided to go to law school instead, she’d had a crush on Simon until she was well into her twenties. It was ridiculous, but there it was.

  She started to tell Jack as much, figuring they could have a good laugh over it, but the first solid look she got at his face told her this wasn’t a good time. It also told her that though hers was the back his arm was pressed against, his mind was somewhere else entirely. Namely across the bar with Amanda.

  She glanced in his eyes, tried to figure out what he was thinking, then wished she hadn’t, as what she saw there made her feel like a Class-A fool. He might be sleeping with her, he might even bring her flowers, but this wasn’t a date. Not like she’d imagined it would be. Because where she’d once had a harmless crush on Simon Hart, Jack obviously had much more than that on Amanda.

  Oh, he was subtle about it, and if she hadn’t been watching him so carefully—trying to figure out what was wrong—she might not have seen anything at all. But she’d made a career out of reading witnesses’ eyes and faces and there it was, lurking in the depths of those gorgeous amber eyes of his. He had feelings, deep feelings, for the woman who had convinced him to leave behind Boston and everything he knew in order to work in a low-income clinic in Atlanta.

  Suddenly a lot of things she hadn’t previously understood made sense.

  No wonder Jack was so tormented. Not only had he lost the only career he’d ever known, he’d also lost the woman he loved. The fact that he was here anyway, willing to help her celebrate the next milestone in her life, spoke volumes about the kind of man he was. It didn’t, however, look good in the boyfriend department.

  Which was fine, she told herself viciously. It’s not like this thing between them was serious or anything. They were friends with benefits, although she was currently doubting the friend part of that equation as friends didn’t let friends fly blindly into situations like this.