Where Dreams Reside

by M. L. Buchman

  They were just getting together for a date, which she was really too busy for anyway. She’d make them some tea in the office kitchen, they’d share whatever treat he’d brought and now set in her In Basket, then she’d send him on his way.

  “I got in here because your building guard is Manuel’s cousin, Manuel is my sous chef, and we feed her when she finds someone she wants to really impress.”

  “So you just bribe your way into any building you want?”

  “Oh,” he sat back and folded his hands behind his head looking perfectly relaxed. “We chefs have our ways. To answer the rest of your question, the outer door to your offices is unlocked and I found your office because it is the only one with the light on. And also, you know, the screams.”

  Jo fought the heat that rushed to her cheeks and reached for composure.

  “The door was unlocked because it’s a secure elevator so the last one to leave, tonight being me, actually usually being me, would lock up. But courtesy of Manuel’s cousin, her master passcard to the elevator, and your relationship with her…”

  “Don’t go there,” Angelo cut her off. “Won’t do you any good. Dora’s nineteen, good at her job, and a lesbian. Our relationship is purely caloric.”

  Jo would give good money to know how he looked so relaxed when she so wasn’t.

  It was a good thing Dora had been the security guard on duty or Angelo would have had no compunction about turning around and sprinting out the door when faced with the edifice that was the sixteenth floor entrance to Stanley, Tu, Rolfmann, and Thompson. Every single thing about their offices had reeked of intimidation and power.

  First, the thick glass doors with the four names in gold leaf, didn’t open like doors, with handles. They shot aside with a soft, “whoosh!” like they were from Star Trek. Not some clunky supermarket door either. One moment the things were there blocking him out. The next moment they were gone, and the fittings were so seamless it was hard to tell where they’d gone into the sides of the ebony archway that dared the intruder to pass beneath. He half expected a Stargate vortex to shimmer to life and swallow him whole.

  Five feet into the office, they’d magically reappeared behind him like an invisible cage. He’d considered returning to the elevator just to make sure he could escape if needs be, but he knew if he started down that road there’d be no turning back.

  The lobby was all dusky blues: the carpet, the leather furniture, the walls. Even when the lighting automatically came up, it was subtle and indirect. The ceiling appeared to be fathomless glass, as if you could look up into it forever and never find yourself. Behind the receptionist’s desk, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows threatened to spill you over a dozen stories down into Elliot Bay. Even at night, it looked precipitous. A bad place for anyone who feared heights.

  Offices ranged right and left along the Sound-view face of the building.

  The only light had been at the end of the left-hand corridor, which is how he had arrived at Jo’s equally intimidating corner office. The walls were dark-smoked glass. The photographs of wilderness sunsets and morning vistas were framed in bright stainless steel which appeared to float off the glass walls like magic in some futuristic art gallery. They offered the only color other than the dark wood of Jo’s desk which was covered with a large, ocean-blue map. That was then buried deep in files that appeared to have been deposited in stages like layers of stone. There was no clock, but rather a projection of one from somewhere behind the glass. The clock face, very similar to the giant one looming over Pike Place Market that he could see many stories below through her window, simply shown deep red on the smoky glass.

  And in the middle of all the futuristic reek of power had been Jo with her head down in her hands.

  That’s when he’d found his equilibrium. No matter how high-powered she might be, no matter the trappings around her, she was a woman obviously deeply tired and frustrated.

  Somehow, her heartless office made her, by contrast, so much more human. A human Jo Thompson he could deal with. The power-suited Counselor Thompson, name partner of the law firm, that one scared him to death. So, he would just pretend that one wasn’t present. He glanced down at a glass coffee table and spotted a copy of something called the ABA Journal and the cover had a picture of Jo and three guys grouped around her but a half-step behind her. They were probably Stanley, Tu, and Rolfmann. Angelo absolutely was going to pretend that he hadn’t seen that.

  And she looked so distressed that he reset his agenda even as he watched her. Tonight she didn’t need an eager lover, he hoped that’s what she’d been suggesting. Tonight she looked as if she needed a friend.

  “So, what’s going on?” He’d just ignore her question about how he looked so relaxed, because if he thought about it, he wouldn’t be.

  “Everything. Nothing. It’s… I’m…” Then she scrubbed her face for a moment and flipped a fistful of hair back over her shoulder. “I’m a mess.”

  “But such a beautiful mess.”

  “You’re so Italian.”

  “Sue me,” he grinned at her.

  “Don’t tempt me, Angelo. At this point that might just cheer me up.”

  “So if you sue me, do I get to see more of you, or less?”

  She slipped a bright pink pen behind her left ear which held her hair back on that side, leaving the other side free to spill strand by strand forward over her right shoulder. He had to blink to resist the mesmerizing movement of sliding hair like liquid midnight.

  “I’d see you more because of depositions,” she tapped a stack of notes, “and discovery,” she slapped a tall stack of files then had to grab and re-center them to keep them from falling.

  “Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

  “But also much less socially, and never without opposing counsel in attendance to protect your rights.”

  “Ah, well. Now that doesn’t sound so good. Not unless she’s very cute.”

  Jo laughed then scowled at him. He’d ignore that as well.

  “So what is all this mess?” He’d had Russell look over his restaurant lease renewal agreement a few weeks ago, because he didn’t understand such things. They’d made a few minor tweaks, but Russell had declared the thing really fair, so Angelo had signed. What Jo had ranged across her desk looked utterly meaningless. Overlong pages of paper had numbers running down the left side and strange blocky headings on the first page. The long, yellow legal pad already had a dozen pages folded under and the exposed page was mostly full of tightly spaced notes.

  “It was supposed to be the next year of my life, but I’m afraid it’s going to be the next five. I really don’t want to spend the next five years commuting to Alaska.”

  “Alaska?” Angelo did his best to hide his distress at the idea of her being so far away. Especially for so long.

  “North Slope mineral and oil exploration rights,” she patted one pile of files. Then another, “Fishing rights.” And a third, “International agreements. And disagreements.” A fourth.

  “All controlled by international law, superseded by case law, governmental protests, diplomatic letters, and U.N. negotiations.” She aimed a finger at various piles.

  “U.N.? As in United Nations?” Angelo could feel his cool slipping once again and struggled to find it and pull it over him like the cloak of baked mozzarella on an Eggplant Parmigiana.

  “Yes. It’s pretty exciting actually. I might get my first chance to argue a case in front of the U.N. Maritime Court.”

  She couldn’t have named anything more impossible. The White House made more sense than the U.N. The U.N. was the place he’d gone on a high school class trip, had a toured lecture while hovered over by a dozen security guards. It wasn’t technically in New York. It was in some weird International Zone that wasn’t even a part of the United States.

  “Whoa! We’re talking about that big building on the Eastside mid-town Manhattan? The one with the hundred and something flags around it?” He blew out a breath. “That’s too
unreal. Let’s get you back down to Earth.” He nudged the white box still sitting in her In Basket.

  She glanced at it without reaching across the piles to pick it up.

  “If it’s more of your Panna Cotta I will charge you with malfeasance and criminal intent regarding the condition of my waistline.”

  “Mal what? And you have an amazingly attractive waistline.”

  “Intentional wrongdoing.” The waistline comment appeared to fluster her. He’d have to remember that. It was as if she’d shed a little bit more of the lawyer when he said it.

  “Oh. No, it’s not Panna Cotta.” He was starting to like the way she spoke. At first it had put him off, but it was simply a different world than his own. They were both specialists, just very different specialists. The Alaska thing worried him though.

  He nudged the box again and she finally gave in.

  She took it and peered inside. “What are they?”

  “Very decadent.”

  “I guessed that much. How decadent?”

  He smiled when she looked up at him with those dark eyes of hers.

  “Very.”

  Chapter 15

  Decadent? Jo really needed something to be decadent right at the moment. Not Alaska, not case law, not Pike Place Market, not even a triathlon. She needed something that was wholly for her. And she knew exactly what it was, but it was so outrageous she didn’t want to risk even speaking in case that somehow ruined it.

  She closed the little white box and rose without a word. She left some part of herself in that leather office chair. If she’d been less tired, she might have returned to gather it back up, but at the moment she just didn’t care. She tapped the control embedded in the desk’s surface and the tight-focused overhead desk lamp faded to darkness leaving only the soft glow of the walls and the city lights from the windows. Angelo found her jacket on the back of the door and held it out for her.

  Past the lobby and through the doors. She hit the button on her keyring remote. The doors snicked shut and locked, then the lobby lights dimmed to a soft glow. Nineteen stories down to the parking garage and into her BMW Z4 roadster.

  Angelo whistled appreciatively, but when he would have spoken, she shook her head. She’d had way too many words today. And yesterday. And the day before.

  He bowed his acquiescence as if he were a butler in full tails rather than a chef in jeans, a loose button-down shirt, and scuffed sneakers. He held the door for her until she was settled in her seat, then closed it gently. Climbing in beside her, he took the small white box and she fired off the car and flipped the switch to open the convertible top.

  She loved this car. It had been a bonus the day she made partner and had her name added to the Stanley, Tu, and Rolfmann letterhead. The stunning magazine ad for the BMW had been her screensaver for six months and the partners had noticed and purchased it for her as a bonus for the big win she’d pulled off on behalf of the fishing corporations last year. She liked working for this firm. She truly did. But she wasn’t going to think about them any more tonight.

  The BMW ad had been a gut-punching ad, the long-legged blonde in thigh-high red leather boots and a single red rose contrasted with the jet-black car with black leather upholstery. She almost missed a gear shift when she connected that Melanie must have been the model in the ad. Cassidy had found out that Russell had shot and composed it, and Jo now knew that the supermodel had been his favored subject while he was still a professional ad photographer in New York. Was it because they’d been lovers, or because she was so beautiful? Well, it was interesting either way.

  The car tires screamed along the coiled ramp leading upward from deep underground, the engine humming as if eager for the open road, and they almost launched onto the city streets. Angelo reached a hand over and slid his fingertips just once along her thigh. Like an electric shock, her pulse rate jumped by a third.

  Ten blocks. She could make it ten blocks. Besides, tackling him in the tight confines of the car wasn’t terribly practical on well-lit city streets. Not that it wouldn’t be interesting to try.

  She whirled down into the condo’s underground parking and rolled into her spot.

  They took hands as they approached the elevator.

  Once the elevator passed the lobby floor with no one else getting on, she pushed him against the cool steel wall and threw herself at him.

  He was more than up to the challenge. His kiss crushed against hers. His arms, those splendid, chef-strong arms, wrapped her so tightly against his chest that she’d probably have trouble breathing, if she’d cared to.

  It was the last concern on her mind.

  This wasn’t the Jo she knew and maybe that was a good thing. She could hear Muriel in the background somewhere telling her to drag the man into her lair.

  Straight on!

  Jo ran her curled fingers down his chest, her short, practical nails making a slick sound over his linen shirt. She dug them into his pecs and he groaned in her ear.

  That groan reached right down inside her. She had the power to make a beautiful man groan with need. Her last concerns about Angelo as a lover dissipated. For tonight she didn’t care about past or future, education or ambition. She deepened the kiss until the heat raged over her skin.

  The elevator dinged her floor. She grabbed him by the belt at the front of his pants and dragged him into the hall and down to her condo door.

  She opened the door, but didn’t waste time placing her keys in their little bowl. She tossed them aside and heard them plink off a picture.

  “Not one word,” she growled as she slammed the door to her lair and shoved Angelo back against it. “Just make me feel. That’s all I want. I just want to feel. Don’t make me think. Don’t let me think.”

  He didn’t.

  Angelo was blind. It was the only explanation. He was blind and his wildest fantasy, that now lay draped against him gasping for each breath, must be in his mind’s eye. That dusky skin of Jo’s face and arms had driven his dreams wild. He now knew it ran all the way down the length of her body unbroken by tan lines of lighter skin. Her entire body shone lustrous.

  Jo lay against his shoulder and all he could think was how much he needed to do that exact same thing again right now, if only his body was ready. Well, even if he wasn’t.

  He scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Angelo collapsed beside her.

  He’d had entertaining little amuse bouche, one-bite taste, relationships. He’d had women who were a nice appetizer or even a fine meal. Counselor Jo Thompson was a full five-course banquet.

  When he could finally stand, he fetched the little white box which had somehow survived their frantic entry into the condo.

  He tucked Jo in under the quilt and then slid in beside her.

  Opening the box, he held one of the dark chocolates out to her mouth.

  She took it from his fingers leaving a small nibble on his fingertips. She fed him the other.

  He tasted the richness of the dark chocolate as it melted in his mouth. When he broke through to the interior, the flavors exploded into his mouth. Layers began with a wash of sweet Courvoisier liqueur and orange zest. At the very last, he bit into the dark fruit and the cherry built into a heady denouement. Then the surprise, the tiny burst of the lemon and carob chocolate chip he’d slipped into the cherry where the pit had been.

  “Oh wow,” Jo sighed and curled into his arms. “Now that is very, very decadent.”

  Chapter 16

  “Where are you going?” Jo’s voice was warm and slurred with sleep.

  Angelo had been trying to leave without waking her, managed pants and socks, but couldn’t quite figure out what to do with his torn shirt. Maybe a stapler. He’d torn it himself as the only way to get it off fast enough. Even that idle thought had his body responding.

  He came back to the bed and looked down at her. The white quilt was tucked up around her chin and her dark hair spilled over the pale green pillow case. The city lights did littl
e to light the room in the predawn darkness, just enough for him to admire the picture she made. He leaned down to kiss her but she stopped him with a long bare arm that snaked out from beneath the covers and planted in the middle of his chest.

  “Trying to slip off in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s almost five.”

  “Still. You’re one of those men who doesn’t want to wake up next to a woman.” Her tone had gone accusatory and was heading toward counselor.

  He brushed his fingers along her cheek.

  “I have to go shopping for the restaurant. The fish monger will be opening shortly and I like having the first pick.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” he did his best to hide his smile but it wasn’t working. She looked so good all curled up and warm beneath the covers.

  “Oh.” Her hand shifted from warding him off to pressed against his bare chest for a moment. Then she pulled her arm back beneath the covers which she used to pull the covers up even tighter beneath her chin.

  He settled beside her and brushed the backs of his fingers on her impossibly soft cheek. This time when he leaned in, she allowed the kiss, a soft lingering moment that refired his blood.

  “I, uh…” she protested. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “I spent all night trying my best to make you happy and you could forget?” He did his best to sound mortally offended.

  “I remember that part.” She raised her head from the pillow enough to brush her lips on his. “Trust me, I remember that part. I’m just not sure who you were with. It didn’t seem like me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Angelo traced the line of her shoulder through the quilt. “I found the contrast, ah, invigorating.” At one point last night after he’d gotten her naked, he’d had her put the power jacket back on. Just the power jacket. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, cleavage almost to her belly button, better than sheer cotton or fine lace. It had been a while before he’d allowed her to remove it again.