by Lola Darling
“Rivals dinner, doesn’t it?” She gestures at the bowl, her tone dry and sarcastic. “I know, I’m the best cook on the planet. No need to thank me.”
“It could be worse,” I reassure her. “I’m not sure I’ve had worse, but I imagine it’s out there somewhere.”
She laughs, hard. That free-sounding laugh I can’t get enough of. “Gee, that’s reassuring.”
“If you’re going to insist on force-feeding me breakfast, I might have to teach you some tips. Step one, don’t eat anything that comes in a box with a sports star on it.”
“Lucky Charms would be okay then?” She grins. “I don’t think the elf guy plays any sports.”
“You might be hopeless,” I pronounce gravely. “But I will endeavor to save you nonetheless. Have you heard of something called bacon? Eggs? Veggies, if you’re not a bacon kind of girl.”
“I like bacon and all, but it takes so long to microwave it in the morning.”
I press a hand to my chest as though mortally wounded. “I’m going to pretend I did not just hear that. Microwave bacon … dear God.”
She laughs again, but the ring of the house phone interrupts us. We both startle, then eye the landline the way I imagine city people might eye a large animal that wandered into their house.
“People still have those?” she says.
It looks like a late-90s model, similar to the lines we have at the office. I hadn’t really noticed it, buried as it is in what appears to be an award-winning expired coupon collection on the side wall of the dining room. I stand and cross the room to reach for it.
“Wait!” Chloe blinks at me. “Should we answer it? If it’s Suzie’s private line?”
“I can take a message,” I reassure her as I snatch the phone from its cradle. Wow, it’s still got a cord attached and everything. “Suzie Steel’s residence, Suzie’s pool boy speaking,” I say into the speaker, grinning as Chloe stifles a surprised giggle.
“Funny, I don’t recall hiring a pool boy,” replies Suzie’s familiar smoky voice. “You’re going to have to send me some photos to prove your existence. Shirtless, please. Speedos only.”
My grin widens as I hit speakerphone. “Hi Suzie. Max and Chloe here.”
“Well I figured,” she says. “That or I won a lottery no one told me I entered.”
“Sorry Ms. Steel, I thought our call wasn’t for another half an hour,” Chloe calls across the room, loud enough to be heard on the speaker, as I pick up the phone base and carry it to the table.
“Ms. Steel again, really? Max, haven’t you loosened this one up yet? You’ve had a whole day in a scenic getaway cottage. I mean, heck, the view outside is almost as smokin’ as you. Why is your girl still formalizing me?”
We trade smirks, and I can’t help noting the deep blush on Chloe’s cheeks. And enjoying it. Just a little bit.
“It’s early, Suzie,” Chloe responds before I can come up with a reply that won’t incriminate me with one of these women or the other. “I’m auto-pilot formal until I’ve had my coffee. It’s saved me from a lot of near-murder experiences.”
Suzie’s laugh crackles down the line. “Well that’s a relief. So the trip thus far has relaxed you after all. You’d never have admitted to murderous impulses when I first met you, my dear.”
“I admit to nothing,” she replies, catching my eye. “I’m too good a lawyer to fall for that one.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are. That might be your problem, though, missy. If you never admit your attraction, you’ll never know if it’s reciprocated, you know. Don’t you agree, Max? Or have you been silently pining for your colleague too?”
“I’m afraid I, too, will need to plea the fifth here, Suzie,” I respond, carefully avoiding Chloe’s eyes. “Though I must say, your own vacation seems to be making you a real cupid. Have you been reading about matchmaking while you’re away?”
“Been reading Emma,” Suzie responds, surprising both of us, I think. “So, basically, yes. Honestly, any idiot could feel the tension every time the two of you are in a room together.”
Now I might be a little flushed too. Shit. I clear my throat hard. “Aren’t you interested in the other things we’ve been doing while in a room together? Specifically, your case investigation?”
“Less interested, but I suppose you’ll have to update me some time, so might as well shoot.”
“We’ve found plenty of evidence,” Chloe interrupts. “The first recorded instance of your slogan ‘rub it in’ appeared on a 1997 exercise tape that you made in—”
“Jim’s Gym in San Diego,” Suzie replies. “Oh, yes, I remember. Did you notice the man in the tape with me? Second from the right, the only guy in that set. I hooked up with him the whole month we were making that series of tapes. God, he had a seriously great ass. Not to mention his other—”
“Great! Glad you remember the occasion. That will help when we submit the tape as evidence,” I break in. “We found at least two dozen other instances of it throughout the late 90s tapes, and then at least fifty throughout the early 2000s videos you made.”
“God, you watched all of them? In one day?”
“We’ve got another 20 or so to finish today,” Chloe answers. “But we’re nearly there, yes.”
“I’m so sorry,” Suzie says. “No wonder you haven’t had a chance to take advantage of your time away. Or each other. Well, when you finish the other tapes, there’s a wine cellar off of the video room, feel free to raid that, if you haven’t stumbled across it already.”
Chloe glances at me and away again, shyly. “I did, actually,” she says, and Suzie laughs.
“Thatagirl. Hope you shared.”
“She was a perfect gentlewoman,” I respond. “You needn’t worry there. No hogging the wine bottle all to herself.”
“Bottle? Singular?” Suzie tuts even louder now. “Kids, kids. Do you know nothing these days? It takes at least two bottles to get past the oh-god-I-shouldn’t-hit-on-my-coworker wall. Hop to it!”
“We’ll take your opinion under advisement,” I respond, while Chloe rolls her eyes skyward.
“You’d better!” Suzie scolds. “I’ll be counting those bottles when I get home tomorrow. If there aren’t at least three missing, I will be sorely disappointed in my legal counsel.”
With that threat hanging over us, we finish out the conference call—making plans for a few of Suzie’s early collaborators, friends and fans to stop by our offices and talk about witnessing the slogans and brand that Suzie developed. We set up a meeting with four of the most ardent “rubbers,” as Suzie calls them, for right when we get back from here. It’ll make our schedule a little tight, but Chloe and I are both eager to finish the legwork on this case as fast as possible.
I’ll give her that much, I’ve never coordinated a case as tightly, smoothly run as this one. We’re a good pair, the two of us.
As if reading my mind, the moment we finish setting our schedules in our respective phones, Chloe leans back in her chair, the morning sun flashing across her bare shoulders, down the long slope of her chest, and grins at me. “Score one for teamwork, huh?” she says as she sets her Blackberry down. “We’re already almost ready to start writing this thing up.”
“Guess cooking isn’t the only thing we’re good at,” I respond, and suddenly my eyes have snagged on hers. I can’t force myself to look away, not with the way she’s watching me, her chest hitching, the way she does when she inhales sharply, holding that breath in her chest.
The way she does whenever we’re in the same room.
I can feel that gaze of hers all the way down to my crotch. I clench my fists around the edges of my chair to force myself to stay in my seat, because every cell in my body is screaming at me to recreate last night. To grab her and pull her off that chair onto mine, to taste that sexy, full mouth of hers again.
But last night, she said I can’t do this. I need to remember that. If she wants something to start again, she’s going to have to show me she’s read
y.
Even if I have to ignore my cock going hard every time she glances my direction. Fuck.
Unfortunately, the only thing she does now is stand and pad out of the room, leaving me alone with the cereal bowls.
If this is the way it’s going to go, it’s gonna be a long day.
Seventeen
Chloe
How I survived the last thirty-something hours with my sanity intact, I’ll never know. It took every ounce of strength I had to avoid Max for the remainder of the day and a half we were still at Suzie’s place. After we finished the videos, I went for a long run through the fields out back by myself, mostly so I could stop sweating with tension every time his stupid emerald green eyes met mine.
And then, of course, as soon as I got back to the house, he was there again, handing me some kind of tuna salad sandwich he’d “just thrown together” with what he found in the kitchen. Let me tell you, I’ve eaten a lot of tuna salad sandwiches. None of them tasted that good.
Or maybe it was the fact that he was there, just a few feet away from me, joking as ever, almost like he was trying to make me laugh on purpose, and he wasn’t at all the stupid, attention-seeking playboy that I thought he was. He’s looser here than at work, more relaxed. He makes not-always-appropriate jokes that damn near kill me, and he’s a killer chef, and he can’t keep his eyes off of me, and dear god, that makes me so damn hot all the fucking time.
I begged off from dinner last night, even though he was cooking barbecue chicken that smelled amazing, pretending I had a headache, just because I knew that if we ate together again, the same thing would happen. Wine, followed by making out, followed by me losing any sanity and any resolve I still possess, and what would inevitably be a huge mistake would happen.
“You can do this, Chloe,” I tell my reflection as I finish zipping up my suitcase. Suzie’s downstairs, already chatting with—and chatting up—Max. In another few minutes, we’ll leave here, drive back to San Fran, and return to our separate lives. Forget everything that happened between us here.
If I can just make it back to my apartment, I’m sure this will all fade away like a crazy dream. We can go back to being ourselves at the office, and I can stop sweating bullets at the mere thought of his naked chest, his defined abs, his throbbing, pulsing cock, with his big, strong hand wrapped tightly around it…
Sweet mercy.
Last day.
“You can do this,” I repeat, and then I grab my suitcase decisively and storm out of the little blue bedroom.
At the top of the steps, I linger for a moment, listening to Suzie’s gravelly voice below. “You disappoint me. Nothing untoward whatsoever?”
My breath hitches in my throat. Will he tell her about the bathroom? Me walking in on him? Our kiss the next night?
Just thinking about it still sends a shock of sparks low in my stomach. I haven’t felt like this when thinking about a kiss since … well, since I was a damn kid. And here I am, acting like a horny teenager again.
Not to mention eavesdropping on my client and colleague.
But I can’t help it. I don’t want to give my presence away yet. I want to know what he’ll tell her.
“Absolutely nothing,” he answers, his voice low and serious. If I didn’t know any better, I’d actually believe him. “I apologize for the disappointment.”
“You’d better!” Suzie sighs dramatically, and I can’t help it. A smile breaks across my face.
This man. Winning me over one baby step at a time.
That’s the fucking problem.
I skip down the steps just as Suzie is saying, “Well, if she doesn’t want you, I guess I’ll just have to take one for the team and bite off a slice, huh?” There’s a loud striking sound, and judging by the half-amused, half-bereaved grimace on Max’s face when I walk into the living room, I’m pretty sure she just slapped his ass.
“Hey,” I interrupt. “You ready to head out?”
“Whenever you are,” he says, relief written hard across his face when he turns to face me.
I stifle a grin and hoist my suitcase. “Let’s hit the road.”
“Well, at least you managed to down some wine,” Suzie adds, still looking faux-grumpy as she leans in to give me a swift hug. “Good job on that front.”
I hug her back, and wink at Max over her shoulder, who’s raising an eyebrow at me like what does she mean? I wait until we’re outside in the car, pulling out of the driveway and waving goodbye to Suzie and her mushroom house before I spill.
“I packed a couple of wine bottles from her store room,” I say. “So she’d think we drank them.”
Max laughs at that, hard. “You know, you’re a lot more devious than I pegged you for, Miss Professional Lawyer Lady.”
“What can I say? I’m resourceful when it comes to giving my clients what they want.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you are,” he says, his voice low and suggestive.
“You have no idea,” I respond before I think about what I’m doing. Our eyes meet as he takes the turn onto the highway hard. Then the engine’s gunning between us, and the wind off the road cuts through our conversation. He tears his gaze from mine, back to the road, and only then does my heart stop pounding double-time.
Unfortunately, the whole damn road trip goes like that. Fiery looks exchanged every time our banter strays a little too far into uncharted territory.
At one point I reach for the radio just as he’s reaching for the gear shift, and our hands brush between the seats. We both jump nearly out of our seats, as though scalded, and I force my hand back into my lap. His hovers a couple inches above the gear shift for a second, as though he’d rather reach for me instead. When I glance over at him, he’s eying me from the corner of his eye, an unreadable, intense expression on his face.
My chest tightens, and a curl of want unfurls deep in my core. Fuck. My hands itch with the urge to reach across the damn stick shift and touch him. Judging by the way his hand suddenly clamps around the gear shift so hard it seems like he’s hanging on for dear life, I’m pretty sure he’s having similar thoughts.
By the time we pull into the city, my whole body feels like it’s on fire. I keep trying to kickstart my sanity, my brain, but it’s no good. My libido has taken over.
He pulls up outside my apartment building and shuts off the engine. His eyes meet mine, full of heat. Those dark, deep green eyes are hungry—he’s staring at me as if he wants to tear my clothes off right here in this car, in full view of the whole damn street—and damn, do I want to let him. Yet his hand remains on the stick shift. Inches from mine, where I’m clutching the seat, though neither of us make a move to reach for one another. It’s like we’re frozen here in time, neither wanting to break the spell first. Neither of us want to leave, and yet neither of us want to admit what we clearly both want.
Want? That’s not a strong enough word.
What we need.
“Chloe,” he says.
“Max,” I respond, and I manage to keep my voice from quivering. Too much.
“We’re here.”
“Yes, we are.”
Neither of us move, our eyes still fixated on one another’s. Well, truth be told, my eyes have wandered down his sculpted cheeks, over his full lips, which I can still remember sinking into mine last night, the gruff stubble on his cheek scratching my palm. I keep going, feeling brazen now. I take in the undone buttons at the top of his shirt, hinting at the top of his pecs. His abs don’t show beneath the shirt at this angle, sadly, but his chest rises and falls in rapid succession, and I can picture him in the bathroom again, half naked, his body on full, carnal display. My heart pounds so hard it’s a wonder my ribcage is still containing it. My muscles clench in anticipation.
When I lift my gaze to his again, his lips quirk into a smile, before he lets himself do the same. Slowly, he confidently traces his eyes over my body, his gaze so searing I can feel it like a touch on my skin—trailing down my neck, over my chest, down to the flat plan
e of my stomach, my long legs beneath it. When I know he’s looking, I lift one leg casually, sliding it against my other leg and crossing them, making sure to arch my eyebrow suggestively in the process.
When I glance up at him again, his eyes have gone dark and feral.
So much of me wants to give in. Just about all of me, really. And yet there’s still a tiny, irritating shred of sanity left. Right now, it’s fucking shouting at me.
Chloe. Time to move. Get out of the car.
But I don’t seem to be moving, no matter how much I tell myself I should.
“I’ll help with your suitcase,” he says.
We both know what that means. We both know if he steps into my apartment, he’s not leaving until tomorrow morning.
I swallow hard. I don’t trust my voice.
I nod.
Shit. Guess I shouldn’t have trusted my head either.
Too late. He’s already climbing out of the car, grabbing my suitcase from the backseat. I trail after him like a mute. Why am I so goddamn nervous?
I punch in the door code, then stride up the steps, my body tingling the whole way up the stairs, as if I can physically feel his eyes following my ass with every step.
Not gonna lie, I might swing my hips a little harder, knowing that.
At the top of the steps, I fumble with my keys. Insert them into the door. Turn the lock. I take two steps into the apartment, then I turn around to tell him to set the suitcase anywhere.
But he’s already inside, right behind me. Without a word, he drops it at my doorstep and kicks the door shut behind him. His expression, if possible, has grown even more intense. Like he’s fighting himself every inch of the way.
I know that feeling.
We watch one another for what feels like forever, but is probably only half a second. Because next thing I know, he’s crossing the room to me, in two swift steps. He catches my face in his hands, his strong fingers curled along my cheeks, pinning me in place as he bends down to kiss me.
His mouth is hard, insistent, desperate. I kiss him back just as urgently, my arms twining around his neck. He keeps his hands on my face, his thumbs grazing the corners of my lips as I part them, and our tongues tangle together.
