More Than Lust (Courthouse Connections Book 1)

by Jacobs, Ann

  “I think I can get myself out, Gray, but I appreciate your manners,” she said, grinning at him as she opened the passenger door and let herself out. “See you at my apartment complex. It’s in old Hyde Park—the less fashionable section between Swann and Azeele Streets, just west of North Boulevard.”

  Gray wasn’t about to miss the chance of spending another few minutes with her before letting her drive away, even if he knew they’d be together again very soon. He got out of his car and walked to her as she was unlocking hers. “Where would you like to have dinner? Shall we take our chances, or should I call somewhere for reservations?”

  “Any place I could recommend wouldn’t require reservations, even on a Friday night. Why don’t you surprise me?” She laid a hand on his forearm, a gesture that inexplicably had him thinking about ditching the idea of food.

  “Okay. At least tell me what kind of food you like. Otherwise I might subject you to Thai or sushi since I know a couple of good places to get them near your neighborhood.” He paused, shot her a mock-horrified look. “Please tell me you’re not a vegan.”

  “No. I don’t do sushi, but I’m game to try almost anything else. Like I said, surprise me. I’ll just run in when we get to my place and grab a few things. I won’t be more than five minutes. You’d better stay in your car or my landlord may decide to have it towed.”

  After opening her door, Gray went back to his car and followed her, taking an empty spot in the parking lot of a century-old house that had been converted to apartments, probably before he was born. Before he had time to consider the instant attraction he and Andi felt for each other, she was back, her briefcase and a small overnight bag in hand.

  “You really didn’t take long.” Another point in Andi’s favor, he thought, recalling how many times he’d been stuck waiting for hours while a date dawdled over choosing clothes to take on an overnight outing.

  Andi grinned as she stowed her bag on the small backseat and slid into Gray’s car. “That’s one advantage to having only so many casual outfits to choose from, I guess. I brought my laptop and some case notes along—I really do have to prep for that trial.”

  “Okay. I thought we’d grab a quick dinner at Paesano’s. They’ve got good southern Italian food, if that’s okay with you.”

  “More than okay. I love pasta and pizza. Paesano’s is one of my favorite restaurants.”

  “Mine too. I think I love you already. Most women I’ve taken to eat there insist on having nothing but a salad.”

  Andi laughed. “Not me. I guess I’m lucky not to have to starve myself to fit into my clothes, but I’m not sure I could live on nothing but rabbit food even if my mirror told me that I should.”

  “My eyes tell me you’re just right. Slender enough for me to pick up and carry, curvy enough for me to want to get my hands on you any time I get the opportunity. What I like best about you is that you don’t seem obsessed about yourself like a lot of women I know. C’mon, let’s go eat so we can get on over to the beach.”

  ● ● ●

  When they got to Paesano’s, Gray spoke to the hostess, then held Andi’s hand as they followed her to a table on the patio where ceiling fans turned lazily, keeping mosquitoes at bay so they could enjoy the tropical plants and Italian marble statuary lit by hanging lanterns that swayed in the breeze. After seating Andi, he took the place next to hers, rather than across the table set for four.

  “I’ve always thought natives ought to take advantage of the few days of the year when Tampa is dry, not too hot, not too cool, and not plagued with too many flying insects. Hope you don’t mind,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  “Not at all.” She glanced at the menu. “What are you hungry for tonight?” she asked, wondering whether he’d want pasta or pizza.

  “That’s a loaded question, honey. I don’t think I’m likely to get what I’m hungry for while we’re here, but I thought we’d start out by sharing bruschetta and antipasto, and follow that up with their homemade ravioli al formaggio and whatever kind of pizza you like, that we can finish up for breakfast tomorrow if we don’t eat it all tonight. Sound good?”

  Andi smiled. “It sounds outstanding. The margherita is my favorite, but I like them all, except the ones that have eggs or anchovies on them.” She could never eat an entire pizza at one sitting, but she frequently stopped here after working late and bought one to take home and munch on for the next couple of days. “How did you know I think their ravioli is to die for?”

  “I didn’t, but it’s definitely my go-to pasta dish, not that the meat ravioli in Bolognese sauce isn’t good, too.” He motioned for a waiter, who scurried to the table right away.

  “What kind of wine do you like?”

  “You choose. I’m afraid I’m not an expert on wines, but I enjoy a glass every now and then with a meal.” Andi couldn’t pronounce the wines on the restaurant’s list. Italian wasn’t one of the languages she’d mastered. She hadn’t actually mastered Spanish in the three years she’d taken it in high school, either, a fact that annoyed her supervisors immeasurably in the city where a good many defendants only spoke Spanish .

  Gray grinned. “I bet you usually order a Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay, but I want you to try this one.” He pointed out something called Brunello, Capanna Di Montalcino, described on the wine list as red, dry, and naturally fruity, which didn’t tell her anything about what the wine would taste like except that it cost a whole lot more than the restaurant’s most popular Chianti, which she’d sampled and enjoyed.

  “All right, but if I don’t care for it, you’ll have to drink the whole bottle. Why do you think I usually drink white wines? I like reds, too.”

  He turned to the waiter and ordered for them, then laced his fingers through hers. “Most women I know seem to think they ought to drink white wines with white meats, red with beef and pork, and in a place like this, chianti with pizza, no matter what’s on top of it. I say drink what you enjoy with whatever you’re eating, and the hell with tradition. You’ll like the bottle I ordered.”

  She liked the feel of his long, slender fingers, the way he moved them gently against her palm, in time with the mellow Italian song being piped through the PA system. The slight vibration started a pleasant feeling everywhere their hands touched and migrated up her arm.

  Before long, their waiter came back with the wine, two plates, small forks, and dishes with bruschetta and antipasto. Andi hated losing the body contact that felt so good, but it couldn’t be helped.

  After the waiter poured wine, Gray sampled it and nodded. He piled some of the bruschetta on a thin slice of warm, wood-fired bread. He laid it on Andi’s plate before offering her the first choice of prosciutto, soppressata, olives, round red peppers, Asiago and provolone cheeses that had been arranged artfully on the antipasto plate. “Don’t be polite. Take the ones you like. I’m going to fix myself some of the bruschetta while you pick out your goodies.”

  Not terribly hungry after the appetizers she’d snacked on at the reception earlier, she selected one of the olives, a pepper, and some cheese. “I’ve never been too sure about unfamiliar meats, so I’ll leave them for you.”

  If Andi knew Gray better, she’d tell him the story about her grandfather from the Smoky Mountains insisting during a childhood visit that she try a cold cut he called “souse.” Grandpa had told her after she tasted some that it contained all sorts of disgusting parts of a pig’s head that had been pickled in vinegar. She’d thrown up violently, and since then she’d been very reluctant to eat what she considered “exotic” cold cuts, no matter their country or region of origin—even if they were served in one of her favorite restaurants.

  “You sure you don’t want more?” Gray eyed the prosciutto for a minute, then speared it with his fork before scooping up the slices of soppressata that unfortunately reminded her a little of the homemade cold cut from her childhood with its mottled colors of fat and lean and God only knew what other ingredients.

&nb
sp; “No thank you. If I stuff myself, I won’t have any room left for the main course.”

  “Are you trying to hide the fact that you’re a vegetarian?” Gray asked as he polished off the last of the meats that she’d ignored and chased it with bruschetta.

  “No. I’m not a vegetarian. I eat meat almost every day. Someday, if our fling lasts long enough, I’ll tell you the story of why I don’t eat cold cuts.”

  Gray laughed. “Squeamish, are you?” He lifted his glass and took a sip of wine .

  This man took her breath away. Andi sipped her wine and did her best to memorize his features, so they’d stay in her memory once their fling was done. “I guess I am, a little. I take it you’re not.”

  “Nope. I enjoy sampling new things, whether they’re foods or ideas or…” He grinned. “…a delightful woman who has managed to fascinate me like nobody has for years, maybe since I was fourteen years old and Marcy Cohen was twelve and completely off-limits. You’re not off limits to me, are you?”

  She met his gaze, saw raw desire but something else. Was it possible that he was experiencing the same unfamiliar emotions that were running through her, robbing her of her usual caution when it came to men? “N-no. You’re not off limits at all, I just hope I’m not off limits to you if we somehow should decide what we’re having ought to graduate from our weekend fling to somewhere I wouldn’t fit in. Damn, I shouldn’t even worry about that, because it’s not happening.” Andi told herself to shut up before she made a complete idiot of herself.

  His expression serious, he set down his wineglass and took her hand. “It just might, and if it does, we’ll work everything out. I respect my mother, but I’m thirty years old and there’s no way I’ll let her choose my woman the way she thinks she has a right to do. If she wants to play God with bloodlines, I’ll buy her a thoroughbred stud and she can study his ancestors and pick ‘suitable’ mares for him to service.

  “Believe me, no one, not even my mother, is going to run my life. I didn’t let her dictate my career. Why the hell would you think I’d let her run my life?”

  Andi didn’t know how to reply to that, so she was relieved when the waiter came and brought their dinner. Gray, too, settled down to eat quietly, and when they left the restaurant, half of the pizza and a box of cannoli in hand to munch on later, they got in Gray’s car and talked about places and people they knew in common until he drove through Clearwater and pulled onto the causeway that led to the beach.

  Chapter Five

  A huge clap of thunder made Andi let out a little yelp. Gray counted nine seconds before a bolt of lightning lit the sky in front of the car.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little spring thunderstorm,” he commented. “After all, you’ve lived around here all your life. You should be used to them.”

  “I’m not scared of the thunder, it’s just a noise, like that country singer said. But lightning terrifies me. I saw my best friend’s dad get struck by a lightning bolt when I was about eight years old.”

  “Was he hurt badly?” Gray could see how Andi might be terrified of storms. He’d heard that lightning strikes on humans, while rare, could cause anything from burning and scarring to severe neurological problems and even death.

  “He lived, but ever since he got hit, his muscles twitch. When they do, he makes faces that even scare my friend. He hasn’t been able to hold down a job, and it’s been almost twenty years since…” Her voice trailed off, as if thinking about the long-ago event still upset her terribly.

  “It looks as though we’re in for a storm, so we’ll skip the walk along the beach tonight and go straight to the condo.” Gray decided to spare her the direct exposure to what looked as though it would be a severe if brief patch of weather.

  Andi had mentioned going to the beach as a child, searching for new shells to add to her collection. “If we wait and go out after the storm, more interesting shells should have been deposited on shore than ones that are usually there.”

  She laughed as he pulled into a parking lot outside the waterfront high-rise where his mother owned the condo that he’d been camping in since coming back to work in the DEA’s Tampa office. “That will be fun. I haven’t hunted shells for years. I don’t know if Mother still has the box where I used to keep my finds.”

  Just then the skies opened up and rain started pelting the windshield, its velocity practically drowning out the sound of Andi’s voice. More thunder rolled in the distance, followed even more quickly than before by lightning bolts that even he found alarming. Turning off the engine, he turned and put an arm around Andi, who was shivering despite being safe inside the car.

  He didn’t make a move, but tried to calm her by continuing the conversation they’d begun before the deluge began. “I still have the ones I found when Dad used to take me out for weekends on his boat. We’d take off for the Keys, occasionally even the Bahamas, stopping to explore uninhabited islands—that’s where I found the most unusual treasures.

  “They’re in my old bedroom—at least I don’t imagine Mother ever cleared out my stuff. I’m sure her housekeeper, Julianna, would call and ask me before disposing of anything that belonged to me. She’s a sweetheart, almost like a second mother, only nicer.”

  Once Andi seemed calmer, Gray reached into the small backseat and dug out a golf umbrella and two plastic rain ponchos, handing one of the ponchos to her. “Here, put this on. It’s not the latest fashion, but it’ll keep some of the rain off you.”

  She looked cute, wiggling around in the small space to drape the poncho over her. “I’ll be okay. I feel so stupid, letting a little bad weather unnerve me this way.”

  Once he got out of the car, he opened the umbrella, grabbed her bag and briefcase, and sprinted to the passenger side. When she got out and under the umbrella, she huddled close to him, keeping his body between her and the Gulf. They made their way to the building, staying in the shelter of a covered walkway flanked by mature palm trees whose fronds bounced merrily in the increasing wind.

  He put his arm around her, drawing her close enough that he could feel her trembling again. “We’ll be okay, Andi. I won’t let the storm anywhere near us.” He didn’t know quite how he’d manage to defeat the elements, but his reassurance seemed to calm her as they stepped inside the lobby where he closed the umbrella. Together, they made for the bank of elevators along an inside wall where Gray pushed a button for the fourth floor.

  ● ● ●

  “We’re here.” He inserted a key card and swung open one of two doors opposite from the elevator. “Let’s get out of the wet stuff here in the foyer, so we don’t track water all over the carpets.” He set down her bag and briefcase, and stowed the oversize umbrella in a metal stand next to the door.

  Andi wasn’t sure it was a good idea to wet the polished marble entryway, either, but she slipped off her soaked shoes and lifted the poncho over her head. “I think I’m going to need to get dry all over. My pantyhose are nearly as soaked as my shoes.”

  He grinned, then picked up her bag and opened a door to the left of the entryway. “You can use the powder room and put on something dry. I’ll tiptoe to my room and do the same. Meet you in there.” He gestured toward an open archway that apparently led to the living area, before disappearing down a long, carpeted hall.

  Andi stepped inside the elegant half-bath she had assumed must be a coat closet from the look and placement of the door. The floor tile was marble, too, the same beige and gray pattern as the foyer, she noticed as she peeled off her pantyhose and laid them on the floor. As she changed from her damp dress and undies to the shorts and shirt she’d packed to wear tomorrow on the beach, she noticed that her first assumption hadn’t been wrong. In addition to the vanity and toilet, there was an alcove outfitted to hold coats, boots, even ladies’ handbags.

  Soft, romantic music—songs from the seventies and eighties, she thought—filled the air, its volume muted yet distinct enough that she could make out lyrics .

  Deep
, plush carpeting cushioned her bare feet when she entered the room Gray had pointed out, an expansive space lit by indirect lighting and accentuated by the bursts of lightning that crackled outside the floor to ceiling windows. He stood beside a wet bar, looking relaxed and at ease wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a pale blue T-shirt, his bare feet cushioned in beige carpeting.

  “I’m afraid the selection of music is pretty limited. Most of it dates back to when I was being born, but I thought it would help distract you from the sounds of thunder and lightning,” he said. “I’ve always liked The Carpenters, though.”

  Andi did too. “‘It’s Only Just Begun’” is still one of my mom’s favorites.”

  “My mother’s too. Otherwise she wouldn’t have put it into this mix. I didn’t pick it intentionally, but the lyrics seem appropriate to us, wouldn’t you say?”

  Andi couldn’t help smiling. “I guess so.” How was it that he could act so casual, so completely at ease in this place, this situation that he found a little unnerving?

  Gray fit perfectly in this environment. He obviously took the elegant surroundings for granted, something Andi knew she could never do. Glancing around, she noticed the curved sectional sofa whose cream-colored leather upholstery matched that on a half-dozen bar stools somebody had arranged at precise angles in front of the free-form bar.

  She bet it hadn’t been Gray who’d arranged those stools—or cleaned the outrageously impractical pale carpeting, or scrubbed the marble floors in the foyer.

  “What’s going through your head, counselor?” A quirky grin played at the edges of his mouth.

  She met his gaze, grinned. “I was wondering who keeps this place looking like a model home, and I’m guessing that it isn’t you.”

  “You’re right. The condo association has a cleaning crew that comes in twice a week. Makes things easier, especially when I’m gone on assignment. I plead not guilty for picking out carpeting that’s a bitch to keep looking good, though. Mother—or the decorator she worked with the last time she remodeled the place—apparently thought the light colors wouldn’t show sand from the beach. Nobody pointed out that not everything people track in comes from out there.” He gestured toward the windows that Andi thought must offer a breathtaking view of the Gulf in daylight.