He gazed up at the ceiling, willing himself to calm the greedy nerves craving more stimulation everywhere her body touched his. He mentally reviewed some of the more arcane rules of evidence. Exceptions to the rules of hearsay usually worked in this situation.
Meghan’s mouth was over his clavicle—he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. Gradually he became aware that her breath was slower, her body softer, and she was—
“Snrghhh.”
—snoring.
She’d fallen asleep. That pretty much settled matters. He gingerly organized their bodies so he could reach back and turn off the light. It had been a long time since he had tried to fall asleep with a woman in his arms. Just like before, he found it wasn’t as easy as the movies made it look. Oh, well, the best things were worth working for.
Meghan felt good. It took her a moment to remember what had happened and why she was in Dan’s bed. She moved slowly to turn her head and check him out—mouth open, breath whistling slightly. He was still asleep with an arm around her waist. Not quite spooning but definitely keeping in touch. She smiled.
She couldn’t see a clock. She guessed it was early. Maybe six? She didn’t want to wake Dan but she needed the bathroom. Anyway, no way she’d be able to get back to sleep. She slipped out from under his hand in tiny inchworm movements. Once she was on her feet, she paused beside the bed, looking down at his floppy body. Nope, he was still asleep. She tried to feel good about that.
After she pulled on her jeans in the other room, she paused to scribble a note—Great sleepover—next time can we have s’mores? Call me when you’re ready for breakfast. M.—and left it on the sitting room table, now clear of all their files and documents.
She let herself into her room, already filled with dawn light because she hadn’t pulled the curtains in her rush to get back to Dan. Grateful for the autopilot routine of showering, she alternated between sheepish grins and the most curious sensation, almost like a tiny shudder. What was that French word? Frisson. Yeah, so that’s a frisson. Not an unpleasant feeling. Odd, and like nothing she’d ever felt before. Fizzy…and well, odd.
Goodness, if this is what it felt like after sleeping with him, she had to wonder what it would feel like to sleep with him. She’d probably go from fizzy to feeling like a soda bottle that’s been shaken just before opening. Meghan tried to remember what it had been like with Tommy, her high school boyfriend. They hadn’t quite gotten around to uh, home plate, as it were, but she had done a few things with him behind the AV room in high school, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling much of anything. It had been nice enough, she guessed. None of it had been very memorable. She’d lost her virginity in college. Again, it was okay, but while she remembered the event, nothing of how she felt afterward stayed with her.
Okay, so she wasn’t terribly liberated, sexually. Sex simply hadn’t felt important while she worked hard to get out of Iowa and build a stable life for herself. She knew all the feminist doctrine about making sure that she was in charge of her own satisfaction, but her satisfactions had come from jobs well done, good grades, and the sense that her life was under control.
Wrapped in a surprisingly generous hotel towel, Meghan stood at the window watching people getting into cars in the parking lot, mostly business people from the way they were dressed. She checked the clock. Time to pack.
As she folded her Old Threshers T-shirt, it hit her. One chaste night together might be all they’d have. Life—and work—back in Philly would change things. Dan would go back to being her boss, she’d slap herself silly with the reality of it all, they’d both realize how impossible the situation was. How this can’t happen. Consummating a workplace romance was a really bad idea.
The T-shirt smelled a bit like Dan, or maybe Meghan just wanted it to. Boy, would this get special treatment the next time she did laundry. And probably never be worn again.
She was zipping up her suitcase when the phone rang. It could only be Dan.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Not after you snuck out,” he teased.
“Oooh, poor you. Well, I’m standing here in a towel, so I’d better—”
“Don’t get dressed up on my account. We could order breakfast to be delivered, and then it would be casual dress indeed.”
“Nice try, Casanova. How about we get things wrapped up at ProCell, where they’re expecting us this morning, then haul our butts back to Philly. We can discuss what casual attire really means later.”
“Dinner?”
“It’s a meal,” she said slowly.
“Ah, but is it a meal we’re going to have together, at my place, clothing optional—at least after we’ve paid off the delivery guy, that is.”
Meghan was considering this when he groaned, “Oh, God, that was presumptuous, wasn’t it? I would love to take you to Le Bec-Fin, really I would, but I have to be honest and tell you that it’s going to take all my patience just to get to the end of a day at the office. Expecting me to sit through a nice meal without touching your skin, especially the curve between your waist and your hip, that’s not happening.”
He hadn’t woken up thinking that this was a bad idea. Meghan’s elation soared.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. The thought of a fancy meal, or even MickeyD’s, when we could be alone together—well, I’m with you on that one. Takeout or phone-in, I don’t care.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
“More like a woman after your own cock.”
He choked, and then burst out laughing. “Come and get it any time you want.”
Meghan’s face heated. “There is no way we’d make that flight if I did, and unless you went on a shopping trip while I was in the shower, our original problem remains.”
“Don’t remind me. As soon as we get back to Philly, I swear I’m buying out the condom aisle at the CVS.”
She thought about that for a moment. “Does that mean you don’t have any at home?”
“No, of course I don’t.” He paused. “Wait, that didn’t sound right. While it’s true I happen not to have any with me now, it’s not because I don’t believe in protec—oh, just shoot me now, will you?”
“Shoot you before we’ve actually slept together? No effing way.”
His sigh made him sound exhausted. “I want to be a liberated, up-to-date guy here, but I’m struggling to maintain any illusion that I’ve got all the moves down pat. It’s been a while, I’ll just say that.”
How intriguing—Dan was too good-looking and nice to have a hard time finding a date on a Saturday night. No way she wanted to badger him on the subject. He’d explain his past soon enough.
Meghan teased, “I’m pretty rusty myself. Still I believe the basic moves haven’t changed much in the last few thousand years. Even if disco was king when you last tried, that is.”
“Please. Disco was king when I was in the womb. I’m not that much older than you.”
“Sure, anything you say, Gramps.”
“Brat.”
They both laughed.
Chapter Twelve
On their way to the taxi rank alongside Philly’s Terminal C, Dan tried to convince Meghan to go straight home from the airport. No luck. He wasn’t surprised. He’d figured he’d have a tough time getting her to quit the office this evening.
“I have work on my desk. It’s only—” She checked her watch. “Three-fifteen. Let me clear out any emails and requests from other lawyers, then we can leave for dinner.”
He shook his head, a gesture of regret and resignation rather than refusal. “You’re too dedicated to your job, you know that?”
“I thought that was what you liked about me.”
“I do. It’s just that now I like even more things about you.” He grinned as he opened a cab door for her.
“Flatterer.” Her eyes flashed a wicked glance up at him as she folded herself into the backseat.
“It’s not flattery,” Dan muttered to himself as he watched the cabby
stow their carry-ons into the trunk.
They held hands on the drive north to Center City. When the cab left the Schuylkill Expressway, their hands separated. It was like they had the same thought. Someone could see us. Dan compressed his lips. He didn’t want to be sneaking around, pretending there was nothing going on. That’s what sleazy guys do, cheat on their wives while out of town on business.
It was like he had Wally Leith’s voice in his head. Jumbotron.
Crap.
The cab stopped on Arch Street alongside their building. Meghan got out and waited while Dan paid the cabby and collected a receipt. When they had their luggage, they walked together into the lobby and stood side by side waiting for an elevator.
Vicky Womack came out of the coffee shop, a paper to-go cup in one hand and her cell phone in the other. As soon as she saw Dan, she said something short and terse into the phone, then slipped it into a pocket. “Welcome back, stranger.” She ignored Meghan completely.
“Vicky.” Dan kept his voice level.
She hooked her free hand around his elbow. He thought she meant to pull him aside, perhaps to tell him something confidential about a case. Instead, she just pulled herself closer.
“Where have you been? Tessa makes it sound like a top secret mission or something.”
Dan caught Vicky’s sidelong glance at Meghan, who stared straight ahead, waiting for the elevator. The two carry-ons at their feet made it clear that they’d been traveling. Together.
He shrugged. “Off to see a client. Meghan needed to review documents. I needed to see in-house counsel.” Horrible how he had to make it seem like they weren’t doing both tasks together, but he didn’t trust Vicky at all.
“Oh. Which client?” Vicky let go of his arm when the elevator beeped.
The doors opened and a wave of people streamed out, heading for home at the end of a hot summer’s day. Meghan got on first, tucking her suitcase into the back corner before turning to face front.
Dan ignored Vicky’s question and countered with one of his own. “How’s your week going?” He hoped she’d announce that she had assignments with other partners.
Vicky took advantage of the elevator—which wasn’t very full—to stand too close to Dan. He could smell her coffee and the sickly-sweet perfume she favored. He thought about holding Meghan in his arms. She smelled nice—warm, with just a hint of a flowery scent. He wished he’d countermanded her instinct to come back to the office. They could have snuck away to his place and skipped the headache of Vicky’s perfume.
“Oh, you know how it is. I’ve been cranking out the work. I’d love to talk to you about those trial memos I prepared. Shall I come to your office now?” Vicky turned sideways just enough to make her bust brush against his arm.
He didn’t look at her, just stared at the door. He could imagine how all this looked to Meghan. Damn Vicky.
“No. We’re just getting in. I’d better check in with Tessa and see what she’s got for me. Besides, I approved those trial memos last week.” He’d done so with little commentary, even though they hadn’t been very good.
He heard Vicky’s indrawn breath, as though she was about to say something, but then the elevator stopped at her floor, and she had to get off. His blood pressure had to have dropped twenty points just seeing her disappear from view. Then the doors closed and they continued up to thirty-nine together.
The doors opened on their floor. Just his luck, Darlene McAndrews was standing there, her arms folded around some files. She looked at Dan, who looked back impassively, then her gaze shifted to Meghan, who said, “Excuse me,” as she pulled her carry-on bag off the elevator car and past Darlene.
He swore he could hear Darlene sniff. What was this? A soap opera? Dan said hi with a pleasant smile, then moved past her, turning the corner a couple of seconds after Meghan, who was dashing down the corridor that led to their offices.
Dan knew better than to say anything. He’d bet a dollar that Meghan was convinced both Vicky and Darlene had mentally slapped scarlet letters to their foreheads. Hell, for all he knew, they had. Good lord, he and Meghan were both—he hesitated over the word “single” although it really wasn’t wrong—allowed to get involved.
He knew Meghan wouldn’t see it that way. He let her head toward her office while he went off to find Tessa and see how many messages he needed to answer. He’d deal with Meghan at the end of the day when trolls like Vicky and Darlene weren’t around.
Meghan told herself she wasn’t sorry that Dan had to act like they barely knew each other. It would have been hard for her to behave any other way. As she made her way to her office, a thought tickled the back of her brain. Something about how she was going to handle an office fling with a partner. She ignored it. She was more interested in getting onto the names that Vince Johnson had given them.
While Meghan was on hold, waiting for a former Jenner executive, the scene with Vicky replayed in her mind. Meghan wasn’t stupid—she knew Dan wasn’t interested in Vicky Womack. If he had been, she’d undoubtedly given him lots of opportunities to pursue that interest.
No, Meghan’s anxiety came from the office nonsense. She meets a great guy, and he’s her boss. He’s new at the firm, he’s a partner, and people are watching both of them.
That reminded her of Darlene’s basilisk stare when they’d gotten off the elevator. If Darlene wanted Meghan fired, she’d make it easy enough to happen. Sure, someone at the law school had put in a good word, but Meghan would be kidding herself if that somehow inoculated her from Darlene’s venom.
The “please hold” music switched to a different bad instrumental cover of an oldie Meghan couldn’t name.
Maybe it would be good if Darlene got her fired? She’d get another job. That way, Dan and she could date without all this scrutiny.
“Ms. Mattson? This is Tom Stevens.”
That call was followed by another, and a third. Meghan forgot about office politics in her quest to find people who remembered Jenner phone technology.
Friday afternoon turned out to be a great time to find people in their offices, and in some cases even willing to talk to her. What was that old joke about how all real work ended by two on a Friday afternoon, and by three even the pretense of work stopped? It wasn’t like that at Fergusson, of course. The companies she was calling, she suspected, were the kinds of places where all pretense of work had stopped. Certainly, people sounded happy to be distracted by a paralegal calling about the now-defunct Jenner Corporation.
She was following up on a lead Tom Stevens had given her when Dan strolled in, shutting the door behind him.
“I’m on hold,” she explained, keeping the phone to her ear. “What’s up?”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Just here to get my fix. I missed you.”
She looked at the clock. “It hasn’t even been two hours,” she hissed. “What’s there to miss?”
“This.” He nuzzled her neck on the other side from the phone.
Meghan knew better than to admonish him. With her luck, she’d be telling him, “Stop that!” just as someone came back to the call.
“Ms. Mattson?”
Right on cue, the perky voice of an assistant chimed in Meghan’s other ear.
“Yes, I’m here.” Meghan’s voice squeaked when Dan nibbled on her earlobe.
Dan continued to plant feathery kisses on the skin below her left ear while she tried to have a sensible conversation with Alanna, or Alicia, or whatever she said her name was.
Thankfully the guy Meghan was calling wasn’t available and she was able to stammer out something about trying again on Monday and hang up.
“Are you crazy?” Meghan couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice. “And if you say you’re crazy for me, you’ll be violating any number of state and federal statutes prohibiting bad clichés.”
He pulled back and settled into the side chair. “Oh, all right. What have you learned?” At her frantic gesture, he rolled his eyes. She scowled at him. He sigh
ed and reached back and opened her door a bit, so it wouldn’t look so obvious that they were doing what in fact they had been doing.
She pulled her notes over and started to explain who she’d called, what she’d learned, and where her efforts had gotten her. They slipped back into the now-familiar routine of working their brains around the known, the suspected, and the legal ramifications of it all. Talking about the case was almost as exhilarating as his kisses.
Almost.
When Dan’s phone rang, Meghan zoned out his call, which sounded like something to do with his apartment. She realized what that little thought tickling the back of her head had been. If they got caught, if Darlene decided to make an example of them, Meghan would lose this—not just the job, but the fun. No one would hire her as a paralegal and then let her work on cases the way Dan did. Of course it looked like favoritism, but the alternative of doing nothing but data entry was unbearable.
“Sorry about that,” he said as he put his phone away. “Where were we?”
“Well, I’ve reached about half the people on Vince Johnson’s list. Most don’t know anything, but the first guy I reached, Tom Stevens, thinks he remembers the name of the guy who headed up Jenner’s research and development department.”
“Okay. And here’s what I was thinking.” Dan proceeded to rattle off some ideas.
They hadn’t been at it for very long when Dan’s phone buzzed. He read the text, frowned, then got up to leave. “Sorry. It’s something I really need to follow up on.”
She waved him off. “Go. It’s okay, I’ve got stuff to do.” Namely, all the work she hadn’t been doing while they’d been in Massachusetts.
When he didn’t return right away, Meghan half-expected him to cancel their evening. Instead, he called her a couple of hours later to say he’d needed to leave the office, but he was coming back to collect her, if she was still up for pizza and—?
The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance Page 13
