Back in her apartment, Meghan looked at her plain cream walls and utilitarian furniture. It looked different to her—less “peaceful,” more “dead boring.” Sure the contrast with Kassie’s gypsy caravan was extreme, but even Dan’s apartment, half-unpacked, was more colorful.
Meghan walked back to her front closet. She had—somewhere in here—a tube with…yeah, here it was. She pulled the long cardboard cylinder out of the depths of the closet, behind the winter boots and heavy coats.
Inside the tube were rolled up posters, artwork she’d bought in high school. She’d had them on the walls at college, but never bothered to unpack them here. She pulled them out and unrolled them.
A Tiffany stained glass window in rich autumnal shades. A Steuben collection of elaborate hand-blown crystal paperweights. An Edward Steichen photograph of the Flatiron Building.
Then she got to the last one. A cartoon by Ronald Searle, who did these wonderful pen-and-ink cats. This was a picture within the picture. In the foreground, a black-and-white cat, its back to the viewer, climbing a ladder to the spot where the paper had been torn back to reveal a scene in glorious color—an English cottage surrounded by flowers, with a fluffy white girl cat just waiting for him to join her. Only he never can.
She carefully piled the posters on top of each other. She couldn’t afford to get frames, but with some of that low-tack adhesive, she could put them up. The Tiffany over her tiny dining table, the Steichen in the living room and the Steuben paperweights over her desk. The Searle, the one that made her chest ache? That had better go in the bedroom.
She felt so much like that cat on the ladder, never allowed into the world of color, scent, love.
Wait—she’d had all those things this past few weeks. Color at Dan’s and at Kassie’s. Scents, the garlic and wine, and that funny whiff of incense lingering in Kassie’s living room. And love? Well, companionship, certainly.
Maybe the cat does make it into that other world, after all.
Meghan could guess how high the work in her other cases would have piled up in her absence, so she came in early the next morning, shut her door, and plowed in.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Your closed door is intimidating me. How busy are you, really? Be honest.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
If you opened the door, you would see 8-foot tall piles of Redwelds, with only my whimpers as evidence that I’m in here too.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Do I need to send in a rescue party?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I think Hercules had to clean the Augean Stables on his own, so I should just get on with it. I should be able to clear a path to my door in ::eyes stacks assessingly:: oh, maybe six weeks…
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
The hell with the rescue party—I’ll come join you! Six weeks with nothing but you and some Redwelds sounds divine. (For the purposes of this inappropriate email, adequate food and a quilt are assumed.) (And a path to the bathrooms.)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
A stack of files, a set of interrogatories, and thou?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
The modern-day love poem…
Meghan smiled, then minimized her email program. It looked from the stack of files she’d done that she was maybe halfway through.
The door opened. “Knock knock?”
Vicky. Oh joy. Meghan put a sticky note next to the paragraph she’d been reviewing, then swiveled around.
Remember that she lives alone with an ailing mother…
The redhead smirked. “Did Dan get everything sorted out? I bet you feel stupid right about now.”
Oh, right. The trip to Ohio was to fix some mistake. “It was a complication we didn’t need, that’s for sure.” Meghan waved a hand vaguely. “What can I do for you? As you can see, I’ve got a backlog of files to deal with.”
“That’s why I’m here. I need the updated database.”
“Sure. May I email it to you, or do you need it walked up to your office?”
Vicky eyed the files with a frown. “You have it done?”
Of course I did your work first because I knew you’d demand it as soon as you decently could. You’re distressingly predictable.
Meghan sighed. Her mother, remember?
“Only just got the last one inputted, oh, five minutes ago.” Meghan smiled mildly.
Vicky’s mouth gaped open for a second, then snapped shut. “Fine. Yes, please walk it up to me.”
The sound of the door closing was almost a slam.
Meghan sent the document to the printer. Total waste of paper, printing it out, but she knew better than to point out how Vicky could access it online. While the printer kicked out the sheets, Meghan made up a label for a new three-ring binder, punched all the pages, inserted them in the binder, then walked it up to the forty-second floor.
Vicky’s door was shut, so Meghan gave the binder to Vicky’s assistant. “I believe she wants it immediately.”
“Yeah, well that nice new partner’s in with her right now, so she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Meghan chuckled. “Okay, thanks, Nabila.”
When Meghan got back to her desk, she sent an email to Vicky telling her that the database was on Nabila’s desk.
A few hours later, there was another knock on her door.
“Come in,” she called without looking up.
“I’m disappointed. I was expecting a fort made up of three-inch thick legal files.” Dan slipped in and shut the door very quietly.
“Nearly done.” Meghan pointed to the final half-dozen files left to review. Then she pointed to a stainless steel wire mesh cart piled high on both levels with every sort of legal file. “That’s what I’ve been working on all day.”
Dan sat in the chair. “I got to see Sycophanta’s face when Nabila handed her the binder you made for her. You are an evil woman.”
“Oh, she was just annoyed because she wanted me to admit I hadn’t gotten her stuff done yet. Little does she know, I came in early just to work on her case files.”
His eyes glinted like sunlight on a calm lake. “Let me guess. You had her stuff done before she even got in this morning.”
Meghan pursed her lips. “Pretty much.”
“Wow. Remind me never to be on your shit list. You’d be a tough opponent.”
She tilted her head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”
“Intended as a compliment, I assure you. So. When can you be ready to leave?”
“Why?” She looked at the clock. Not even seven. “I wasn’t planning on leaving soon.”
“Did you have lunch?”
Meghan scowled at him. “No.”
Dan stood and paced, at least to the extent that her small office allowed. “You’re too—strike that. I worry that you—no. I know I don’t get a vote, but am I at least allowed to be concerned?”
Oh, lord. The “you’re too thin” talk. “You’re like my neighbor, Kassie. She nags at me to eat better.”
“Sounds like I’d like her.”
“You would.” Meghan smiled at the thought of Kassie and Dan meeting. “She’d love to meet you. She can tell when I’ve slept over at your place because my hair looks different.”
He squinted at her, his head at an angle. “She can? Wow. Now I have to meet her. Call her and see if she wants to go out for a meal.”
“You don’t want to have dinner with me?”
“Oh, so now you’re saying yes?”
“I don’t believe I said that, exactly,” Meghan said slowly. She tried to remember th
e precise wording she’d used.
“I believe it could be inferred.”
She stood and grabbed her backpack from the bottom file drawer. “Okay. You win.”
Dan stood with his back to the door. When Meghan walked toward him, he flipped off the light and took her into his arms.
“Now I’ve won.” He kissed the curl of her ear, sending chills down her arms.
He knew exactly how to make everything disappear, leaving only his lips whispering over her skin, never quite making it to her mouth so she could kiss him senseless. Oh, and his arms, and those magic hands, creating friction through her clothes. And his cock, pressing hard on one of her hips. She ached for his cock at the damnedest times, her body revved and ready to forget the job, forget everything but the completeness and utter joy to be joined with him.
“You’re in collusion with my libido,” Meghan accused him.
“You talk too much.”
“There’s an easy way to shut me up.”
He pulled back as if looking at her, even though she could tell he couldn’t see her in the dark. She imagined fake confusion on his face, so she explained to the darkness, “You could kiss me.”
He found her lips unerringly, taking them in a thorough possession. She was lost, disoriented, aware only of Dan’s heat and solid weight against her body, his arms around her, his tongue tangling with hers. That ache—a throbbing need to be naked with him, to take him into her body, to fuse with his flesh—leapt out of control. In the black space, it was like a bonfire lighting and heating her from inside.
She groaned when his hand snaked up her top and tugged on her nipple. She reached down to stroke his erection, but his hips were so tight against hers she had no access. She grabbed his ass and massaged the hard muscle. God, she loved this feeling of building desire. She loved it almost as much as the anticipation, the stockpiling of visual images—the rumpled contours of his head, the fine edge to his nose, lips and chin, the perfection of his chest and waist, the heaviness of his sex—as they undressed, and then the choreography of the sex itself.
“We need a room.” Dan bit the words off, his jaw tight when she reached up to caress it.
Whoa. Did that—of course it meant what she thought it meant. Don’t be stupid, Meghan. She tried to diffuse the mood, give him a chance to back off. “We’re in a room,” she teased.
“A room with a bed, privacy, and maybe a bit more light,” he said, sardonically. She could picture him arching one eyebrow.
“Light so we can get on with reviewing the files?”
He chuckled. “Light so I can see that blush I imagine has spread from your face all the way down to your breasts.”
“If you can imagine it, why do you need more light?”
“So I can see just how far south it goes.”
“Wow, you’re so picky.” She laughed until he pulled down her bra cup and suckled her nipple. “Ah, okay, yes, a room.”
“Your place?” His voice held a note of triumph.
“All right. My place.”
His arm reached out and flipped on the light. His face was demonically happy. He’d won something he wanted, although Meghan couldn’t see what the big deal was. Her bed was made.
Chapter Eighteen
Even though Dan normally walked to work, he’d parked under the office building on purpose. He’d been determined that tonight he would see Meghan’s apartment.
As they rode down in the elevator to the parking garage, he deliberately kept his distance. He thought he’d seen a look in Wally’s eye at the Litigation meeting. Maybe Dan was paranoid, but he wondered if someone—Anne van Oostrum? Darlene McAndrews?—was reporting to Wally about the time Dan and Meghan were spending together working on the ProCell case.
As they walked across the nearly empty parking level, Dan resisted the urge to swivel around, checking for…what? Spies? He marveled at his own paranoia. Until he imagined being told that the firm disapproved of his relationship with Meghan enough to move her to another paralegal position or, worse, fire her. If his libido cost her this job, that would be disastrous.
Once they were in the car, he could breathe again.
“What?” she asked. “You okay?”
He shook his head. “I don’t normally park here. Kind of creepy.”
She looked at him for a long moment while he started the car. She didn’t say anything more.
“I’m excited to see your place,” he said to change the subject.
“Why? It’s an apartment. It’s clean.”
“It’s yours.”
“Whatever that means,” she muttered.
Seeing her apartment had taken on an inordinate significance in his mind. Her space, where she ate her breakfast, brushed her teeth, slept. He knew it wouldn’t be frilly, but after that he drew a blank. It would reflect something of Meghan’s personality, her life, even her hopes and fears. A stage set for the drama that he sensed was going on in her life.
He’d tried to ask carefully open-ended questions on their trip home from Ohio. About her childhood, her family, her schooling, her dreams. He got vague and distracting answers…when he got any answers at all.
“You know the way to my place, right?” she asked as they drove up the ramp to Cherry Street.
He made the left. “Yup.” At the stop sign, he checked Meghan. She’d leaned her head back and her eyes were closed. She really must have gotten in early. He smiled a little at her exhaustion. He was getting better at reading the signs.
How could he want to marry someone he knew so little? By the time he and Shana graduated law school, he knew everything about her—from the name of her first cat to the spot where she lost her virginity. As their relationship was already winding down then, in-depth knowledge didn’t seem the key to a happy, secure future.
That was ten years ago. Now, in his thirties, Dan wanted to believe his instincts were better-honed. He knew all sorts of things about Meghan, about her character and intellect, and yes, even her hopes and fears.
She wanted to be a lawyer, but feared her recent bad luck would prevent that. Even without knowing exactly what happened, Dan knew she’d make it just fine. She was a survivor. She didn’t linger on obstacles. She found ways to work around even the brick walls that appeared insurmountable.
He admired her. He loved her.
And he knew she wasn’t ready to learn that about him. Because as curious as he was about her, she wasn’t curious about him. She asked him no questions at all, didn’t seem interested in his origins, resisted the opportunity to meet his family.
When they pulled alongside her apartment building, he nudged Meghan’s shoulder. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, your chariot has completed its journey.”
“I was resting my eyes,” she protested.
“And your jaw, I noticed. You might want to wipe up that little bit of moisture on your chin,” he said, pointing to non-existent drool.
She lifted a hand to her mouth, then glared at him. “Very funny.”
Dan laughed. It was funny. And sweet, knowing she could relax enough to sleep in the car.
She let them into the building, then led him up some stairs. They stopped at B-203. While she got her key out, the door behind them opened.
“Hey, there. I haven’t—oh, I’m sorry.”
Dan turned to see a pretty blonde wearing cutoffs and a ragged T-shirt. “Hi, I’m Dan.” He held out his hand.
“Ooh, the man with no blow-dryer,” the blonde said. “I’m Kassie. Meghan’s next-door neighbor. Whom I’m guessing has never mentioned me.”
“On the contrary,” Dan said. “She’s told me how much fun you are.”
Kassie eyed him in that frankly speculative way some women had. Her gaze assessed him without making him feel like a hunk of meat on display. More like a sci-fi character’s scanner, sweeping a triangle of rays from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes.
When she was done, she smiled a secret, ultra-feminine smile and said to Meghan, “Good going.
Stop by later…or whenever.”
Dan wanted to tell Kassie he had sisters, so he wasn’t quite so clueless about the coded language of women.
“What was that about?” Meghan asked as she let them into her apartment.
That answered one of his questions. Meghan didn’t have sisters. “Oh, I think Kassie approves of your arm candy.”
“Arm candy?”
“Me.”
Her eyes got huge, staring at him then bouncing a look off the closed door. “Oh.” Her gaze came back to Dan. She frowned, clearly worried that Kassie might have offended him. “I’m so sorry. I’ll speak to her later.”
He gathered her into a hug. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Kassie is happy for you. And I’m happy you have a friend.”
Her second “Oh,” was muffled against his chest. After a moment, she hugged him back. A little awkwardly at first, but then he felt her relax. “Oh,” she said a third time, as though she finally got it. Then she pulled away.
He smiled at her uncertainty. He framed her face very gently and kissed her. “Give me the fifty cent tour?”
Her shoulders jerked. “Yes, of course.” She led him from the miniscule foyer into the living room—if that wasn’t too grand a term for a room with a desk, bookcases, a single armchair and not much else. She had a couple of posters, though, and the apartment had some handsome moldings and built-in cabinetry.
It was also very hot. Meghan rushed over to open the windows, which were large sashed affairs with screens.
“I don’t have air conditioning,” she explained rapidly as she went from window to window. “Luckily all my windows face north and east so I just close them in the morning and then open them again at night.”
After she’d opened the two in the living room and one near her modest dinette set, Dan followed her to the other side of the apartment, which overlooked the parking lot of a drugstore. She opened a window in the bathroom, then two more in her bedroom and one, strangely enough, in her closet.
The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance Page 19
