Trouble

by Ann Christopher

  Mike paused and tried to keep his face blank. “Right. I bought a table for the firm. I’m expecting you and Dara and the staff to come.”

  “I know. But it’s next weekend, and my boys from school will be in town.”

  “But Sean,” Dara said, not bothering to hide her exasperation, “next weekend is when we take the practice exams and have the professors score them.”

  Sean shrugged. “I can take some practice tests on my own time. It’s no big deal.”

  Dara shook her head in open disbelief.

  Mike resisted the urge to shake Sean until his brain came loose. This was the story of Sean’s life in a nutshell: he’d cut off his nose to spite his face every single time. He’d rather flunk out of law school than ask Mike for help or accept it when it was offered. He’d rather party than study.

  And Mike was sick to death of him.

  Sean turned to Mike. “Like I was saying: can Dara go to the dinner with you? She can sit at your table.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll go,” Dara said quickly, sounding strained. “I need to study. And I don’t want to go by myself.”

  “You study too much as it is, Dara. Mike could look out for you.”

  Mike went utterly still.

  “You probably shouldn’t speak for him,” she said hastily, her face flushed. “What if he already has a date?”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Sean asked Mike.

  With that, all Mike’s animosity toward Sean slipped away, leaving him feeling sick yet thrilled. Here, beautifully gift wrapped for him like a present on Christmas morning, was a legitimate and innocent reason for him to spend time with Dara away from the office.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  But his feelings for Dara could never be innocent.

  And only a rotten, scheming, lying bastard would agree to such a dangerous proposal.

  “No.” Mike looked directly into Dara’s stricken face for the first time since he came into her office. “I don’t mind at all.”

  Dara’s eyes lowered, but, if possible, the flush in her face grew even brighter.

  “Great,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

  She hurried out, ducking her head as she brushed past Mike.

  The second she was gone, Mike turned to Sean and asked the question he’d been dying to ask for months.

  “So what’s going on with you and Dara?”

  “Nothing.” Sean smiled ruefully. “But not for lack of trying.”

  “You still trying, Sean?”

  “Got to, man.”

  Sean held his gaze. Against all odds, Mike forgot about the white-hot flash of anger he’d just felt for Sean. Then things got even more unsettling. Staring into his brother’s familiar brown eyes, Mike felt Sean’s torment as clearly as if it were his own, because he also wanted Dara and also didn’t have her. And he understood that even though Sean knew his feelings were unrequited, he still dreamt of Dara. Still held out hope.

  “Can you blame me?” Sean asked.

  Mike looked away. “Nope.”

  “Hey. Before I forget to ask, what’s up with Mama? I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

  In another wild mood swing, any empathy Mike had felt for Sean instantly vanished. He talked to Mama daily to see how she was handling the chemotherapy, so he knew she still hadn’t told Sean she was sick. He’d assumed Sean at least called her every now and then, but you know what they say about making assumptions.

  “Why don’t you pick up your phone once a year and call her?” Mike demanded.

  “I’ve been meaning to. I’ve been a little busy with school, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  Mike snorted. Sean? Busy? There were two words that didn’t belong in the same sentence. Sean was so busy with school he had time to take the weekend off, skip his practice finals and hang with his buddies. The pathetic part was that Sean actually believed the crap he spouted.

  “You’ve got time to call your mother,” Mike barked.

  Sean flinched. Lobbing a final glare in Mike’s direction, he walked out of Dara’s office without another word.

  Good riddance, jackass.

  Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and, still buzzing with adrenaline, waited by the window for Dara to come back.

  “Hey,” she said quietly, lingering on her own threshold. “Is Sean gone?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for riding to my defense with him. I didn’t expect that.”

  Nodding, she crossed her arms so tightly it made her shoulders hunch and crept closer, eyeing him warily. “I’m just going to go home. But I’ll take the club photos with me and go through them, so don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” he assured her. “The case is the last thing on my mind right now.”

  They watched each other, unmoving, while the moment stretched. She didn’t reach for her coat, backpack or purse. He didn’t go back to his office. Unsaid words seemed to crowd the air around them like a swarm of butterflies.

  “I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” he said finally, keeping his voice low. “It’ll never happen again.”

  He waited, but her expression—best described as dazed and turbulent laced with hints of abject misery—never changed.

  “Dara? Say something.”

  “I think that’s for the best.” After a long pause, she managed a limp smile that never came within a mile of her eyes. “Don’t you?”

  Opening his mouth, he dredged up a single word so painful it was like vomiting nails: “Absolutely,” he said.

  “What’s wrong with you, Michael?”

  Mike stared at his mother, who was the only one in her living room with the right to complain about anything. Between her surgery and the chemotherapy, she was hollow-eyed and dull-skinned, yet she wanted to talk about his woes.

  Unbelievable.

  “Nothing,” he said, trying to perk up as he settled in the chair opposite the sofa where she sat.

  Her lips thinned. “Don’t make me come over there. Something’s wrong with you.”

  Mike snorted. Yes, something was. Something weighed on his mind every second of every day, more so than even his worries about his cancer-stricken mother. Something attracted, infuriated, dazzled, and frustrated him more than anything he’d ever encountered. Something had him in the grip of an obsession he couldn’t seem to shake, and if he wasn’t careful, something would drive him insane and then to an early grave.

  He’d had Dara in his arms today, knew how hot and vibrant she was. How responsive. He’d almost kissed her, for God’s sake. Was he just supposed to shake that off?

  “It’s nothing.”

  Mama smiled. “So now there’s an ‘it.’ A second ago there was nothing.”

  He uncrossed his legs and leaned his hands on his knees, looking down at the floor. He was exhausted— much too tired for this interrogation. He was tired of pretending the situation with Dara was manageable. He was tired of trying to keep his hands to himself. He was tired of thinking about Sean and Dara spending so much time together. He was tired of the ache in the pit of his belly whenever he thought of her.

  God, he was tired.

  He felt like Napoleon at Waterloo, Custer at Little Bighorn: utterly defeated.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked quietly.

  Her smile evaporated. “Is she special?”

  Mike hung his head again. He should have known she’d figure it out. “Yes.”

  “Is she married?”

  He heaved himself up, shuffled over to the window and brushed aside the heavy drapes. He stared out, seeing nothing. “She may as well be.”

  “Come here, Michael,” she said, stretching out her arms and rubbing his cheek when he sat next to her. “You’ll get through this, sweetheart.”

  Scrunching up his features, he pressed his fingertips to the space between his brows and tried to block out Dara’s face. Just to go three seconds without wallowing in her. But when he opened his eyes again, she was still there, still
superimposing her smile, scent and laughter over everything else in his universe.

  “I don’t think I will, Mama,” he quietly admitted.

  She put her other hand on his face and pulled him down to kiss his cheek, engulfing him in the scent of her lily of the valley face cream, which was not the fragrance Dara wore.

  “You’ll do the right thing, and you’ll get through it. You always do.”

  Mike stiffened. The right thing. Wasn’t that just the story of his life?

  He’d always thought he was a good man—moral and spiritual. He tried to do what he thought God wanted him to do. Well, God probably didn’t want him sleeping with his brother’s dream woman, which was why he’d stopped himself from kissing Dara earlier even though doing so probably took ten years off his life.

  Maybe God was teaching him he was only human. He’d always been quick to judge other people, to decide what was right or wrong, black or white. He’d never believed in gray. But he was running out of self-control, and if he spent much more time with Dara—if the opportunity presented itself again—he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from touching her.

  Was God testing him? Pushing him beyond his limits and showing him everything he’d believed himself to be was wrong? Was that why Dara was there, tempting him every day when he needed to be focused on growing his firm and connecting with his brother? If it was a test, Mike was almost willing to concede defeat and stop the agony. He needed some peace.

  “How are things with you and Sean?” Mama asked hopefully.

  Mike thought about their mutual hostility earlier. How Sean would apparently rather flunk out of law school than deign to accept help from him. How Sean would probably try to kick his teeth in if he had any inklings about his feelings for Dara.

  What was the acronym the military used?

  FUBAR?

  Fucked up beyond all repair?

  Yeah. That.

  “Me and Sean?” He stared his sick mother in the face and lied through his teeth. “Never better.”

  Mama beamed at him. “I knew I could count on you.”

  At home that night, while reviewing the photos from the club, Dara stumbled onto a couple that showed a man with a dark leather jacket and mustache, just like Johnson had said. There weren’t any photos of him near the victim, much less arguing with the victim, but it was a good start. Pleased with her progress, she stood, stretched and grinned, thinking she’d show the shots to Mike first thing in the morning.

  But . . .

  The morning seemed a long way off. Maybe Mike was working on the case himself right now, from home. Wouldn’t he want to know what she’d found?

  Yeah. Better call him. Right now.

  It was a work-related call that would cross no lines, she assured herself. It had nothing to do with what had almost happened between them in the closet today, or the gnawing loneliness that seemed determined to hollow her out whenever she wasn’t with him. Those were issues she would manage because, as she’d agreed before she left the office, it was for the best if they never touched each other again. She was far too smart to fall into an affair with her boss, or to let her personal life interfere with school, or to give herself to a sophisticated older man who probably had to dispense numbers to the women who wanted him so they could line up around the block and wait their turn for what was sure to be a quick hookup with him.

  And maybe if she kept assuring herself how smart she was, it would drown out the heady thump of her heartbeat at the thought of speaking to him again tonight.

  She flopped onto her bed on her belly, feet in the air, and dialed his number.

  “Hello?”

  The TV was on in the background and his voice was mellow. Maybe even sad. Sleep-roughened enough to make her blood heat.

  “Hi. Am I catching you at a bad time?” she asked.

  “No!” There was a rustle, then the TV went silent. “Hey. Hi. I’m not doing anything. What’s up?”

  “It’s Dara,” she babbled, undone by the easy intimacy of his voice in her ear.

  “I know,” he said, sounding exasperated and amused.

  Before she could tell him why she’d called, her mind—entirely without her consent—conjured up the image of her lying in bed, watching TV with him. He probably had a huge bed, with warm flannel sheets for the cold autumn nights. Not that they’d need the sheets to keep warm.

  What did he sleep in? Pajamas?

  More interesting was the thought of him wearing bottoms only, with the hard slabs of his chest and arms rippling.

  Most tantalizing was the thought of him sleeping nude.

  “I—I’ve been looking through the pictures,” she said quickly, trying to get a grip. “I think I found our mystery man.”

  “Good work! I’ll look at them first thing.”

  Great. Time to hang up.

  But she hesitated, reluctant to mention what’d happened between them earlier, or the incident with Sean, or to ask him anything too personal. Which pretty much just left the weather as a topic for discussion.

  But, God, she didn’t want to let him go yet.

  “Um, Mike?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Is everything okay? You sounded funny when you picked up.”

  Long pause.

  “Everything’s great.”

  “Wow. Did you actually mean to sound like a used car salesman just then?”

  Harsh sigh. “It’ll be fine. It’s got nothing to do with ...what happened today. Don’t worry.”

  What happened today.

  Nice euphemism.

  Relieved, she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. It seemed terribly important, suddenly, for Mike to confide in her. For him to know he could turn to her if he ever needed someone to listen.

  “I’m worried. Spill.”

  Another pause.

  “My mother’s had a recurrence of breast cancer—”

  “Oh no!”

  “And a mastectomy. The chemo’s pretty rough.”

  Dara didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t had the faintest idea anything so serious was going on. Mike was so strong that nothing ever seemed to faze him.

  But of course he was only human.

  “Sean hasn’t said anything.”

  “Sean doesn’t know. Mama wants him to focus on school right now.”

  To her surprise, she felt irritated with Mrs. Baldwin for burdening Mike with her illness and then making him take a vow of silence. Was Mike supposed to bear the weight of the world all alone?

  “How is she?”

  “She’s hanging in there. She’s tough.”

  “And how are you?”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  “Mike,” she said softly. “Don’t you ever get tired of doing it all by yourself? Worrying about Jamal and your mother and your brother and your clients? Everything is not your responsibility, you know. It’s okay to be a little scared. Who wouldn’t be with their mother sick?”

  No answer. Knowing Mike, she’d probably pissed him off. Time to backpedal.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I do get ...tired.”

  “Whoa! Is the great Mike Baldwin admitting he’s human?”

  He laughed. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “I think your mother is really lucky to have such a loving son to rely on,” she told him.

  Mike’s breath hissed with unmistakable surprise.

  She was way out on a limb now. May as well go ahead and saw it all the way off. “And I think I’m lucky you think enough of me to confide in me.”

  “Dara.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I ...thank you.”

  “Any time.”

  Longest pause of the night. Her fingers tightened on the phone as though they knew it was time to say good night but couldn’t bear to let him go.

  She waited, listening to him breathe.

  He cleared his throat. “About the awards dinner—”

  She knew what he wa
s thinking: that being there together was a bad idea. There was already so much sexual tension between them, the air seethed with it. Why light a match near an open powder keg? If she had any sense whatsoever, she’d let him off the hook, and that would be the end of the matter.

  “What time should I meet you there?” she asked instead.

  “Six thirty,” he said quickly.

  “Here they are,” Dara crowed the next morning, waving the picture prints as she waltzed into Mike’s office and plopped into a chair. She’d decided the best thing to do was to act normal, as if they hadn’t had that wonderfully intimate conversation last night. Or the interlude in the closet. Or ...anything. “The answer to all our problems. No need to thank me.”

  Mike, in his shirtsleeves, eyebrows raised, leaned across his desk and snatched them from her. “You’ve been doing a lot of yakking about these pictures.”

  “You’ll see.”

  He bent his head low as he flipped through them. “Hey. These are pretty interesting.” When he looked up, his smile—wide and boyish—disarmed her completely. “Good work, Dara.”

  Dara’s heart skidded to a stop. And as Mike held her gaze for one long moment, she understood, with absolute certainty, that she was crazy about this man.

  And he felt the same.

  It was far worse than she’d feared, much more than a powerful physical attraction. She liked so many things about him she could probably stand there for days listing them all: his sense of humor, intelligence, work ethic, and loyalty to family, employees and Jamal. His enormous heart. And if she weighed all that against his occasional flashes of arrogance? No contest.

  Yeah, she thought, her mouth drying out.

  She’d find herself in love with him soon if she wasn’t careful.

  Their smiles dimmed, leaving them to stare at each other with breathless heat.

  Mike looked away first, rubbing his forehead with an unsteady hand before he resumed flipping through the stack of prints.

  “Did you,” he said, his voice hoarse, “did you, ah, find any pictures with close-ups of his face?”

  “Ah, yes. No, not that one. Wait.” She walked around his desk to stand alongside his chair. “Let me see.”

  She leaned over his shoulder, accidentally brushing his face with her hair.