“I have more interesting things to look at. Anyway, I always order the lasagna.”
This gave Dara pause. “What do you mean, you always order the lasagna?”
“English is your first language, isn’t it?”
“There’s spaghetti, scampi, Marsala, manicotti and ravioli.”
“I’m aware of all that.”
“So how can you always just order the lasagna, without looking at the menu?”
He shrugged. “It’s my favorite meal.”
“But what if there’s a better meal out there? You’ll never discover it!”
He laughed. “I’ll have to learn to live with that tragic possibility.”
“You’re very set in your ways,” she noted thoughtfully. “If we’re going to be spending more time together, I think I’m probably going to drive you crazy.”
“We are going to be spending more time together—in fact, the phrase ‘glued at the hip’ comes to mind—and I look forward to you driving me crazy. If you’ll recall, I told you the night we met that I knew you would drive a man crazy.”
“And I said maybe you should run while you have the chance.”
“Dara,” he said mildly, “you’ve got a better chance of being abducted by aliens in the next ten seconds than you do of getting rid of me.”
“Good.”
Every inch of her skin tingled. When he looked at her that way—like she was the most fascinating creature on the planet, those eyes focused on her to the exclusion of everyone else in the room—she felt like a moth drawn to a flame, unable and unwilling to fly away. Ready to throw herself into the fire.
He slid even closer to her in the booth until their hips touched and his thigh, impossibly muscular and long, pressed against hers. He slid one arm around her shoulders and lifted her hand with his free hand, twining his long, warm fingers with hers.
Within seconds, her insides had gone all melty. She’d never known hand-holding to be a sexual act as intimate as intercourse itself, but then she’d never held hands with Mike in the candlelight. He stroked her fingers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. If he kept it up, he’d have her moaning like Meg Ryan in the deli scene from When Harry Met Sally, only she, Dara, wouldn’t be faking it.
“I’ve been wondering something,” she told him.
“Shoot.”
“What attracted you to me?”
He’d released her hand long enough to take a quick sip of merlot, and now he snorted and almost choked. “Are you serious?”
She blushed like an idiot. “So that’s it? I’m toast the second a prettier woman comes along?”
Another snort. “I reiterate: Are you serious?”
Dying of embarrassment now, she buried her face in her hands. “This conversation isn’t going the way I imagined it in my mind.”
“You’re spectacular,” he said simply.
“I’m not spectacular,” she said, her voice muffled.
“I disagree. And your looks are only part of it. I knew that right away.”
“You did?” she asked, curiosity making her drop her hands so she could see him. “How could you?”
He grinned and looked away. “I can’t ...I can’t.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
He shook his head and opened and closed his mouth. Surely, this was the first time in recorded history that the great Mike Baldwin was at a loss for words. He picked up her hand again, then slid his other hand from her shoulder to her nape, which he stroked until she nearly leapt out of her skin.
“I don’t think I can explain it.” His face and voice softened at the memory. “When I saw you that night, I felt like I recognized you. And when I looked at your eyes . . .”
He broke off. Another head shake.
But Dara was mesmerized. “Please tell me.”
He paused, gathering his words.
“When I saw you, all the other people in the room disappeared. And when I looked in your eyes, I thought, ‘There she is.’ I thought you were exactly what I needed, even though I hadn’t realized I needed anything. And when we talked, you confirmed all of my initial impressions. I knew you were smart and funny and strong and willful. I knew ...I wanted you.”
He wanted her now, too; his smoldering eyes were a dead giveaway. He lifted his arm and half glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
She nodded somberly. “I wouldn’t want to stay out past my bedtime. Why don’t we take our food to go?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
On the way home, though, Mike was a little quiet, and by the time they’d climbed the stairs to her apartment, the silence was deafening. Dara unlocked and opened the door, determined to ask him about it as soon as they went inside. But when she stepped over the threshold, juggling the shopping bag filled with their dinners, he hung back, eyeing the interior of the apartment as if he feared a velociraptor crouched somewhere inside, waiting to dismember him at the first opportunity.
“I, uh ...I think I’ll just go on home.”
“What?” she cried, wounded and disappointed. “Why?”
He put one arm around her waist and brushed her hair back from her face with his free hand. “Well, I, uh,” his eyes lingered on her lips, “I have, you know, some work I need to do tonight, and I need to get to the office early.”
“But tomorrow’s Saturday!”
“I know, but Saturday’s like any other day for me. I’ve got a ton of work to do.”
“You’re not getting ready to pull away from me again, are you?”
“Hell, no.”
His vehemence was somewhat reassuring but not enough to quash her disappointment. Still, she was determined not to do anything idiotic, like bawl, just because the man had work to do. She was not going to turn into a clinging vine. No, sir. She was perfectly secure.
“Okay,” she said, leaning into him. “Kiss?”
His lips were on hers almost before the word was out of her mouth, leaving her no doubt he still wanted her, even if he did have to leave.
Abruptly, he broke away, pushing her back a little. “Okay. I’m out.”
“Good night.”
Unsmiling, he took off down the hall, leaving her with the distinct impression he was running away from something.
13
Forty-five minutes later Mike was back, standing in the hall outside Dara’s apartment, staring at her shut door. This was the story of his life and it didn’t look like it would change anytime soon: he couldn’t stay away from Dara.
For the life of him, he couldn’t explain what had happened to him between dinner and when they’d arrived at her apartment. Sure, he had a mountain of work to do, and sure, he did need to be at the office at the crack of dawn. But neither of those excuses explained his sudden feeling of claustrophobia. All he knew was that nagging feeling of generalized panic had come back, stronger than ever. And he’d thought he needed to get away from Dara as quickly as possible.
But then he’d gotten home, and instead of being relieved, he’d felt like he’d arrived for a long stay in solitary confinement on Rikers Island. Dara’s apartment—warm, cozy, with the unparalleled benefit of having Dara in it—flashed through his mind like a neon sign. So he’d hauled ass back out to his car at nine fifteen on a cold fall night and come right back.
Too bad he couldn’t figure out how to get himself inside, with her.
He’d just raised his fist to knock when, without warning, the door swung open.
He froze, arm suspended in midair.
Dara watched him with coolly appraising eyes, causing his heart to lapse into its familiar drumbeat. She’d showered and changed out of her work clothes into a satiny navy blue robe with a belt around the middle. Her pretty feet were bare, her sweet face scrubbed free of makeup, She smelled delicious, floral fresh.
Predictably, his body heated as though he’d stepped, fully clothed, into a sauna.
Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms over her chest and regarded h
im with open amusement, which meant a large helping of humble pie was in his near future.
“Were you going to stand out here all night?”
“Possibly.”
“Why are you back?”
“I have a very important question to ask you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“What kind of perfume do you wear?”
She gaped at him. “I...what?”
Milking his temporary advantage, he edged closer. “I smell it all the time, even when you’re not with me. I need to know.”
She started to smile, then seemed to realize she was weakening.
“Gardenias,” she said briskly, starting to swing the door closed again. “So if that’s all . . .”
He flung out his arm, blocking her. “That’s not all. I, ah, thought maybe you needed help with your reading tonight. My services are yours.”
Her lips twitched up into a lopsided smile, but she pressed them firmly together until they disappeared in a thin line and hiked up her chin.
“I thought you had important work to do.”
He nodded. “I do. I’m a very important man.”
“Um-hmm,” she murmured.
He cleared his throat. “I thought I could do my very important work here with you, while you study. I brought my laptop.”
“Well, this certainly seems like a good plan, but unfortunately, you have to get to work early in the morning, so I guess you can’t stay long.”
Without a word, he picked up his duffel bag and showed it to her.
Giving him the full smile in all its glory, she backed up to admit him and his bags.
But then her smile faded. “I’m not the enemy, you know.”
He stared at her warm eyes for a long time, fighting the panic that wanted to creep back up his throat. Suddenly, his nameless fears seemed ridiculous, like being afraid of kittens or lollipops.
The best parts of his life were with Dara. What the hell was he so afraid of?
“I know you’re not the enemy.”
“Are you finished fighting me and running away?”
He let out a relieved laugh. “I hope so.”
She led him into the living room, where he saw her books spread open on the coffee table and heard the low murmur of the television. A wave of contentment washed over him.
He belonged here—or wherever she was.
The swish of the silky robe against her legs and the sway of her hips quickly fogged his brain before he could unpack his laptop. He watched her, his mouth drying out. Pausing to give him a sidelong glance over her shoulder, she untied her robe and let it slide off her arms to reveal a slinky little matching nightgown with spaghetti straps.
“Ah, shit,” he breathed.
“Of course, you’ll have to be punished,” she said, smiling.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, dropping his bags and lunging for her.
“You look great!” On Monday, Dara pulled away from hugging Jamal to survey him critically. He’d already removed the bandage from his temple and therefore looked normal except for the stitched cut. “How are you feeling?”
Jamal sauntered back around his desk and sank into his chair. “Fine. Tried to get the doctor to excuse me from work for a few months, but no dice.”
Dara laughed. “Too bad a major head trauma didn’t improve your attitude at all.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, grinning. “And I’ll have to wait a few more weeks before I take the GED exam, but I’m not crying about that. So what’s up with you and Mike? He practically skipped off to court this morning, he looked so happy.”
Dara emitted a ridiculous giggle before she could stop herself.
“Nothing! We just ...well, you know.” She ruffled her hair. Adjusted an earring. Giggled again. “We talked. A little. Nothing. It’s really nothing.”
Jamal gave her an incredulous look. “Y’all been doing a lot more than talking.”
The receptionist’s voice came over the intercom on Jamal’s desk, saving her from spouting further gibberish.
“Dara? You in there?”
“Yeah,” Dara said quickly. “What do you need?”
“Sean’s here.”
Sean? Not again.
He’d called and texted several times over the weekend, and she, totally immersed in being with Mike, had blown him off. As she and Mike had agreed, they wouldn’t tell Sean about their relationship just yet, so she’d have to pretend everything in her life was the same as ever.
“I’ll come down,” she said, rolling her eyes and sighing.
“You need to cut him loose,” Jamal said darkly.
“Cut him loose? Why would I do that to a good friend?”
“‘Friend?’” Jamal’s mouth twisted with open disdain. “Sean doesn’t want to be your friend, and you know it. And you’re sending him mixed messages by spending so much time with him.”
She frowned. “Why would you say that? Sean knows what the deal is.”
“Why don’t you think?” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “Sean thinks he can change your mind. And Mike doesn’t like this ‘friend’ business, especially now. You mark my words. This ‘friend’ stuff is gonna blow up on you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. “I’ll see you later.”
Down in the waiting area, Sean sat on the sofa chatting with some woman. Pausing on her way down the stairs, Dara took one look at her and immediately felt like an ugly duckling. She was exceptionally beautiful, with flawless toffee skin and gleaming spiky black hair that framed her oval face and perfectly accentuated her sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. She wore a pink and black plaid Chanel suit, and her long, shapely legs stretched out for miles before ending in spectator stiletto pumps that cost four hundred dollars if they cost a dime.
Just then the woman laughed at something Sean said, revealing a toothpaste commercial grin.
Dara’s steps slowed with dread.
Sean saw Dara and got up, smiling. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Dara walked closer and tried to smile. “Hey, Sean.” She turned to the woman, determined to find out who she was and what she wanted. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The woman’s amusement faded as she stood up to her full height—which was somewhere in giraffe territory—and eyed Dara speculatively. Her cool gaze slid over Dara’s pretty but plain brown wool wrap dress and brown pumps, clearly assessing and dismissing her as competition.
“Lisa Parker,” she said smiling politely but coolly as she extended her manicured hand. “And you are ...?”
Dara took the witch’s soft hand and kept her voice sweet. “Dara Williams. Are you a client of the firm?”
Lisa smirked. “I’m a friend of Mike’s.”
Friend. Riiiiiight.
And Dara was Beyoncé in disguise.
They might have stood there appraising each other as Mike’s romantic rivals forever if approaching footsteps hadn’t distracted them. They all turned to see Mike stride down the stairs. His sharp eyes flickered to Dara, her hand still in Lisa’s, then to Sean, where they narrowed.
“What’s up, man?” he said, shaking his hand. “What’re you doing here?”
“Trying to take Dara to lunch,” Sean told him, shooting a questioning look at Dara.
“Well, I don’t—” she began.
“How are you, Mike?” Lisa cooed, dropping Dara’s hand. She sidled up to him, kissing his cheek. Mike started but kissed her back, his gaze immediately reverting to Dara and Sean.
“I’m good.”
“Have you got a few minutes?” Lisa asked him.
“Uh ...Sure.” Frowning, he turned to Dara. “Are you leaving for lunch?”
Seething, Dara nodded. She certainly wasn’t going to stick around while this beyotch tried to seduce Mike right under her nose.
“Yeah.”
“I’m thinking pizza,” Sean said.
“You are coming back this
afternoon ...?” Mike called after Dara.
Dara did not for a second think it was anything other than a command. Well, she was in no mood to be commanded, especially by Mike, who still had that woman’s hand on his arm. And she knew exactly what he was saying: he wanted her to know they were still on for dinner tonight, and he expected her to meet him back here at the office when her afternoon classes were over.
Yeah, no.
“Not today,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mike’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. And as Dara ran to get her purse, she heard Lisa’s sultry laughter in response to Mike’s murmur and wanted to commit murder.
At seven fifteen that night, a loud knocking on her door startled Dara out of her deep concentration as she studied on the sofa.
After lunch with Sean, she’d gone to class, then come back to her apartment to wallow in her jealous misery.
So this Lisa person was Mike’s “classmate” and “friend,” according to Sean, who’d greeted Dara’s unprecedented interest in Mike’s personal life with an uncomfortable dose of sharp-eyed suspicion. During Dara’s questioning over lunch, he’d admitted that he thought Mike and Lisa hooked up periodically. That made Lisa a friend with benefits in Dara’s book.
Lisa.
Whatever.
Bitch.
Totally unfair, Dara knew. Lisa might be a lovely person who rescued puppies and orphans during her spare time. Anyway, how could she blame her for wanting Mike? Who wouldn’t?
Not that the fact stopped Dara from seething.
Of course, she’d known someone like Mike could have any beautiful woman he wanted, but it was something else again to be confronted with one of them. Did Lisa have to be so amazingly beautiful? Why was that fair?
And here Dara was, too scared to even sleep with him! What on earth did he want with her—a nervous near-virgin—when he could have a woman like that?
Another knock.
Pissed, Dara got up and stalked to the door. Honest to God, if that was Sean popping up again, she thought, checking the peephole, she was going to—
Oh, God. Mike.
Bracing herself, she swung the door open.
Mike walked in, trench coat covering his suit, his face carefully neutral.
Trouble Page 17
