by Lisa Rayne
“What I’m asking, Ms. Morgan,” his voice dropped half an octave, “is if you’ve ever had a white guy before?”
Her mouth fell open. Her nipples tightened under her shirt. The rousing image evoked by his question—having her way with this particular white guy—made her hormones dance. Her hand tightened into a ball on the seat.
He leaned closer, placing a hand on the side of the carriage beside her shoulder. The scent of his cologne—that cologne, the one that made her salivate and think of Spartacus—filled her. The aphrodisiac quality of the fragrance, marked with patchouli and sandalwood, made this interaction so much more troubling than the conversation alone. Her eyes closed.
He gently touched her face with his other hand. She opened her eyes.
“Well?” he asked softly.
“No.” She hadn’t. But, if she were ever going to have one, he’d be at the top of her list. He was easily the sexiest man she’d ever met. She hesitated, struggling against the loaded question she knew better than to ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “Why?”
He smirked. “Do I really have to spell it out?”
She stared into his eyes, not asking the obvious question of whether he’d ever been with a woman like her before. It didn’t really matter since he’d made his interest in her clear. How much of that interest was genuine and how much stemmed solely from curiosity, she didn’t know. What she did know was she needed a change of topic before they ended up crossing the line again, a line that kept getting blurrier by the second.
“Michael, I think we need to talk about something else.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.” She pulled her coat tighter around her.
He studied her movement. “I tell you what. If you slide over here so I can keep you warm, I’ll drop my line of questioning, and we can just enjoy the rest of the ride.”
Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly. The nursery school line popped into her head as she considered his offer. She was getting cold again, but sidling up next to him didn’t seem like a smart move.
He reached for her. “Come on, Jordis. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Her posture stiff and unnatural, she allowed him to pull her close. After a few minutes, snow flurries began to fall. She raised a palm and caught a few flakes. She glanced at Michael as they melted in her hand. “It’s starting to snow.”
She didn’t think anything was quite as beautiful as a carriage ride in the snow through the Country Club Plaza Christmas lights. The night fell around them in an enchanting flurry too beautiful to waste on worries. It wasn’t as if he was going to jump her in public. She relaxed and they rode in silence, enjoying the view.
The evening got late. Reluctantly, Jordis broke into the snowy fantasy with a voice of practicality. “We should call it a night. I think we’ve monopolized the carriage enough for one evening.”
“It’s up to you. We have the carriage reserved for the rest of the night if you want to continue.” He glanced at his watch. “Granted, they only run for another thirty minutes, but the thirty minutes are yours if you want them.”
She struggled to resist the tempting offer, but she lost the battle. After a moment, she adjusted her coat in a way that covered her knees and placed her more firmly against his side. “Why don’t we have him make one more loop around Seville Square and drop us by the bookstore? I parked in the garage right next door.”
“Okay, sounds good.” He instructed the driver as to their final run and tucked her tighter against him. As they approached the bookstore, Michael took an interest in her bag of books. He glanced in and pulled out the mega book on top. He checked the cover and glanced at her. “Stephen King? I never would have pegged you for a horror fan. You seem way too upbeat and Girl Scout for that.”
“Guilty as charged.” She flashed the Girl Scout sign. “But there’s probably a lot about me you wouldn’t suspect.”
Made curious by that statement, Michael dove into the bag for her other treasures.
“Hey,” she cried, grabbing for her bag. The movement placed her across his lap. Her hand squished the top of the bag closed. “A woman’s reading material is private unless she offers to share.”
“Umm, is that all I had to do to get you in my lap tonight?”
She straightened as if she’d been prodded with a poker.
Michael chuckled at the look on her face. He lowered his voice to a tease. “You know, you didn’t have to come up with an excuse. You’re welcome to climb into my lap anytime.”
She tried not to smile at his comment, but she couldn’t help herself.
A few seconds later, the carriage driver reined in the white stallion pulling the carriage and parked in front of the bookstore. Michael replaced her book and exited the carriage. As he helped her down, he paid close attention to the legs covered by her knee high boots. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Especially, if you’re wearing those boots.”
Her grip on his arm tightened, and her heart pounded.
Tearing his eyes away from her, Michael released her long enough to tip the driver. When they stepped away from the carriage, they nearly bumped—literally—into Eric Covington escorting a tall, blue-eyed blond.
“Well, well. Small world,” Eric clucked.
“Eric.” Michael’s jaw tightened.
“What brings you two here tonight?” Eric glanced at Jordis.
“I ran into Jordis coming out of the bookstore. We decided to grab a beverage and enjoy what’s left of the Plaza lights.”
Well, he’d given most of the truth, Jordis thought.
Eric’s expression said he suspected there was more to the story. His eyes flicked to the carriage pulling off behind them. “Sounds good.” He gave Jordis an ungracious smile before focusing back on Michael. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Usual time?”
“Yeah. Same court as last time.”
She looked between the two men. “What’s going on tomorrow morning?”
The superior tilt of Eric’s smile got more pronounced.
Michael answered. “Basketball. Some of the guys get together on a regular basis to play a few pickup games.”
“Some of the guys?” Now she understood the superior glint in Eric’s eyes. He wanted her to know he had an ace up his sleeve. Nothing like sports bonding to keep the good ole boys network strong and woman-free. “Only the guys in the firm are invited to play?”
“Well, Jordis, I doubt any of the women would really want to play with us,” Eric said.
“I would.”
Eric laughed. “Yeah, right. This isn’t HORSE we’re playing. We play a serious ball game. We don’t want to have to take it easy because we’ve got girls on the court.”
“So you’re saying only men are allowed to play in the firm pickup game?”
Michael interrupted. “Of course not.” He looked at Jordis pointedly. He’d surmised, correctly, she’d intentionally played the gender card. “Anyone is welcome to play, but no woman has ever decided to join us.”
“Has one ever been invited?”
Michael didn’t answer her.
She looked back at Eric and smiled victoriously. “Where’s the game being played? I’d love to join you guys in the morning.”
After going over the particulars of the game, Eric walked away with his date, and Michael shepherded her towards the parking garage. Coat collars turned up against the deepening cold, they strode quickly with Michael’s arm firmly around her waist.
They entered the garage and approached her Charger.
Michael frowned. “You don’t have another car?”
“No. There’s nothing wrong with this car.”
Michael glanced outside the parking garage at the snow flurries falling heavier now. He glanced back at her. “Except it’s useless in snowy whether. This model doesn’t even have front wheel drive.”
“I know. I’ve thought about that. I keep thinking I ought to get a four-wheel drive SUV or somethi
ng, but I can’t bring myself to part with the Bee. So far, the weather’s been mild enough it hasn’t mattered.”
“Jordis, you make enough money to have more than one car. Why not buy a second car to drive in the winter?”
“I don’t know. It just seems wasteful for a single person to have multiple cars, particularly if I’m only going to drive one of them a few months out of the year.”
Michael cleared his throat and looked away.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She considered his expression. “Michael, exactly how many cars do you have?”
“Well . . .” He hesitated, as if reluctant to discuss the subject then he grinned. “If you don’t count the Ford F350 I use to haul around my motorcycle, I have three.”
Her face mirrored the incredulous tenor of her voice. “You own three cars, a truck and a motorcycle?”
“Yes, Ms. Do-Right. And maybe I should drive you home in my weather-appropriate SUV.”
She retrieved the bag of books he carried, opened her car door, and shook her head. She placed the books in the car. “I’ll be fine. The snow isn’t even sticking to the ground.”
He glanced towards the wet street once again. No snow had accumulated. If she went straight home, she shouldn’t face any challenging roads.
When he looked back at her, she couldn’t help but smile. “You really are a dinosaur. I don’t know whether to be flattered by your gallantry or insulted you think so little of my driving skills.” She brushed a light dusting of snow off the shoulders of his coat.
“Be flattered.” He grabbed one of her hands and kissed it.
Her heart did a little flip. The warm tingling sensation she’d been feeling since he’d charter a carriage ride to cheer her ramped up to a hotter setting.
“Make sure you go straight home. Kansas City weather is temperamental. This could turn heavy without warning.”
She leaned into him without removing her hand from his. “Relax, Michael. I’ve got your number. If I run into any trouble, I promise I’ll call.”
“Unless you get a call from your brother.”
She laughed. “Touché.” She crossed her heart with her other hand. “I promise. No distractions. No diversions. If I need assistance, I will call.” Before he could say anything else she added, “And I’ll call to let you know I made it home safe.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Okay.” They stood staring at each other. His hand wrapped around hers. He pressed their joined hands against his chest and pulled her closer. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I want to kiss you.”
“I know.”
“You know?” His lips curved and his other hand moved to shift loose hair behind her ear.
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “And I want you to kiss me.” She stepped back. “But you’re not going to.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You’re not. We agreed that wasn’t going to happen again.”
“Did we? I don’t remember that.” He pulled her back against him.
“Michael . . .” She pulled away and stepped into the enclave created by her open car door. “I’m going home now. Thank you for dinner and the lovely carriage ride. I had fun.”
“You’re welcome.” Michael slid his hands in his pants pockets.
She got into her car and started the engine.
After a moment, Michael turned and walked towards his SUV. Jordis watched his retreating back, regret strong in the pit of her stomach. Why did the sexiest man on the planet have to be her boss?
That thought had barely crossed her mind when Michael turned around and strode purposefully back towards her car. He yanked the car door open, reached in and pulled her up against him. With one hand inside her coat, firmly wrapped around her waist, and the other against the back of her head, he kissed her like the world was coming to an end.
She melted, completely.
Her hands grasped the lapels of his coat, and she kissed him back, releasing the pent up sexual frustration she’d fought all day. He pressed her against the side of her car, pushing his tongue deep as he devoured her mouth. She responded in kind, pulling him tight against her so she could feel all his hard body parts with every thrust of his tongue. When they finally came up for breath, they were both panting.
He placed his forehead against hers. “For the record, I never agreed not to kiss you again. You were the one who stated we were both in agreement it would never happen again. I never conceded the point.”
Such a lawyer, she thought, but didn’t say. Her mind reeled. Standing with Michael’s forehead pressed against hers reminded her of the last time she’d kissed a man on the Plaza: a man who had smelled just like Michael, a man who had rubbed his thumb along the base of her neck just like Michael, a man who had used his tongue . . .
Just . . .
Like . . .
Michael.
She stood frozen, eyes fixated on him. Spartacus?
From somewhere outside herself, she heard her voice say, “You don’t have to concede the point, counselor. You know we can’t continue this given our work relationship.”
With his hands bracketing her head, he stared into her eyes. “I can’t seem to get you out of my system. Work relationship be damned. I’ll find a way to handle this.” He pecked a kiss against her lips and folded her back into her car. Right before he shut the door, he ordered, “Lock the door this time.”
Inside her car, Jordis sat motionless except for her shaking hands. Spartacus. The thought assaulted her again.
She jumped when Michael tapped the widow.
He pointed to the lock and repeated, “Lock the door.”
Jordis complied. He was halfway to his SUV before she recovered enough presence of mind to put on her seat belt.
She looked up to find him watching her from the seat of his Navigator. He wouldn’t pull off until she did.
Shifting the Charger into Reverse, Jordis backed out of her parking space and exited the garage. Michael followed her to the highway, merging onto the northbound lanes of I-35 behind her and taking the interchange for I-169 North when she did. Her pulse sped up when she thought he might follow her all the way home. Then, he turned off at the exit leading to the ritzy Briarcliff West neighborhood.
She shuddered out shaky breaths. Relief slid over her, easing her elevated blood pressure. Her agitated mind finally registered Michael’s comment before he’d ordered her to lock her door. Work relationship be damned. I’ll find a way to handle this.
What was that supposed to mean?
Chapter 10
Jordis sat in the dark in front of her gas fireplace when she got home. She had the blower up high so it mimicked a roaring log fire. She’d wrapped herself in a fleece throw and her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Her mind wandered back to New Year’s Eve.
What she remembered about the gladiator included olive skin, large hands, a seductive voice, and odd colored eyes. She thought about how the gladiator had followed her out to the taxi. He’d been persistent about wanting to see her again to pick up where they’d left off.
Juliet, Michael’s voice whispered in her head.
Last night in the elevator, she’d thought she’d heard him breathe that name. She’d dismissed it as her imagination. But had it been?
When they’d gotten carried away tonight, Michael had done something she’d never experienced before except when Spartacus had kissed her. No two men kissed exactly alike. She’d recognize that passionate, unique mixing of lips and tongue blindfolded. She’d certainly dreamed about it enough over the last few weeks.
Lady, you pack one hell of a kiss, he’d said that night.
Yeah. So did he.
The thought that Michael Remington had intruded on her midnight rendezvous dream had upset her this morning. Turns out, he’d always been a part of it. He’d thrown her off with that subtle, romantic kiss in the elevator. But even then, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d known. Everything about him had b
een too familiar, right down to the way he smelled. She’d let her brother’s call distract her from thinking it through last night.
“Crap!” She sat up, thunking her half-full mug down on the coffee table.
Michael was her gladiator. Those odd colored eyes she hadn’t seen quite clearly, she now knew were gray. He’d cut his hair and traded his sexy costume for designer suits, but how could she not have seen it before? A haircut—is that really all it took to throw her off? Wasn’t that as bad as Lois Lane not being able to tell Clark Kent was Superman because of a dorky pair of dark-rimmed glasses? Color her lame and stick her in a clichéd romantic comedy.
Did he know who she was? Had he known this whole time?
Surely, if he had connected her to the masked ball and his New Year’s Eve kissing partner, he would have said something to her.
Unless his current pursuit was just a game to get her to finish what they’d started that night. The thought made her melancholy.
Whatever his awareness of her identity, that he was her gladiator made an already difficult situation more challenging. If he hadn’t figured it out already, she didn’t want him to. She didn’t need him to connect her with the woman who made out with strangers on open balconies. She had a hard enough time dealing with her intense physical attraction to him and getting him to accept personal boundaries where she was concerned. Letting him know they had a shared history stemming from a steamy, anonymous encounter wouldn’t help her cause.
She couldn’t believe she’d been so obtuse about the matter. All the signs had been there. She simply hadn’t wanted to see them. She hadn’t wanted to spoil the fantasy her gladiator represented. She’d embraced her New Year’s Eve memory not simply as naughty entertainment, but as a sign she might ignite that kind of passion someday in someone confident enough in his manhood to handle and accept all the facets of her personality.
