Risk (It's Complicated Book 2)

by Ann Christopher

  The court would help him get Maya.

  He had to manage—and seduce—Angela all by himself.

  Magistrate Brooks poked her head out of the office. “I’m ready for all of you now.”

  The four of them trooped into her office and sat in front of her desk, with Justus and Angela on the ends and Tom and Angela’s lawyer in the middle. Introductions were made. Angela’s lawyer turned out to be her friend Carmen. Justus recognized her from the funeral.

  They all watched while the magistrate frowned over Maya’s file. Finally she looked up.

  “So we have competing petitions for guardianship?” she asked no one in particular.

  “That’s right,” Carmen said.

  “Well.” The magistrate pursed her lips sadly, her gaze swinging between Angela and Justus. “I’m very sorry for both of you. I’m sure this is a very difficult time.”

  “Thank you,” Justus said; Angela just nodded.

  Magistrate Brooks clasped her hands on top of the file. “Are you two the closest next of kin?”

  Justus started. He’d thought the magistrate would talk only to the lawyers, but apparently she wanted to hear directly from him. “Uh...not quite. My father is still alive, but his health is an issue.”

  “I see.” The magistrate turned to Angela. “And Maya has been living with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is she doing so far? Have you considered a grief counselor for her?”

  “Yes, actually,” Angela told her, darting a glance down the row at Justus. “Justus and I talked and we thought it would be a good idea.”

  “Good.” Magistrate Brooks picked up a pen and started writing on a blank form of some sort. “I’m glad to see you two are able to talk about things. That’s good for Maya.” She finished writing and looked up. “I’m putting on a temporary order. I want Maya to stay where she is, for now.”

  Tom put a restraining hand on Justus’s arm, as if he thought Justus might argue, but Justus had expected as much. Staying with Angela probably was the best thing for Maya—for now—and he didn’t want to uproot her until he knew she could stay with him permanently.

  “And I’d like Mr. Robinson to see her regularly during the pendency of the case.” She gave them each a pointed look. “You two can work out a schedule and stick to it, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” Justus said. “But I’d like Maya to spend some nights with me like we’ve always done.”

  Magistrate Brooks looked at Angela. “Ms. Dennis?”

  Angela only hesitated for a second. “That’s fine.”

  “Good. I’m scheduling the final hearing on your applications for three months from now. And I’m ordering a home study for both of you. We really need them, since you’re both single and you’re both siblings of the decedents. As far as the court is concerned, right now you’re in exactly the same legal position. Either one of you could be Maya’s guardian.”

  Satisfied, Justus relaxed a little. The magistrate turned to the lawyers and dithered over legalese for a few minutes.

  His thoughts reverted to Angela.

  He’d really lost it with her the other night, but her cool denials and blatant lies had really screwed with his head. When he’d thought, even for that one quick second, that she hadn’t felt what he felt when they danced ten years ago—

  His gut did another sickening lurch.

  See? There was that tactician thing again. It must be the lawyer in her. She knew exactly which buttons to push to send him right to his knees.

  So he’d gone a little too far to prove his point to her, and now he was in her doghouse.

  Which was a miserable fucking place to be.

  He wanted out. He wanted back in her house and into her bed, where he belonged.

  Which got him to thinking this morning in the shower...

  As a matter of fact, a plan had come to him.

  Well, not a plan, really. Plan was such a devious word.

  A thought had come to him.

  What if he apologized and renounced his sexual interest in her? What if he told her he was sorry he’d come on so strong—that was certainly true, since it had cost him so dearly—and that he should have been more sensitive to her recent breakup—also true—and that, since her friendship was so important to him, he was willing to quash his attraction to her so they could remain friends?

  That last little bit was decidedly not true.

  But she didn’t need to know that. Not right now, anyway.

  If he apologized and behaved himself for the time being, Angela’s innate kindness (plus, she wanted to fuck him as much as he wanted to fuck her; let’s be honest), would force her to accept him. To be nice to him. To spend time with him.

  And if he was with her, he could wear down her resistance until she surrendered.

  And she would surrender. They both knew it was only a matter of time.

  He snuck a glance at her while the lawyers had their heads together, and caught her staring at him, her face deeply troubled. The second their gazes met, hers skittered away again.

  Which was like almost catching a butterfly in his outstretched hands.

  Frustration made him clench his hands in his lap.

  Why did she bother fighting him? Why did they have to play these games? Did she think she was doing a good job hiding her passion for him? For real? It should be obvious to all concerned that if he’d pressed the issue a little harder the other day, they could have made love right then and there.

  And once they were in bed together, she’d want to stay there. He knew it.

  There, see? Simple.

  But it wasn’t simple at all, because afterward she’d hate him for it. She wasn’t ready, and he didn’t want to keep fighting the same battle when he could have her willingly if he only waited.

  And the bottom line was, he wanted her begging him to make love to her. Panting for him. Crying for him. And he would make her beg, too—as punishment for claiming, with a straight face, that their dance at the wedding was meaningless.

  Oh, yeah. He’d pretend all day if it got him Angela in the end.

  He’d already waited ten years for her. What did a few more days or weeks matter?

  When the hearing ended a few minutes later and they all went back to the waiting area, he caught her elbow. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she said warily.

  As if she knew—as well she should know—that any efforts to resist him were futile.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  13

  “Um,” Angela said, thinking hard and stalling for time while she got her pulse rate under some semblance of control. What now? So much for her grand scheme to avoid being alone with him at all costs. You’d think the fact that they were in public would quell the ferocity of her reactions to him—emotional and physical—but no. It’d been a few days. She’d missed him. And he didn’t make things easy on her, the bastard. Once again, he’d worn that wicked dark suit, the one that made him look so commanding. Plus, his light grip on her arm made her warm and agitated, as if he’d rubbed his hands all over her body again.

  Oh, God.

  Don’t let your thoughts go there, girl.

  What should she do?

  “It won’t take long,” he added, then turned to say goodbye to his lawyer.

  “Well...”

  Carmen didn’t notice Angela’s plight and was no help whatsoever. Hitching the strap of her briefcase onto her shoulder, she said, “I’m going to talk to Tom, Angela. I’ll just see you back at the office.”

  And she walked off.

  Angela stared after her in silent desperation, feeling like a surfaced scuba diver watching the boat head for shore without her.

  Justus was, naturally, the shark.

  Except he didn’t look that much like a shark today. As he steered her toward the chairs, his eyes were devoid of amusement, sarcasm, smugness, heat, longing, or any particular emotion that she could detect.

  Which unnerved her wors
e than ever.

  Unable to think of a reasonable excuse to refuse him, she marched stiffly to a row of chairs in a deserted corner, sat, and held her bag and coat in a protective death grip across her lap.

  Justus sat right next to her, which was, of course, much too close. When he leaned down to rest his elbows on his powerful thighs, his face was right at eye level with hers.

  Way too close.

  Her unwilling gaze dropped to his lips. God, he was sexy. And they hadn’t even kissed the other night. How had they not kissed? After a decade of longing to kiss the man, how on God’s green earth had she missed the opportunity when it finally presented itself? Now she’d never know what it felt like to touch her tongue to those lush lips.

  Which was probably a good thing, not that she was happy about it at this bleak moment.

  She waited miserably for him to speak, trying to keep her breath shallow so she wouldn’t have to smell his delicious cologne too deeply. The last thing she needed was a contact high on top of her raging case of hormone poisoning.

  He clutched his hands together (those magical hands had glided all over her body) and dropped his head as if to gather his thoughts. When he finally looked up, his troubled expression surprised her.

  What the hell?

  He took a deep breath.

  “I’m...sorry, Angela,” he murmured in a husky bedroom voice that made her think of her limbs tangled with his as they slid around together on satin sheets. “I got carried away. I think I was...seeing things that weren’t there and projecting my feelings onto you.” His jaw tightened. “I hope we can...work on that friendship thing. It’s important to me.”

  Angela gaped at him. She’d have been less shocked if he’d sprouted peacock feathers from his ass. “You’re apologizing?”

  He nodded. “Can we get past this? It’ll never happen again.”

  “Never happen again?” she echoed with utter disbelief. Where was the wicked wolf from the other night—the one with the hot eyes and the steely determination to have sex with her? What had happened to him? “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Her bullshit-ometer whirred into action and began its preliminary analysis.

  “Explain that to me, Justus. You seemed pretty determined the other night.”

  Rueful smile. “I mean, I thought about it and you were right. About the whole dance thing. It was no big deal.”

  Angela winced.

  “You were an older woman. Every teenage boy’s romantic fantasy, right? I’m too old for that shit now. So don’t worry.”

  Her bullshit-ometer spun to a stop and its big red indicator light began to flash:

  Bullshit!

  That was the official verdict on his little apology speech.

  She opened her mouth to call him on it, but another close look at his face put the kibosh on that idea. She was usually great at reading people—years of being a lawyer had honed her skills—but a hard look at his steady expression yielded only one thing:

  Limpid honesty.

  Somehow she managed to shut her mouth again and smile brightly, even though she suddenly had the inexplicable urge to cry. Ridiculous, right? Why would she be upset when he was shelving his sexual interest in her and giving her his friendship—the very things she’d claimed she wanted from him?

  Yeah, she was an idiot on too many levels to count.

  But she was a grateful idiot. They’d both come to their senses, and not a moment too soon. Thank God things hadn’t gone any farther the other night.

  “So,” she said quickly, trying to smile. “No more Mrs. Robinson for you, young Benjamin. Got it. Thanks. Glad we’re clear. Big relief.”

  He stared at her for a long beat. “And there’s Maya. We don’t need more complications.”

  “Right.”

  “And we both know you’re not really my type,” he said silkily.

  With that, the brittle edges of her smile broke off and hit the floor, smashing into a million dusty pieces. That was the problem with her these days, wasn’t it?

  She didn’t seem to be anyone’s type.

  Not Ronnie’s.

  And certainly not Justus’s.

  Lesson learned.

  It didn’t have to be a big deal. She’d been rejected before and she probably would be again, and by better men than Justus Robinson. So she’d have to put her big girl panties on and manage the sting.

  But she’d die a thousand gruesome deaths by fire ant before she’d let Justus see how much those words hurt, and how it wrecked her to think he was already on the lookout for his new Janet.

  Summoning all her dwindling strength and morale, she glued that smile together again and stuck it back on her face.

  “We’re not each other’s type at all,” she agreed.

  “So.” He paused. A muscle pulsed in the back of his jaw. “That’s that.”

  Her smile began to slip again, but she caught it before it fell a second time. “That’s that.”

  Another pause, longer this time.

  “Great.” He produced something small from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “Here’s a peace offering—a free one-month membership to the club. You can come and bring Maya. There’s a kids’ area.”

  Sudden irritation made her slow to react, but she took the card and resisted the urge to throw it in his stupid earnest face. So he didn’t want her as a lover, but he was happy to groom her as a customer. Well, hell would freeze over—twice—before she set foot in his rotten little club.

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “And I thought I’d take Maya to dinner tonight.”

  “Okay, then.”

  He beamed at her, his boyish smile so wide and beautiful it made her heart ache. Before she knew what he was doing, he reached out, caught both of her hands, and ran his thumbs over her knuckles.

  Alarming jolts of sensation shot from her belly to her sex.

  “Thanks for being so understanding, Duchess.”

  He leaned in and, ignoring her slight noise of protest, kissed her. Except he somehow missed her cheek and instead hit the sensitive spot where her ear joined her cheek. His lips and breath were soft on her ear and just warm enough to turn her insides to pudding.

  She was still trying to swallow her gasp when he pulled back and stared her in the face.

  “I’m really excited about this new phase of our relationship,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  “What did Justus want?” Carmen asked.

  She and Angela sat alone in the firm’s elegant conference room waiting for their meeting to begin.

  Angela flushed. She was ambivalent about telling Carmen the whole story, but Carmen always gave such good advice that it might be worthwhile to talk things over with her.

  “He, uh, wants to take Maya tonight. And...he apologized for coming on to me the other night.”

  Carmen almost dropped her glass of water. “Justus came on to you?”

  “Yep.”

  Carmen recovered enough to whoop with laughter. “Oh my God, you lucky witch!”

  “What?”

  “Honey, if Justus came on to me, we’d be in bed before he even finished asking. He’s about the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

  Apparently the woman immune to Justus’s fatal charm had yet to be born.

  “Well, of course you would,” Angela said, annoyed.

  For as long as Angela could remember, Carmen had had a lack of inhibition about sex that intrigued and annoyed Angela. She always seemed able to blithely enter into relationships with men, thoroughly enjoy sex, and not have her heart smashed when the relationships ended. She never had expectations beyond a few weeks or months of enjoying the man’s company, and if the man suddenly stopped returning her calls, Carmen’s attitude was that there were always more fish in the sea.

  “When are you going to stop being such a Puritan?” Carmen asked, laughing.

  Angela clenched her jaw, thinking that if Justus were here, he’d agree wholeheartedly with Carmen�
��s assessment.

  “I’m not a Puritan. But I just got out of a relationship last week, so I’m not ready. Plus, Justus is Maya’s uncle. Plus, he’s much younger than me. Plus, he’s promiscuous. Plus, we have nothing in common. Okay?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not saying you should marry him! And I’m not nominating him for sainthood! All I’m saying is why don’t you have a little affair and enjoy yourself? I would!”

  Angela’s jaw dropped. “I can’t have sex just for fun.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “Oh, whatever.” Angela smoothed her hair nervously, not certain her ego could handle another painfully frank answer from Carmen. “How do I look to you?”

  “You’re beautiful, of course.”

  “What about my clothes—and my hair?”

  Carmen kept her gaze lowered and made a big production out of refilling her glass. “Why do you ask?”

  “That bad? Really?”

  “Well, honey...” Carmen’s gaze flickered to Angela’s hair. “You know, that ponytail.”

  Stung, Angela wrapped a protective hand around her ponytail, which was a busy workingwoman’s best friend.

  “And your clothes could be a little sexier,” Carmen continued.

  Angela smoothed the fine wool of her suit. “I’ve been working my butt off for the last ten years! I don’t have time to be sexy!”

  “Make time.”

  Folding her arms, Angela seethed in silence for a couple of seconds.

  Oh, how the truth hurt. Justus’s mocking face flashed before her eyes, telling her again she wasn’t his type—not that she wanted to be his type!—and she knew why, didn’t she? She’d known without asking Carmen.

  And what was the painful truth?

  That Angela may be passably pretty, but she wasn’t sexy. If you wanted smart, funny, successful, and dependable? Angela was your girl.

  If you wanted wicked sexy?

  Check, please.

  Honestly, it was no surprise. She hadn’t been sexy enough to hold Ronnie, who was a scant six out of ten on the sexiness scale.

  Justus was a twenty. Why on earth would he ever be interested in her?

  The glass door opened just then and the firm’s managing partner strode in.