by Jo Leigh
“So how long are you going to make me wait?” she asked.
The green silk of her dress moved gently under the hand he had flattened on the small of her back. Besides the heat of her body, he felt the movement of toned, controlled muscles and the beginnings of the curves of her hips.
“Wait?” He’d oblige her in the nearest closet, if she wanted.
“For CWB’s counteroffer. Didn’t you come here to talk business?”
Oh. He’d forgotten all about CWB.
“No. I came to contribute to Atlanta Reads. And to ask you to dance.”
“One out of two isn’t bad,” she murmured. He spun her into another turn and whirled her back. “Not that I believe either one.”
“Literacy’s a good cause,” he said. “My pet charity is Music on the Street.”
“Mmm, that’s three honest things. Tell me about it.”
“It’s a grassroots organization that teaches inner-city kids an instrument. They play in a band that gives concerts on basketball courts, in gyms, wherever they can get space. We fund the instruments and the teachers, because the schools can’t.”
She leaned back to look into his eyes, and his thinking ran aground on that clear green gaze.
“What’s your instrument?”
He nodded toward the band. “Trumpet. Or it used to be. I’ve been racking up so many frequent flyer miles I’m way out of practice.”
“Security would probably confiscate your horn as a dangerous weapon, anyway,” she said with a twinkle. The music segued into a slower number and instead of thanking him and leading the way off the dance floor, she fit her body closer against his. He slid his arm farther around her waist and tucked the hand he held against his shoulder.
Whatever witty and self-deprecating comment he’d been about to make fizzled away into soundlessness. All he could think about was how good she felt in his arms-how warm and silky her skin, how intoxicating her scent. The weight of her breasts against his chest and the brush of her thighs as they moved together across the dance floor were making him crazy.
Making his body temperature rise.
And that wasn’t all.
“Mr. Hayes, I’m shocked,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear.
He had two choices. He could make a break for the door and hope he could bribe his way onto the next flight to New York, or he could brazen it out and hope the sense of humor she displayed on TV was real and not put on for the camera.
“I am, too,” he whispered back. “Usually I’m much better behaved than this. But then, I’ve never danced with you before. Now I know I have limits.”
She giggled, tried to choke it back, then seemed to give up. She threw back her head in an honest-to-God laugh. Both arms crept up around his neck.
“I meant I was shocked you weren’t going to counteroffer.” Her voice wobbled with laughter.
Oh, no. Could he just go into cardiac arrest right here and now? Maybe if he went out on a stretcher she’d look at him with pity instead of…what was this?
Her face was alight with humor, not malice or derision. And in her eyes he saw appreciation and a lowering of her guard.
“Mitchell Hayes, you win the prize.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, trying to keep his head up in a sea of embarrassed misery.
“You’ve told me five honest things in the space of half an hour. That’s more than I’ve been able to squeeze out of half the guests we have on the show-and a lot more than I usually get out of the men I’ve dated.”
He huffed a breath of laughter and tried not to think about the way her arms were looped around his neck, bringing that delectable body even more flush against him. “So what’s the prize?”
“We’re going to start over. You don’t scout for a major television network, you never came to my office. I’ve just met you and learned that you’re from New Mexico, you love your family, and you play the trumpet and want kids to enjoy music the way you do.”
“You left out the fifth thing.” What was it his dad used to say? In for a penny, in for a pound.
She shrugged, and flashed that enchanting triangular smile. “Your body’s very honest, too,” she said. “I like that in a man.”
JENNA HAMILTON read the brief one more time in the cab: Skinner v. Best, Kurtz, Crawford, Reavis, Haas. The rolling in her stomach was due less to reading while in motion than to the simple fact that this was the biggest, most public case she’d ever had to handle.
And she wasn’t sure she could do it.
No, no. Scratch that. She’d learn as she went, and get the best advice she could find. She’d already read every scrap of case law in the online library-and she’d branch out to libraries in other states if that’s what it took to win this case.
As the station’s corporate lawyer, and a junior lawyer at Andersen Nadeau who had her eye on a partnership some day, this was her chance to shine. Eve and the others expected her to pull it off, and she wouldn’t disappoint them if she could possibly help it.
The cab pulled up outside the offices of Kregel, Fitch and Devine, which had once been a brick warehouse but was now part of the trendy Decatur district. She paid the driver and took comfort in the knowledge that she knew the details of Liza Skinner’s suit inside out and backwards. Not only that, the file rested in her Kate Spade tote. If there was ever a secret weapon designed to give a woman confidence, it was that.
When the receptionist caught sight of it a moment later, she straightened and announced her right away. The butterflies in Jenna’s stomach settled down. Maybe it was a sign of things to come. She took a firmer grip on the handles and followed the young woman into a spacious office that had enough of the warehouse’s bricks and pipes left showing to give it an edgy, industrial look while screeching “major interior designer” at every turn.
A tall man crossed the room, his hand outstretched.
Nice suit, was her first thought.
Nice hands, was her second, as Kevin Wade shook hers.
“Thanks for coming, Ms. Hamilton,” he said, his voice a smooth bass that tickled something deep inside her. “My client and I appreciate your willingness to be flexible.”
His café-au-lait skin was just a shade lighter than hers, and his brown eyes held a male appreciation that made her body sit up and take notice. No, that wasn’t it. Her spine was straight to give the impression of control, not because it would throw her breasts into prominence. Nuh-uh.
“We might be at this for a while,” she replied, “so please call me Jenna.”
“And I’m Kevin to my friends.”
She didn’t bother to point out that friends was the last thing they were-or were likely to become. Too bad. But with this much money at stake, it was far more likely they’d wind up on either side of a courtroom, each doing their best to grind the other into defeat.
Instead of seating himself in the power position behind the desk, he waved her over to an area by the window that contained a couple of couches facing each other across a low, square coffee table. Some case law and several manila folders already lay on it, as though he’d been doing the same thing she had in the cab.
As they went through the points of Liza Skinner’s lawsuit, she realized that he was darned good at his job, and that this was more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. If only she could focus on the numbered paragraphs of the filings instead of the way his long-fingered hands lay on the papers, or the way she’d get a whiff of his delicious cologne every time he got up to fetch a highlighter or a box of paper clips. This was not going to win Eve and the team what they wanted.
She reined in her errant thoughts with a stern hand. “Kevin, I’m afraid that’s not going to be acceptable to my clients,” she said after he reiterated Liza Skinner’s position on one particularly irritating paragraph in the brief. “The fact is, the lottery winners are not willing to cut her in on a share of the money-nor s
hould they have to. It’s regrettable that they and Ms. Skinner didn’t think to set down the terms of their agreement in writing before they bought the tickets. But without any kind of contract, it’s impossible to hold my clients to what she’s demanding.”
“They were friends,” he reminded her. “Would you make your friends sign something before you gave them tickets, say, for a birthday gift?”
“This wasn’t a gift,” she said. “They all played the same number each week and they all went in on it together-except for Ms. Skinner. She was out of town, out of state-out of my clients’ lives permanently, for all they knew. Any reasonable jury would see that her claim is groundless.”
“It can’t be groundless if there was a verbal agreement,” he pointed out. “She may not have told them she was leaving town, but she never told them she was leaving the group.”
“Regardless of whether she told them or not, I think her departure managed to state it pretty effectively.”
“But metaphors don’t stand up in court.”
He smiled at her, and Jenna lost her focus. That smile had probably gotten what he wanted out of every judge in town. Well, it wasn’t going to work on her.
“The members had a verbal agreement, and Ms. Skinner contributed to the pot.” He pointed to the relevant paragraph in the complaint.
“They won after her monetary contributions ran out,” she reminded him, pointing to the paragraph that countered his in the brief she’d filed that week. “My clients may have played what she’s calling ‘her’ number out of a sense of friendship, but in practical terms, she herself was not a party to the win. She can’t own a number.”
“The fact remains that they threw money in the pot in her name, playing the number she played consistently-as you pointed out-over a period of time. She was a virtual member of the group, whether she was there physically or not, and deserves a share of the winnings.” Kevin Wade’s tone was firm. “The case of Barnes v. Hillman sets a precedent. I’m sure you’ve read it.”
Of course she had. She’d read every single piece of case law connected with state lottery winners in the database-texts that had kept her up past midnight for more nights than she could count. “Barnes v. Hillman isn’t relevant to our case,” she retorted. “In that case, the widow filed on behalf of her deceased husband, who was part of a group. Even though Georgia isn’t a community property state, for the judge it was open and shut.”
He leaned back and extended an arm along the top of the couch, for all the world as if he were giving her an invitation to join him.
Which was crazy. Focus, girl.
“Bradley v. Tillman, Morton and Ramirez, on the other hand, sets a precedent for our case.” She riffled papers until she found the one she wanted. “It was proved conclusively that unless all the group members agree in writing that they’re going to play their numbers together, the money can’t be distributed to anyone else.”
“Mr. Bradley, unfortunately, was a resident of another state that doesn’t allow lotteries,” Kevin said. “There wasn’t much the judge could do about that one.”
Okay, so she just hadn’t found a precedent that applied point for point to their case, but she would. Just give her time.
“So where does that leave us?” Jenna resisted the urge to tap her papers together and be the first to concede a standoff.
“I don’t know about you, but it leaves me starving. I didn’t get a chance to have lunch. Do you feel like going somewhere to eat?”
A second too late, she realized she was “catching flies.” She snapped her mouth shut. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, considering we’re on opposing sides of a case, Mr. Wade.”
“You called me Kevin before.”
“I think it’s time to reestablish some distance,” she said steadily, though her heart was bumping erratically in her chest. She dated a few guys on a casual basis, but no one seriously. She was just as likely to go dancing with a bunch of her girlfriends on her rare nights out. Certainly none of the guys she hung out with, most of whom had been her brother’s college buddies, had this sense of masculine power and casual authority that was drawing her into its seductive net, one breath at a time.
Kevin glanced at his watch. “Come on. It’s after seven. What difference does it make if we talk over the case here and go hungry, or talk it over at Cioppino and enjoy great Italian? It’s just a couple of blocks away, and it’s a nice night for a walk.”
Cioppino. She’d heard a couple of the partners talking about it and it sounded heavenly. And when would she have time to spend an entire evening there? Probably never.
“Fine,” she agreed. “But let’s set down some ground rules. Namely, we split the bill.”
“Done.”
As she tapped her stack of briefs together, Jenna added another ground rule to the list: no lusting after him. Because no matter what happened with the case, breaking that rule would get her into the most trouble-guaranteed.
EVE COULDN’T REMEMBER ever having had such a good time at a fund-raiser. A lot of events such as this involved chatting up people she didn’t know, trying artfully to get them to pull out their checkbooks or posing for the media or attempting to jazz up the obligatory speeches after dinner. But this one…it was like being the prom queen. Not that she’d ever been the prom queen, mind you. She’d been too focused on her SATs and getting into university and from there out into the real world.
But tonight, everyone conspired to make her feel desirable and sought-after and at least five pounds lighter than she actually was. Or maybe it just seemed that way because Mitchell Hayes managed to snag her for one dance out of every three. Then two dances…and then she found herself dancing with him exclusively. But it didn’t really matter, because it was close to midnight, the media had gone, and everyone with fat checkbooks had trickled out the door. That left the under-thirty-five crowd to take another run at the buffet tables and convince the band to play something less vintage.
She didn’t care what they played, as long as it had a beat and she could slip in and out of Mitch’s arms as he whirled her out and back. His hands never strayed where they shouldn’t, but each time he touched her, slipped an arm around her waist or took her hand it felt like a caress. Like a man touching his lover with that focused attention that told her he had plans for her later.
Which, of course, Mitch didn’t. At least, she didn’t think he did. And even if it were true, really it was impossible. She wouldn’t sleep with him under any provocation, simply because of who he was and why he was in Atlanta. But he was a fabulous dancer and after a couple of flutes of champagne she felt loose and happy and ready.
For what, she wasn’t sure.
Oh, to dance-that was it.
Without being obvious about it, he’d managed to dance her over to the French doors and out onto the terrace.
“We can’t hear the music as well out here,” she objected.
“The band is going to be packing up soon.” Still holding her hand, he led her over to a shady corner where ivy cascaded down the exterior wall. It smelled like green cinnamon, and the hem of her dress rustled on the flagstones of the terrace, echoing the way the breeze rustled in the trees. “I need some breathing space. You wore me out.”
She leaned on the stone balustrade. “I doubt that. You strike me as a man of endurance. You probably run marathons in your spare time.”
“If I had spare time, I’d do something less masochistic.” His voice warmed with a smile as he leaned beside her. “Back home, if I wasn’t doing something related to music, I’d ride my dirt bike in the pine forest. I never made it up to the top of the sandstone mesa behind our house, but I spent a lot of summers trying.”
As he spoke, he moved behind her. She felt his warmth down her back as his arms slipped around her and held her, loosely, giving her the choice to pull away.
Or not. She settled herself against his chest, her head leaning on
his shoulder as they looked out over the darkened gardens. Tomorrow she’d remember that he was CWB’s scout and probably didn’t have her best interests in mind. On Monday, when he reappeared in her studio, she’d send him on his way with another firm no.
But tonight belonged to her and Mitch, their careers and worries stripped away, leaving only this elemental desire and the sense of anticipation and possibility that thickened the air.
She felt his warm breath on the side of her neck a moment before he tasted the bare skin where neck met shoulder. His tongue was hot and he took his time, as though kissing her there were all he had to do for the rest of eternity. Eve sucked in a breath and felt a jolt of pleasure arrow through her. Her nipples tightened, and her breasts seemed to swell in the satin prison of her strapless bodice.
“Do you like that?” he whispered against her skin.
“What if someone sees us?” she breathed.
“It’s dark over here.” He kissed her again, moving an inch up the side of her neck. “No one can see a thing. And you didn’t answer me.”
Now he nibbled her earlobe, running the tip of his tongue just behind the post of her earrings.
“Yes.” He pressed against her from behind, and even through her skirts she felt the hard demand of his erection. “You’re being honest again,” she whispered.
“I can’t help it. I’ve been holding you all night and doing math equations in my head so I don’t embarrass myself on the dance floor. Again.”
“And now?” She knew she was being deliberately provocative, but she couldn’t stop. Okay, she wasn’t going to sleep with him, but there was nothing wrong with flirting. Nothing wrong with appreciating the attention of a very attractive man.
“Circumference equals two pi R,” he murmured. “No, that’s no good. It just makes me think of-” He stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t want to spoil the moment by having you slap me.”
