Ava regarded him a moment longer, then retrieved her handbag from the floor and stood, her breasts bouncing softly with the sudden movement. She smirked at him. “Thanks for lunch.”
Before she’d taken three steps Colby was on his feet, rounding the table to block her path to the door.
She stared up at him. “What do you think you’re—” She broke off with a gasp as he pulled her against his chest.
Her body was soft and lush, melting easily in his arms. As desire lashed through him, he followed the arch of her back with his hands and gently cupped her round bottom.
She trembled hard and closed her eyes on a whisper-soft moan.
Unable to resist, Colby lowered his head and kissed the temptingly sweet curve where her neck and shoulder met.
She shivered, her hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt. “Colby…I can’t—”
“Shh. I’m not going to keep you much longer. But you need to know something, sweetheart.” He nuzzled tender kisses along her throat, savoring the silky warmth of her skin. “When this whole thing is over—whichever way it ends—you and I are gonna be together. That’s not hyperbole or wishful thinking on my part. That’s a promise.”
When he gently released her, she staggered backward, staring at him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wide with fear and confusion—and unmistakable longing.
Without a word, she spun away and hurried from his office as though her life depended on her escape.
But Colby knew what she apparently hadn’t figured out.
She could run, but she’d never be able to hide.
Chapter 9
Ava sat staring morosely out the window of her office. The sky was overcast, covered with thick gray clouds that threatened rain. The dismal weather matched her mood.
It had been two weeks since she’d last seen Colby. The day after they’d had lunch together, she’d received his request for discovery. She could take thirty days to respond. She intended to do just that.
That was, if she could last that long without trying to find another reason to see him again.
She was ashamed and embarrassed to admit, even to herself, that she missed him. But she did. She missed him like crazy. And it didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, she heard his parting words to her.
When this whole thing is over—whichever way it ends—you and I are gonna be together. That’s not hyperbole or wishful thinking on my part. That’s a promise.
Ava sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair.
Colby was the most amazing man she’d ever met. Strong, brilliant, caring, unbelievably sexy—an irresistible combination of Southern charm and New York swagger. Just being near him electrified her body and soul.
But he was the enemy. If anyone found out about their affair, Ava would be in a world of trouble. She’d worked too damn hard and made too many sacrifices to allow herself to get sidetracked, especially when she was so close to achieving her most important goal. Making partner was all that should matter to her right now. Nothing else belonged on her radar.
Yet there he was, threatening to overtake her world and turn it upside down.
“Trouble in paradise?”
Ava glanced around sharply.
Tate stood in the doorway of her office watching her with an amused expression.
She straightened in her chair, blushing self-consciously. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, not bothering to mask her annoyance.
“Hello to you, too, Ava,” Tate said drolly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your daydreaming.”
Her face grew hotter. “I wasn’t daydreaming.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a loud clap of thunder rattled the building.
Tate chuckled, wagging his finger at her. “Tsk-tsk. You know the Big Guy doesn’t like liars.”
“He doesn’t like assholes, either,” Ava muttered under her breath, “but that’s never stopped you from being one.”
Tate smirked at her. “I’ll let that pass since I know you’re frustrated about the Southern Pacific lawsuit. Damn shame the way things are unraveling. I heard that Bert Lusskin called an emergency meeting with senior management yesterday. Seems that the old man is panicking about the possibility of this case turning into a class-action lawsuit. Have you turned over any discovery documents yet?”
“Not yet,” Ava said with forced patience. “I’m taking my time.”
“Good idea. And you might want to omit that email message that Johnae’s supervisor sent to his friends—the one where he made crass jokes about pregnant women and alluded to unwed black mothers reproducing like rabbits.” Tate gave a mock shudder. “Austin would have a field day with that one. Talk about a smoking gun.”
Ava glowered at her colleague. “Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know? And correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we both representing Southern Pacific?”
“Last I checked.”
“Then why do you sound like you’re relishing what a disaster this case has become? Is it because I’m lead counsel, so I’ll take the fall if we lose?”
Tate looked affronted. “What’re you talking about? I’m not relishing anything.”
Ava smirked, pointing upward as another rumble of thunder sounded overhead. “God doesn’t like liars.”
Tate scowled. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” Ava began straightening papers on her desk. “Anyway, if it’s all the same to you, I have a deposition to prepare for—”
Tate cut her off. “I thought you might like to know that I’ve been asking around about Austin. He has a reputation for bending the rules to suit his own purposes, and he isn’t above playing dirty. So no matter how charming he may seem, you’d do well to watch your back.”
Ava considered Tate for a long, thoughtful moment. “Thanks for the warning,” she said quietly. “I have to be honest, though. I spend more time worrying about the kisses of a friend than the wounds of an enemy.”
Tate faltered, unsure what to make of her philosophical response. When her meaning registered, he frowned, then gave her a curt nod and left without another word.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, Colby arrived at Michael and Reese Wolf’s sprawling Buckhead estate to find several other vehicles lining the circular driveway. After parking behind a shiny black Beemer that bore an Omega Psi Phi license plate, Colby climbed out of his truck and sauntered up the long walk.
Michael answered the front door, swigging from a bottle of beer. “Wassup, Youngblood,” he greeted Colby with the nickname he and his college friends had given him years ago.
“Yo, wassup, Mike.” Colby stepped into the two-story foyer that showcased an elegant chandelier, glossy hardwood floors and a curved double staircase.
“I didn’t see Reese’s car outside,” he said. “She flew the coop already?”
“Yup,” Michael confirmed with a chuckle. “Right after church, she took Savannah over to Aunt Prissy’s house, where all the womenfolk are getting together for Sunday brunch while Dad and Uncle Stan are on their fishing trip.”
Colby grinned. “Yeah, Lexi was on her way over to the house when I spoke to her earlier. She said she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into Mama Wolf’s cooking.”
Michael smiled. “I already told Q to get ready for the cravings. If Lexi’s pregnancy is anything like Reese’s, he’s gonna be making store runs at all hours of the night.”
Colby laughed, following his host into a huge gourmet kitchen befitting the standards of a world-renowned chef. He watched as Michael crossed to the gleaming Sub-Zero fridge and grabbed a frosty beer, twisted off the cap and passed the bottle to Colby.
“The fellas are downstairs waiting for Pipsqueak’s game to start,” Michael said, affectionately referring to his cousin, Atlanta Falcons star wide receiver Mason Wolf. Michael and his friends got together every Sunday to attend the home games at the stadium or to watch away games at one anoth
er’s cribs. Upon his return from New York, Colby had been invited to join their weekly male bonding ritual.
Growing up, he’d always wanted a big brother. When he was fourteen years old, Lexi took him to a Greek picnic, where he met Michael, Quentin and the other members of the Morehouse Nine. Over the years, the fellas had mentored him, protected him, teased him relentlessly and set him straight whenever he was wrong. In short, they’d provided the positive male influence he’d been missing all his life.
Sipping his cold beer, Colby followed Michael downstairs to the media room, which dominated the lower level of the house. It was the ultimate man cave, complete with a fully stocked bar, a pool table, a poker table, a giant high-def flat-panel TV, dark leather furniture and a separate home theater equipped with a film projector.
Instead of movie posters, the walls flanking the theater entrance were covered with framed portraits that paid homage to the Morehouse Nine’s decades-long friendship. There was the group photo of them posing like gangsters as they glared menacingly into the camera. Another picture captured them facing off against one another during a campus step show—half of them repping the Que Dogs while the other half twirled their Kappa canes. Future photographs featured them with various celebrities, musicians, athletes and politicians. But the most prominently displayed pictures were of the nine friends beaming proudly as they flanked Marcus and Colby at their respective law school graduations, then posing with the Wolf Pack on the day Mason was drafted by the Falcons.
Colby followed Michael into the media room, where testosterone hung thick in the air. The jeans-and-Timbs-wearing tailgaters were lounging around watching the early game, their raucous banter drowning out the anchors’ running commentary.
“Look who I found on the doorstep,” Michael announced teasingly.
As eight pairs of eyes swung toward Colby, he grinned. “Wassup, fellas.”
A rowdy chorus of “Wassup, Youngblood” rang out.
Quentin jokingly demanded, “Who gave you permission to take the day off?”
Colby didn’t miss a beat. “The same one who gave you permission to come out and play with your friends.”
The rejoinder drew a round of laughter and taunts, with someone mimicking the sound of a whip cracking.
Percy Sheldon—a dead ringer for Boris Kodjoe—loudly wisecracked, “I don’t know what Mike’s laughing for. He’s just as whipped as Q!”
As more rowdy laughter erupted around the room, Michael smirked at Percy. “Keep running your mouth, clown. You know I’m always looking for a reason to toss you out on your ass. Remember last time?”
Everyone but Percy laughed at the memory of him being booted from Michael’s house following one of their notorious arguments.
“Pay these jokers no mind, Mike,” consoled FBI agent Gabriel Nicks, whose colleagues had nicknamed him “The Avenger” for his maverick investigative tactics. “They’re just hating on you and Q because they don’t have beautiful wives to come home to every night.”
“Riiight,” mocked Jackson “Jagger” Gallagher, whose short wavy hair, golden complexion and hazel eyes had often fueled speculation that he and Quentin were separated at birth. “That’s what I’ve been missing in my life. A woman to come home to every night. Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
Everyone snickered because Jagger was a notorious womanizer who’d had to file restraining orders against three ex-girlfriends who’d refused to accept that they couldn’t cure him of his commitment phobia.
As the friends’ good-natured ribbing continued, Colby made his way over to the refreshment table laden with platters of tailgate food. Before he could fix himself a plate, he was joined by Shokare Bello, who grabbed him and playfully put him in a headlock.
Colby laughed, enduring the familiar ritual just as he’d done when he was a kid.
Releasing him, Shokare grinned and patted his cheek. “So what’s going on, Youngblood? You staying out of trouble?”
Colby flashed a crooked grin. “Depends on your definition of trouble.”
Shokare laughed. With his smooth dark skin, hooded eyes and trim goatee, the Nigerian-born surgeon bore such an uncanny resemblance to Idris Elba he could have played the actor’s body double.
“Listen,” he said, discreetly lowering his deep voice as Colby began piling hot wings, barbecue ribs and potato salad onto a paper plate, “I wanted to thank you for the legal advice you gave me when we ran into each other.”
“Anytime.” Colby licked barbecue sauce from his finger and hummed a note of appreciation for Michael’s culinary prowess before he returned his attention to Shokare. “How’d that situation work out for you?”
Two weeks ago, one of the surgical nurses Shokare worked with had threatened to file a sexual harassment complaint against him after he told her he wasn’t interested in dating her.
“How’d it work out?” Shokare smiled narrowly. “Let’s just say she changed her tune after I explained a few things to her.”
Colby chuckled. “Told you she would.”
“Yeah, you did. And I’m grateful for that.” Shokare grimaced. “I worked too damn hard to put myself through med school just to have my license revoked because I had dinner with the wrong damn woman.”
“I feel you, Sho,” Colby commiserated, struck by the irony of him dispensing advice about workplace relationships when he’d crossed all kinds of boundaries with Ava.
Shokare followed him as he carried his plate over to the bar, plopped down on a stool and enthusiastically dug into his food. He and Shokare were soon joined by Liam Masters, Khalil Bond and Derek Pearce. The five men struck up a spirited conversation about politics, which was eventually interrupted when Jagger called across the room, “Hey, Youngblood, whatever happened between you and that sexy shorty you met at the restaurant that night?”
Colby inwardly groaned as eight pairs of eyes swung to him, all reflecting the same keen interest in his response.
“It’s, ah, complicated,” he said evasively.
This, of course, only fueled more curiosity and speculation.
Percy remarked, “It hasn’t even been two weeks since you met her, and it’s already complicated?”
“Yeah.” Colby offered no more, hoping they’d drop the subject. But he should have known better.
As he watched, the others across the room exchanged amused glances, then got up and casually sauntered over. As they formed a half circle around him, Colby—who made a living methodically picking witnesses apart under cross-examination—was unnerved to find himself in the proverbial hot seat.
Mike started the grilling. “Is she married?”
“No,” Colby answered.
“Got a boyfriend?” Quentin prodded.
“Not that I know of.”
“Does she go both ways?” Percy asked, sounding intrigued.
“I don’t think so.”
“Is she clingy?” Gabe inquired. “Borderline psycho?”
Colby chuckled. “Nah. Nothing like that.”
Jagger snapped his fingers. “I know what it is. She’s a dead fuck.”
Colby scowled as the others reacted with loud guffaws and groans of disgust.
Shokare shook his head at Jagger. “You just don’t know what to say out of your mouth, do you?”
“What?” Jagger protested, glancing innocently around. “Just because I was the first to say it doesn’t mean I was the only one thinking it.”
Percy snickered. “And I’m still waiting for the answer.”
Everyone cracked up laughing.
Colby shook his head, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Believe me,” he said, lifting his beer to his mouth, “that definitely wasn’t the problem. Far from it.”
“Then what was the problem?” Jagger and Percy persisted.
Colby heaved a resigned breath, wondering how he could have possibly expected to be let off the hook when his interrogators included a fellow trial lawyer, a college professor, a civil rights activist and a seasone
d FBI agent.
As the fellas eyed him expectantly, he took a long pull on his beer, buying time. But all too soon the bottle was empty, leaving him no choice but to set it down on the counter behind him. It took him another prolonged moment to work up the nerve to look at Quentin.
“The problem,” he reluctantly confessed, “is that she’s opposing counsel.”
Quentin’s eyes narrowed, then widened in disbelief. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that your one-night stand is representing Southern Pacific?”
Colby hesitated, then nodded grimly.
“Ohhh,” the others intoned with dawning comprehension.
Jagger glanced around with a blank look. “What’s the problem?”
Quentin scowled. “The problem is that opposing attorneys aren’t supposed to sleep together. It’s a major conflict of interest.”
Jagger frowned. “But it’s not like he knew who she was when he met her.” He looked at Colby. “Did you?”
“No.” Colby smiled wryly. “We never actually got around to exchanging last names, let alone discussing our jobs.”
“So you hit it before you knew you’d have to quit it,” Percy quipped, setting off a rumble of wicked chuckles.
Quentin eyed Colby suspiciously. “You have quit it, right?”
When Colby dropped his gaze, a collective groan went around the circle.
“Damn it, Colby,” Quentin growled. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Jagger grinned lasciviously. “If you’d seen the young lady in question, you’d know exactly what he was thinking.”
As the others whistled and hooted in agreement, Quentin and Michael shook their heads at each other.
Percy laughingly pointed at them. “Ain’t it funny how the married dudes have already forgotten how they used to be?”
Quentin scowled, taking umbrage. “I haven’t forgotten anything. But this isn’t about me or Mike. This is about Colby playing by the rules and not jeopardizing his case or his career.”
“I know.” Colby blew out a deep, ragged breath and sat forward, clasping his hands between his thighs. “Believe me, I’m not taking this situation lightly. The last thing I wanna do is lose this case or cause any trouble for Ava. But we all know that sometimes things just happen that are beyond our control. I’m not proud of myself for crossing the line with Ava, but I won’t sit here and pretend that I regret meeting her and spending time with her because I don’t. Not for a minute.”
Merry Sexy Christmas Page 27
