Counselor Undone (11 page)

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 something, 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?

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 been 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.

Men tended to be attracted to women like her—smart,
independent, financially secure—but ultimately, the glamour wore off. At
some point, they began to expect her to be less in control and more needy. If she
made advances in her career, they eventually felt threatened. It got real old
real quick.

Keith had been a perfect example. The more her career
advanced, the more pressure he’d exerted for them to attend his business
functions at the exclusion of hers. Slowly, every bunch of flowers, gift or
special dinner presaged some obligation he felt she should fulfill at his
request. If she never heard the expression “with all the things I do for you”
again, it would still be way too soon.

She’d never been one of those females who spent her
formative years fantasizing about babies by a high school sweetheart or white
picket fences or knights on white chargers. Like the heroine in that
Cheetah
Girls
song her goddaughter used to love—what was it called?
Cinderella
?—she’d
rather rescue herself.

She’d always been driven and career-focused. Her father had
disappeared shortly after the court finalized her parents’ divorce so the
vision of man as protector and provider wasn’t one she’d fostered. She’d known
it was up to her to provide for herself and had pursued a law degree with
single-minded determination.

Last year, she’d learned how tenuous her sense of security
really was. A horny senior partner who wouldn’t take no for an answer, a
late-night work session used as an ambush, and a he-said she-said scenario that
left her on the losing side had nearly cost her everything. Luckily, a partner
at her prior firm who’d believed her side of the story had known the hiring
partner at RHM, and she’d quickly found a new job.

Talk about your double irony. This time, it wasn’t just the
senior partner who was horny. She wanted him right back. She wanted him right
back, but she couldn’t have him because of their work relationship. And now,
she couldn’t even hold onto her fantasy suitor because he was that same untouchable
senior partner.

In some ways, knowing the man who had unleashed her inner
vixen under a starry winter sky was the same man who’d turned her inside out in
a firm elevator and in a public garage reassured her. At least she wasn’t a
complete harlot; she only lost control—and all sense of
propriety—with one man.

The ring of her telephone interrupted her thoughts. Jordis
lifted the phone from the arm of the couch, read the caller ID then hit
Ignore
.

Narisa.

She didn’t feel like talking to her cousin right now. Although,
Narisa would certainly get a kick out of this current twist of fate.

Her phone beeped a notice. Looking at her phone again, she
saw Narisa had sent her a text message:
Stop avoiding me. You can’t still be
mad about New Year’s Eve! Answer my calls, you witch!!

Jordis shook her head. That was Narisa for you. When she’d
stopped by her cousin’s to chew her out for leaving her stranded that night,
she’d made the mistake of telling Narisa about her run-in with the gladiator.
Instead of being chagrined, Narisa had told Jordis to be thankful she’d been
unavoidably detained.

Whatever.
Her
cousin getting laid—even by her gorgeous, professional football player
new boyfriend—wasn’t exactly unavoidable. Nevertheless, in Narisa’s
opinion, if not for her no-show, Jordis would have missed what Narisa
considered the best part of Jordis’s evening. Not only had Narisa thought the
whole story exciting and sexily romantic, but she’d also encouraged Jordis to
find the man and take him up on his date offer.

Well, Jordis had found him. Now that she knew he was her
boss, no way could she take him up on his offer.

She’d allowed herself to get way more comfortable with the
man tonight than she should have. He was quite charming and gallant when he
wasn’t in his brooding or domineering mode.

Thinking about how he’d handled Keith brought a smile to her
lips. She’d thought Keith headed for an aneurysm when Michael told him to keep
his hands to himself. Then, Michael had chartered the Cinderella carriage to
make her feel better. His thoughtfully sentimental gesture had instantly
grabbed her heart. By the time they’d finished the carriage ride, all she could
think about was how much she wished they’d met under different circumstances.

His kiss at her car had practically curled her toes. Why
couldn’t she remember Keith ever kissing her that way? Brandt had always
claimed she’d settled when she’d agreed to marry Keith, that he’d been
expedient and comfortable—someone to present the power couple image
prevalent in her social circle without the emotional investment of true soul
mates.

There was nothing comfortable about Michael Remington. His
blatant masculinity evoked heat and desire and consistently made her edgy, but
it didn’t matter. She couldn’t have a liaison with him. She needed to keep her
libido in check if she didn’t want to face some pretty nasty and dire
professional consequences.

Time to put her focus squarely back on partnership. Playtime
with Mr. Remington was over.

Well
, she smiled again,
except
for the ball game scheduled for tomorrow.

* * *

All heads turned towards Jordis when she walked into the gym
the next morning. She had her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and wore an
Under Amour workout suit in red with a white stripe down the side of the pants.
The pant legs, unzipped at the bottom, showed a hint of white Nike hightops
with a red
Swoosh
. She carried her
own basketball under one arm and a duffle bag strapped over the other shoulder.

That she’d come dressed to play didn’t surprise Michael, but
her air of total confidence as she walked towards a court full of men did. This
wasn’t the lady who wore Michael Kors suits, three-inch heels, and French
manicures. Those Nikes had seen court action. She hadn’t put together some new
outfit to impress the boys. She’d played ball before. Where and how well,
they’d soon find out.

“Who’s the lady?” Jackson Montgomery asked Michael. Due to
his wife’s advancing illness, Jackson had been holed up in the hospital so long
it had taken a near act of Congress to convince him to come blow off some
steam.

“That’s Jordis Morgan,” Eric Covington volunteered. His tone
revealed exactly how perturbed he felt about her presence.

Chase followed with Royal McCormick, the partner in charge
of the Business and Finance practice group.

“What’s the big deal gents?” Chase asked. “The lady came to
play. Since we have an uneven number of players today, Jordis will help even
out the teams.”

Only five guys had made it to the court that morning. Jordis
made six. They would have to play three-on-three.

“Which team gets stuck with her?” Eric asked.

“I say the former college basketball stars get the girl.”
Royal slapped a hand on Eric’s shoulder and grinned.

Chase and Michael looked at each other. Generally, the group
tried to divide them, feeling they had an unfair advantage having played ball together
at Michigan State. Today, the group apparently figured having a woman on their
team would be such a handicap they wouldn’t be much of a threat. Chase and
Michael smiled at each other. Woman or no woman, they intended to wipe the
floor with these guys.

Jordis stepped up to the group. “Gentlemen, how’s it going
this morning?”

“Just fine, lovely lady.” McCormick advanced and shook her
hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Roy McCormick, Business and Finance.”

“Hello, Roy.” She smiled at the partner with tawny colored
hair. “Jordis Morgan, Intellectual Property.” She glanced around the bunch,
introduced herself to Jackson Montgomery then turned back to Roy. “So, it’s a pleasure
meeting me, Roy, but not playing with me?”

“Um, well . . .” Roy looked to Michael for help.

Jordis laughed at his fumbling. “Don’t worry, Roy. I won’t
hold it against you that you chose to pawn me off on the ‘former college
basketball stars’.”

“You heard that, huh?” McCormick smiled at her,
non-apologetic.

“Yeah, I heard.” She moved closer to Roy and smoothed the
front of his shirt in a flirtatious gesture. Her eyes widened slightly in
appreciation for the play of muscles under her hand. She left her hand resting
over his heart when she looked deep into his eyes. “You sure you want to give
me away, Roy, without even knowing if I can play?”

Roy licked his lips. “Darling, I’d love to take you on, but
I don’t think here’s the right time or the place.”

Michael’s jaw tightened at McCormick’s double entendre, and
he fought the urge to pull Jordis away from his colleague. Watching her paw
Roy’s chest was breaking him out in hives.

Chase took one look at Michael’s tense posture and grabbed
Jordis by the arm, pulling her away from McCormick. “Well, then, Jordis, it
looks like you’re with us.”

She looked over at Michael. “That okay with you, boss?”

Michael gritted his teeth at the boss moniker. She used it
to annoy him and keep distance between them, reminding him their relationship
as supervisory attorney and associate made a sexual relationship taboo.

“No problem at all, Miss Morgan.” He wouldn’t let her get to
him today. He motioned for her basketball, and she tossed it lightly. “Now, get
those pants off so we can play some ball.”

He put extra schmooze on the “get those pants off” portion
of his command. Her eyes flashed. She hadn’t missed his intentional taunt.

She eyed him as she slid her athletic pants down her legs.
His eyes followed the slow, deliberate movement of her hands, and his eyes
narrowed. He had a weakness for her legs. A weakness she knowingly used to
taunt him back. The lady was playing with fire. Her striptease and fierce attitude
lured him to an edge he doubted she was prepared to handle.