Gillian's Do-Over (31 page)

Gillian squinted in Lauren’s direction.
Like me.
Gillian nodded. “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to Quinn. He’ll never let me forget it.”

She rose from her chair in the living room and stalked into her office.
“That’s the last time I’m going on that dating site,” she announced as she opened her laptop. She highlighted the icon and hit the delete button. “So much for ‘getting out there.’ I’ll just have to convince Quinn I’m meeting people some other way.” But did she even want to? Matt had said he’d call for another date.
He
was who she wanted to see, have dinner with, wrestle in the car with, go to bed with … She sucked in her breath and glanced at Lauren. Could she tell what Gillian was thinking about, craving?

Lauren sounded hopeful.
“If you tell Quinn what you did—that you’re not on there anymore—he’ll probably be happy.”

Gillian’s mouth quirked up. “
Not a word. If I don’t mention it, maybe he’ll forget about it. He’s still got his knickers in a knot about the trust I set up. An example of my butting in where I wasn’t wanted, according to him.”

“He told you that?”

She sighed and wiggled one hand. “I knew he might have questions, but he seems to think it’s now his job to watch over me so I don’t do anything stupid.”

“
Hey, you’re the parent here. I thought you said he was proud of your new job, selling your artwork.”

“I think he’s
relegated that to a harmless hobby. At least Bianca was nice about the trust.”

“
Quinn needs to become a father. So he can worry about his son or daughter and forget about trying to run your life.”

“Amen to that. Come on. Let’s have that drink now that your
nephew and his baby partner are gone.”

“He did look awfully young, didn’t he?” Lauren followed her into the kitchen.

Later that week,
Matt looked up at Ursula’s quick knock.

“
A Ms. Wilson and Mr. Griffiths are here to see you.” Under her breath, she added, “no appointment, but your next one isn’t for an hour.”

“Show them in.” Matt recognized Bianca from the bar association dinner. One of those
new hard-ass associates recently hired by West, Neeland and York. The firm went through young associates like a great white through a school of seals.
How long will she last?
The young man standing next to her was frowning.
Griffiths. Could he be Gillian’s son?

“
Ms. Wilson, Bianca, is it? Good afternoon. Mr. Griffiths. What can I do for you?”

Bianca
took a seat at the nearby conference table. Her escort remained standing near the door.

“We’re here to talk to you about my mother’s trust that you set up,” the young man said.

“Which trust would that be?” Matt played for time. He moved toward the door to close it then stopped when the young woman stood up.

“For Gillian
Griffiths. My mother-in-law.”

“I’m her son,” the young man added. “Quinn
Griffiths.”

Matt motioned for Quinn to take a seat. “Is there a problem
your mother, my client, asked you to inquire about?”

Bianca glanced sidelong at
her husband and cleared her throat softly. Quinn took a seat. “Actually, I had a few questions regarding some of the legalese. As an attorney—”

“Y
ou’re writing trusts over at West, Neeland and York these days? It was my understanding that your firm specializes in corporate law, not the more mundane issues of family law.” Something about the way the son had crossed his arms over his chest riled Matt, made him want to push back.

Bianca
blushed and edged back into her seat. “I’m her daughter-in-law, and I thought perhaps you could clarify for me, us about—”

“
And then you would explain it to her?” Matt adjusted the knot of his tie and remained standing, the better to look down on the young attorney and Gillian’s scowling son. “My client didn’t strike me as someone who misunderstood what she signed. We discussed the details in depth.” He let the silence lengthen before continuing. “Without her consent, I’m not at liberty to discuss her trust with you. Surely you know that, Ms. Wilson.”

Quinn stood up again. “Now, wait a minute. My mom wrote this trust without telling us.
Since it involves us at the end, after her … you know … her passing …” His voice trailed off.

Matt
rounded his desk and slipped into his chair, crossing his arms as he leaned back. The young man seemed earnest enough. Was he embarrassed that Gillian had chosen to set up the trust without his input? Did he think she’d done so because she thought he couldn’t take care of his own family? “The trust also involves her during her lifetime.”

Matt
rose and was about to excuse himself when Ursula walked into his office. “Here’s the file.” She must have guessed at the young man’s identity.

“Thank you, Ursula.
Please call Gillian. Ask if she’s free to come to the office—to discuss the trust.”

“
That’s not necessary. This discussion … she doesn’t need to be involved in this,” Quinn sputtered. “She knows we were going to talk with you.”

“But she didn’t mention it to me.
She’s my client. Our conversations are privileged. Ms. Wilson should have informed you of that.” He gave a quick nod to the young attorney sitting stiffly in her chair, peering at her hands.

“She did, but this is
my mother
we’re talking about.”

“Are you suggesting she
doesn’t know her own mind, isn’t able to make a decision about how she wants to manage her estate before her death and how it is to be distributed afterward?” Matt didn’t care that his voice had taken on an edge.

“Well, no, I didn’t mean that.”

Matt forced himself to take a calming breath and lower his voice. “I didn’t think so.”

Quinn
fidgeted in his seat, Bianca’s restraining hand on his arm.

“We’ll wait until your
mother arrives.”
Might as well be a host.
Matt forced himself to sound more welcoming.
“While we wait, perhaps you’d like some coffee.”

Ursula must have read his mind.
Again. When he opened the door, she was standing nearby, holding a tray with a coffee carafe and three cups. “Cookies, too?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. No way was he going to offer th
at officious young man—even if he was Gillian’s son—anything other than coffee.

After serving them, he stare
d directly at Quinn, remembering what Gillian had shared about the nuptials. “Perhaps I should congratulate you—on your recent marriage to Ms. Wilson.”

Bianca smiled at him. “
Thank you. My mother-in-law is a wonderful person, so caring, so loving. And we just wanted to make sure—”

She stopped talking when Gillian rushed in, her hair wind-blown
, pulled back in a braid that seemed to be coming undone, leaving wisps fluttering next to her ears and her pinkened cheeks. She must have walked or run the several blocks from her house to the office. She wore a pair of disreputable jeans with paint splotches decorating the fabric from her hips to her knees. The Seahawks jersey she wore looked several sizes too large for her small frame. It, too, sported paint splotches in random colors, one yellow streak of which matched a spot on her neck, a spot Matt wanted to rub off. His fingers tingled at the thought. Or kiss off. The blotch on her cheek was only slightly darker than a splash of similar color he spied near the base of her throat when her jersey angled off one shoulder, revealing a thin red bra strap.

Gillian
looked at Quinn and Bianca. “What’s going on here?”

“Have a seat, Gillian. Would you like some coffee?” Matt offered. He
handed her his cup and retrieved another from the kitchen before shutting the office door. “Now that all of us are present, tell me, Gillian. Do you wish to discuss the details of the trust you set up with your son and daughter-in-law? It seems they have some questions.”

She glanced in their direction, her gaze
straying back to Quinn’s face. “Maybe I should have discussed it with you two in advance.” She took a quick sip and straightened her jersey, pulling it so that it no longer listed to one side. “It’s just that I knew you wouldn’t be needing my money. Honey, you have a great job and will probably end up running bigger and bigger hotels as you advance. Bianca is at an established firm already and even if, well, even if she rearranges the hours she works in the future, she’ll do fine. That left your children. The ones you may have. In the future.”

She looked into her coffee cup, as if plumbing the depths for reassurance
, perhaps seeing the grandchildren she wanted? “So I decided I wanted my money to go to them. To put them through college, even grad school if they do that. So the two of you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

She
glanced back at Matt and remained statue-like for a long minute, seemingly as mesmerized by his gaze as he was of hers. “I understood what I was doing and Matt, Mr. Gordon here, explained every detail. All of my questions were answered to my satisfaction at every meeting. Even after I changed my will.”

“But—”
Quinn objected.

Matt rose from his desk.
“Thank you for clarifying, Gillian. I believe this meeting is concluded.” He opened his door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Bianca. Please give my regards to your partners.” He nodded in Quinn’s direction. “Mr. Griffiths.” He stood aside so that the young people could pass. “Gillian, if you could wait for just a minute,” he said.

She nodded and sipped her coffee.

Bianca clasped Quinn’s hand and practically dragged him from Matt’s office. “Thank you, Mr. Gordon.”

What’s she thanking
me
for?
Maybe she’d already told Quinn they wouldn’t be discussing anything unless Gillian agreed. The woman had to be smart if she was working for West, Neeland and York. Too bad her new husband hadn’t taken her advice and accepted what his mother had done. With good grace and maybe a heartfelt thank you.

Chapter 20

Matt waited until the outer door closed and silence descended. Gillian was standing next his desk, staring up at the prints on his wall. Her delightfully rounded bottom pressed against the side of his desk, within reach of his hands, hands that itched to touch her ass, to pull her into a hug. He closed his office door.

“When did you get these
pictures?” she asked.

He
ached to touch her, to kiss her, but held off. Was she thinking of their kiss in the park, the one on her porch, those kisses he couldn’t get out of his mind?

She turned around to face him.

Oh, what the hell?
He stepped closer and brushed an errant curl off her cheek, pleased that she didn’t seem to mind.

“Ursula picked them
out. She’s been bugging me for weeks that my office needed dressing in decent art.” He couldn’t keep his gaze off her hazel eyes. They seemed to spark at him when her lips parted slightly. Was he imagining things, that she felt the same tension driving him crazy, tension that was climbing by the second, that told him he wasn’t letting her out of his office until he’d kissed her? He hadn’t yet called her with that second dinner invitation. He hadn’t yet found her online in any of the dating sites he’d checked. He still owed her an apology, the one he’d planned to offer and never got around to, after he’d blown it so badly when she’d tried to comfort him.

He
placed his hands on her shoulders. “I believe an apology is in order.”

“For what?” A line appeared between her brows.

He brushed it smooth with one finger. “For what I said.. At the park. I didn’t mean it, but I wasn’t myself that day. I need a do-over, if you don’t mind. I was going to ask when we went to dinner the other night, but looking at you in that dress—” He saw her again, the black fabric hugging her curves, her creamy shoulders bare, enticing him to touch her. He dipped his head slightly and pressed his lips against her forehead, detecting a light scent of flowers. From her shampoo? She was as still as a statue, except for breathing quickly in and out. He lifted her chin with one finger and focused his gaze on her lush lips, so pink, glistening with her last sip of coffee. He removed the cup from her hands.

Tentatively
he touched his lips to hers, and when she didn’t move, with more confidence. Her lips were as soft as he remembered. They tasted of coffee and something minty, too. He was about to break the kiss when she pulled him closer, pressing her breasts against his chest. That buzzing that had been so irritating whenever his thoughts of her intruded on his concentration of other topics now became a series of zings that tightened his shorts. He deepened the kiss and slid his hands down her arms before drawing her still closer.

When he had to come up for air and figured she had a similar need, he gazed down at her. “I’ve been wanting to
do that—since you arrived.”

Her eyes widened
and their golden color darkened. “Really?” Her reply was breathy, as if she wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she hadn’t pulled away. Instead, her fingers now played with his shirt buttons.

“T
his changes things.” His throat had turned into a desert. He cleared it in case he needed to talk again.

“I
guess it does.” She undid another button and touched the knot of his tie.

He pulled it loose.

Her breath caressed his cheek. “Since I’m no longer in need of legal help.”

He couldn’t think of a thing to say as he
watched her hand slide inside his shirt. The feel of her questing fingers sent his pulse racing. Was she checking his heart rate while stroking his chest? He lifted her onto the edge of his desk when she reached for him and rasped out, her desperation matching his own. “Kiss me again, Matt. Right now.”

She
shoved his shirt off his shoulders and wrapped her arms around him again.

His kisses deepened and the little noises she wa
s making urged him onward. Had Ursula not been at her desk in the other room, he would have taken her right there, on his desk. Hang the files that were spread out on the surface. Hang that he’d never before imagined himself using the surface for anything but business. Images of Gillian in his bed shimmered in his consciousness.

The
sudden ringing of the phone in the outer office and then the opening and closing of the entry door announcing his next appointment shattered the mood and interrupted Matt’s ministrations on Gillian’s lips, cheeks, the nape of her neck where her jersey had slid to one side again, exposing satiny skin he couldn’t stop stroking. He noted idly that her galloping pulse matched his own.

Gillian
seemed to hear the phone, too, and pulled away, panting, looking dazed. Her fingers fluttered in front of his face and he became aware that his shirt was dangling off each wrist, his tie still around his neck, a noose hanging down his back.

He pulled on his shirt and adjusted his tie. She helped by buttoning the shirt she’d so recently unbuttoned
—without his permission, mind you—but he couldn’t have stopped her if he’d wanted to.

Gillian
edged backward and slumped down into the chair vacated by her son. She reached for her coffee cup, its contents probably too cold now to be drinkable.

A knock, sounding louder than
usual, announced Ursula’s approach. But she didn’t open the door. Not her usual M.O. “Matt, your appointment is here. Are you done … are you ready?”

Done with Gillian?
Not by a long shot.
He gulped, wondering if he could even talk and hoped his first attempt would sound close to normal. “Give me a minute.”

He heard
Ursula mumble something to the person who had entered the outer office. Who the hell was he supposed to see now? He glanced down at his appointment calendar. There it was. Mr. Collinswood. About what he had no clue.

“I should go
,” Gillian offered. She stood up and ran a hand across her kiss-swollen lips and through her hair, its braid completely undone. Had he done that? A vague memory of sliding his fingers through her silken strands floated back to him.

She was right
, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He turned in her direction. “I’ll call you. Later. Soon.”

She nodded and opened the door. “I’m glad you selected those pictures,”
she added, the shimmer in her voice giving away how she must still be feeling about their recent clinch. Not that he was going to forget it anytime soon.

Matt followed her to the door, the file in his hand hiding his
arousal. “Mr. Collinswood? Please come in.”

Oh. My. God.
What had she done? More to the point, what had she been unable to
prevent
? Gillian trotted home then swerved on the sidewalk and walked next door to Lauren’s. She knocked on the front door, jiggled the handle, realized it wasn’t locked, and walked inside. “Lauren? I am
so
in trouble!”

Her neighbor emerged from her kitchen, her hands covered in bread dough. She shrugged a shoulder. “Come on back.”

Gillian claimed a stool at the island counter, still breathing hard. She propped her head in her hands, knowing her cheeks were blazing.

“What kind of trouble?” Lauren peered at her more closely. “You’re all pink.
Red, actually.”

“I practically undressed him. At his of
fice. If that phone hadn’t rung …”

“Who he
?”

“Matt. He kissed me and I kissed him back and …”

“Sparks aplenty again? I thought you said you did that on the porch after that dinner last week. Is that why your cheeks are so blotchy? Wow!” Lauren patted the dough into place in the pan and turned on the water in the sink.

Gillian moaned. “What have I done?”

“I’d say you acted on what you’ve been dreaming about for months. How was it? Never mind, I think I can tell. Must have been fantabulous. And you want to do it again?”

She nodded. “
He said something about a do-over. I think I’m going to need a new lawyer.”

Lauren laughed. “
Do you need legal advice? What you want is
him
. Not a bad thing, if you ask me.” She motioned for Gillian to take a seat in the living room. “Take a load off. I want details. The undressing part.”

“I don’t know what got into me, but when he kiss
ed me, all I could think of was skin, I had to be able to touch his skin.”

“And?”

“I unbuttoned his shirt and … felt it. His skin. His back. His chest.”

“And?”

“It was heavenly.”

Lauren clapped her hands. “
And then you went south?”

“Someone came in—”

“You were interrupted midgrope? Oh, my God!”

“Not exactly, but his next client showed up, so I left.”

“Just like that? Your hair’s all messed up.” Lauren scanned Gillian from the top of her head to her toes. “Tell me you didn’t go to his office in that getup. You’ve been painting. I see splotches.”

Gillian
brushed at her cheek and wondered if Matt now wore the same color. She looked down at her paint-stained jeans. “I guess I did. When Ursula called and said Quinn and Bianca were at the office, asking Matt questions—”

“They saw you feeling him up?”

“No. After they left.” She paused. “He has four of my paintings on his wall.”

“Nice. So when are you going to see him
again and finish what you started? Now that you don’t need his lawyerly skills, you can try out his manly ones.”

“He said he’d call me. I think that’s what he said. It’s
all kind of a blur.”

“Stand up,
Gilly.” Lauren rose from her seat and reached out her hands to Gillian. “I’m so glad for you,” she exclaimed, and gave Gillian a hug. “You did it—found out he’s as hot for you as you are for him. I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

Gillian pulled
away. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I have no idea—”

“Sure you do. You just don’t want to admit it.
Yet. You’ve got paint on your neck, too. Better go wash it off and get into something a little nicer for when he calls or comes over. Something slinky, something he’ll want to take off. If he’s the man I think he is, he’ll be here as soon as he gets rid of his client.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Or when his work day is done if he’s one of those workaholic lawyers.”

Lauren walked Gillian to her back door.

As soon as Gillian was home, she jumped in the shower, washed her hair and scrubbed the paint off her skin. Images of herself with Matt—in his office, for heavens’ sake—created others in her brain. That first kiss at the park had been visible to God and everyone, but it hadn’t lasted long. Just long enough for her to realize how well he kissed, even if it was a mistake, what Matt had said that day. The one on her porch was less likely to have been seen. After all, it had happened under the cloak of darkness, with only the porch light illuminating them. That kiss had served only to whet her appetite for more.

What
had occurred at his office had been unplanned. Not only had she liked it, certain body parts thrilled that it had occurred. Matt had seemed as stunned as she was. Sparks were nothing compared to what she’d felt … still did. Fireworks better than New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July combined.

She climbed out of the shower, wrapped her hair in a towel and began to dry off. Each stroke of the towel on her back reminded her of Matt’s hands as he’d held her. Each brush of the towel on her arms gave her goose bumps as she recalled how he’d tipped her head upward and brought his mouth down to hers
, his lips true works of wonder. By the time she was drying her newly shaved legs, her core was throbbing, begging her to see him again, to indulge in more than a simple kiss or a prolonged hug.

She wandered into her closet, not sure what to wear. She
wanted to look nice for him. Assuming he came over. But what if he didn’t? What if Quinn and Bianca stopped by instead, perhaps to complain that Matt had given them no satisfaction? They were sure to ask questions if she looked like she was going out.

She rummaged through her lingerie drawer and
selected a practically-new bra with matching panties that hadn’t been out of her drawer since she’d bought them. She pulled a skirt from her closet and one of her silk blouses. She’d worn them at work. Lots of women wore silk, she reminded herself. But around the house? Not so much. And her outfit was a bit over the top for going to the grocery store. She bit her lower lip and decided she didn’t care. She had to stop second-guessing herself. She would wear what she wanted, no matter the time or place.

Now for her hair. She must have looked a sight when she’d dashed to Matt’s office, intent on stopping whatever discussion was going on about the trust. She brushed her
nearly-dry locks and decided against pulling her hair off her face. Its waves would dry faster if she left them loose. She slipped her feet into ballet flats. Understated, not likely to alert anyone she was going anywhere. Except someone like Bianca, who always looked so put together. That girl was sure to pick up on the hint of the silk blouse. Maybe wearing no heels would knock her off her game. Unless Bianca could tell Gillian had splashed on some cologne and added lip gloss and mascara to her face, details she hadn’t bothered with since the wedding.