Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) (16 page)

One of his hands rubbed back and forth over her breasts, massaging them and unerringly finding her beaded nipples with every pass. The other hand grabbed one of her hips and yanked her back against him so he could thrust against her butt and taunt her with his full erection.

And then that second hand delved between her thighs and found her sweet spot.

Her skirt was still between them, but he knew where to go and what to do when he got there, and soon her resistance was weak and her knees were weaker.

Then he licked his way down the side of her neck and bit the tender hollow near her shoulder and she almost flew apart then and there. She held her orgasm back out of sheer stubbornness.

But she couldn’t hold back her incoherent little pleas.

“Ah, God, Justus. Please don’t do this to me,” she said, but her hypocrisy was still in full effect, because she clung to his muscular forearms and circled her hips against his.

His insistent lips had found her lobe and bitten that, too, by then, so she heard his soft laughter in full surround sound clarity.

“So we’re agreed, then. Let’s review.”

“Justus—”

“We
connected
that night. I thought about you. You thought about me. I want you. You want me.
This
is going to happen.”

“This is
crazy
!”

“Let me clarify what I mean by
this.
”

She could just imagine. Not wanting his velvety voice to add any images to the ones already writhing through her overheated mind, she put her back and some real effort into squirming away, but he wasn’t having it. With a low warning growl, he tightened his grip on her sex, and the utter perfection of the increased pressure killed all her resistance and trapped her breath in her throat.

She hated him for dominating her like this.

And a secret, shameful part of her loved him for it.

“That’s better,” he said when she stilled. “Where was I? Hang on. Got it. I was defining
this
.”

He flexed his fingers.

She cried out, not daring to move because she absolutely refused to come and thereby admit that he was right and already owned her body.

“By
this
I mean we’ll be fucking. A lot. I’m going to have my hands and mouth all over you, and you’re going to have your hands and mouth all over me. And by all, I mean
all
. Understand?”

Too choked on her passion to form syllables, she kept quiet.

“You’re not quite ready yet. I get that. You haven’t given yourself permission to enjoy the things we can do together even though we’re both consenting adults. I get that, too. We’re going to work on those issues. We’re going to get through them. Why? Because we’ve waited a long damn time to be together, and we need to figure it out. It’s all good. Got it?”

“Fuck you,” she said through clenched teeth.

Another seductive laugh in her ear. “There’s that dirty mouth again. Have I mentioned how much it turns me on? You’ve probably noticed by now, haven’t you?”

He thrust against her again.

Half blind with passion and rage, she tried, with zero success, to wrench free.

His hands stopped stroking her. Without warning, all the long muscles up and down his body tensed and became as unyielding as Michelangelo’s
David
.

“What’s
not
all good,” he continued with a distinct edge in his voice, “is you looking at me with those big brown eyes—the same brown eyes I think about for, oh, forty-five minutes out of every hour—and using them as a
weapon
against me when you disrespect me by lying to my face and telling me I don’t mean anything to you.
That’s
the kind of thing I’m going to have a problem with.”

To her utter surprise (and secret disappointment), he stepped back and turned her loose.

Since every part of her was reeling, physically and emotionally, she put a hand on the wall to make sure she didn’t fall on her butt when she spun to face him, ready to claw his eyes out.

Folding his arms over his chest, he watched her warily. His expression gave nothing away, but his voice, when he spoke again, was hard.

“Don’t do that again. Don’t ever lie to me. Play fair.”

His use of the F-word pushed her over the edge. Something snapped inside her head.

“Play fair?” she shouted. “Was that you playing fair with me just now?”

“That was me calling you out and making sure we’re on the same page.”

“We’re not on the same page, Justus! Not about Maya or anything else!”

“A judge will have to decide about Maya,” he said calmly. “What’s between you and me is between you and me. The one thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“You think I’m going to want anything to do with you after you try to take Maya away from me? Are you insane?”

“Insane?” His eyes flashed, giving her a dizzying glimpse of fire, ice, and way too many emotions for her to possibly identify. For the second time since she’d met him, she had the unsettling certainty that everything she needed to know was right there, hidden on the other side of those secretive brown eyes. If only she could read them better. “For wanting you this much?” Long pause. “Yeah. I think I am.”

* * *

“
M
agistrate Brooks is fair
, so we were lucky she got assigned to the case. Now, when our case is called in a few minutes, we’ll go to her office and—
Justus
? Are you listening to me?”

Justus wasn’t, but he knew he should. So he shifted impatiently in his waiting area chair and tried to focus on his silver-haired new lawyer, Tom. “Sorry.”

Mollified, Tom nodded and resumed his lecture. “When we go in, you’ll...”

But after ten additional seconds of the man’s droning, Justus gave up trying to listen. His focus was all shot to hell.

And why was that? Other than because of the looming custody battle?

Because of the woman sitting on the other side of the room, ignoring him.

He leaned back in his chair and watched Angela, seething.

Well, she hadn’t
completely
ignored him. She’d given him a distant
Hello, Justus
when she first arrived for the hearing. Just like that.
Hello, Justus
. As if they were acquaintances—and not even friendly acquaintances, at that—who’d run into each other in the produce section at Target.

Not as if they were two people teetering on the brink of an inevitable and passionate affair.

Which they were.

As he’d expected, she’d shown him no signs of warmth in the ten minutes they’d been waiting, much less any signs of the explosively passionate woman he now knew lurked beneath her elegant blue dress. After deigning to speak to him, she’d assumed her remote post in a chair as far away from him as she could get while still remaining in the building.

Then she’d crossed those amazing legs and commenced speaking with her lawyer and ignoring Justus.

As a chess player, he recognized a cruelly effective tactician when he saw one.

Angela.

She was good. He’d give her that.

He stared hungrily at her. The two days he hadn’t seen or spoken to her felt like twenty years. This morning he’d caught a glimpse of some gray hairs while shaving, and he was prepared to swear on a stack of Bibles that she’d put them there.

Angela
.

A secret Machiavellian, she’d cleverly avoided any contact with him by dialing the phone for Maya at bedtime each night and letting the girl speak to him, thereby circumventing the one legitimate reason he had to talk to Angela.

Why would she do that to him? Probably because she knew it took years off his life.

He’d thrown her off-kilter the other night, obviously. He should’ve been pleased. Instead, he missed her so much he felt wrecked.

Yeah, he’d missed Maya, too, but that was different.

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.