Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) (31 page)

“Did you sleep with him?”

Face burning, Angela bolted to the file cabinet and jerked open the top drawer. “I don’t really want to—”

Carmen twisted in her chair to stare after her. “You did!”

Angela shoved the file in the drawer, slammed the drawer shut, and resumed her seat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“How was it?” Carmen asked.

Resistance, Angela knew from long experience, was futile. Leaning against the tall back of her chair, she closed her eyes and sighed, her body flooding with warmth. “I can’t begin to describe how amazing it was.”

She really couldn’t. Even if she wanted to share the most deliciously intimate experience of her life—which she
didn’t
—what words could possibly make Carmen understand how Justus had made her feel? He’d been exactly the kind of masterful lover Angela had always suspected he was. No one else could possibly know a woman’s body—
her
body—like he did. When he’d finally left this morning, only his promise to come back for dinner with her and Maya tonight had enabled her to let him go—

“Oh my God!” Carmen cried. Angela opened her eyes to see Carmen staring at her, a look of dawning horror on her face. “You’re in love with him!”

“What?” Angela couldn’t hold Carmen’s gaze. “Please.”

Carmen shook her head, looking stricken. “Justus is a player, honey. He’s not a man you build dreams around. He’s a man you sleep with. That’s it, unless you want your heart broken.”

Angela, now too miserable to speak, didn’t bother answering. There was no worst-case scenario Carmen could throw at her that she hadn’t already thought of herself. Still, she hated the fact that Carmen thought she was so stupid.

She smiled coolly. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

“Well.” Carmen watched her dubiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again so soon after Ronnie.”

“Don’t worry,” Angela said tightly. “So what are you doing—”

Knock-knock-knock
.

They looked around as Larry poked his silver head into the office.

“Happy New Year!” he said. “I should’ve known my two hardest-working associates would be here, too.”

“Hi, Larry.”

“Isn’t the final pretrial hearing on the Golden Valley case tomorrow, Angela?”

Like he didn’t know, Angela thought sourly. “That’s right. Nine sharp. That’s why I’m here.”

“Everything under control? No more surprise visits from case workers?” he asked.

Angela sometimes thought Larry should come with subtitles to explain what he really meant. Something like,
Don’t fuck it up if you want make partner
.

Nodding, she gave the only acceptable answer: “Everything’s under control.”

“Wonderful.” Larry beamed. “Well, you two ladies should finish and go on home. Enjoy the rest of the day.”

He ducked out, shutting the door again.

Angela and Carmen rolled their eyes at each other. Since it was now five thirty, there was precious little of the day left to enjoy.

Carmen stood. “You’ll think about what I said?”

“Believe me,” Angela said, dredging up a false smile that made her cheeks hurt, “I know exactly where I stand with Justus.”

* * *

I
nside the cozy
warmth of his library, Vincent sat in his leather wingback chair and squared off with Maya over his Napoleon chessboard. Her little face, which rested on her arms, which in turn rested on the edge of the mahogany game table, was screwed up with absolute concentration. He had, of course, let her win. Studying the board, he saw where she could put him in check in two more moves, but her attention had begun to wander.

She looked up. “I resign, Grandpa.”

He covered his heart. “How can you resign when you’re about to beat me fair and square?”

“I’m ti-erd,” she complained, rubbing her eyes.

“Well, you played a good game, Maya.” He held his hands out. “Come here, little girl.”

She scurried around the table to him. He pulled her to his lap, covered her small head with his hand, and stroked her wavy hair.

“That’s what Uncle Justus calls me,” she told him.

Vincent froze, his hand suspended mid-stroke, too surprised to speak for a moment.

You don’t even realize how much like you he is.

He wanted to forget what Angela had said in her fit of anger, but her insidious words wouldn’t leave his brain.

Eventually, curiosity about the son he barely knew got the best of him. “What do you do when you’re with Uncle Justus?”

“I dunno.”

“Do you play chess with him?”

“Yeah.” She giggled. “But he always loses, just like you.”

Smoothing her hair again, he said, “Do you ever go anywhere with him?”

Her head bobbed. “Yeah. To the mall and the playground. And the buffet place.”

Vincent shuddered inwardly. He’d once seen a commercial about that place, where people sidled up to some communal buffet line like farm animals at chow time. Well, leave it to Justus to yield to Maya’s baser impulses. And yet...

“Do you ever spend the night at his apartment with him?”

More head bobbing. “Yeah. On Friday. Not every Friday, but a lot of Fridays. He makes
pancakes
.”

The girl made it sound as miraculous as spinning thread into gold.

Maya loved Justus, Vincent realized with surprise.

Actually,
adored
was a better word.

Vincent doubted whether Maya was this excited about spending time here with him, and
he
had a swimming pool. More surprising was the fact that Justus was a conscientious and devoted uncle—and apparently had been long before the accident.

Would wonders never cease?

Just then the door swung open and Justus, smiling broadly, strode into the room.

“Happy New Year, little girl,” he cried. “What’s up, Pops?”

Vincent gaped, almost not recognizing his own son.

Well, he
recognized
him, of course. Nothing about his physical appearance had changed since last night, not even a haircut. But he looked like a new person. Justus’s step seemed lighter, his face brighter. His smile, in fact, wasn’t the begrudging smile he dredged up whenever he came here. It seemed to be freely given, to emanate from some more profound place than just his mouth.

Justus seemed, in short,
happy
.

Realizing Justus was staring quizzically at him, Vincent hastily cleared his throat. “Maya, here, just beat me in chess.”

Justus grabbed her and swung her in the air. “Is that true, little girl?”

“Yes!” she squealed with delight. “Put me down!”

“Go get your little bag.” Justus planted several kisses on her plump cheeks before he obligingly swung her down. He swatted her gently on the behind and sent her racing on her way. “Aunt Angela’s waiting for us.”

Angela
.

Everything clicked into place for Vincent.

Angela was responsible for Justus’s newfound happiness. Vincent should’ve known. Actually, he’d seen the attraction between them, but he hadn’t expected
this
: his son, the inveterate womanizer, the man who used and discarded women like paper towels, was in love for the first time in his life.

And if Vincent knew anything about it, this would be Justus’s only time in love.

“Well.” Tired, suddenly, his mind swimming with all the new things he’d learned about his son today, Vincent heaved himself to his feet and shivered inside his heavy wool cardigan. It was always so cold these days. “Let’s go see what’s keeping Maya.”

Justus faced him, a faint wrinkle of concern marring his smooth forehead. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Vincent lied.

* * *

A
ngela took
her sweet time about opening her apartment door for Justus and Maya, which only fired his blood to see her. He’d called her at the office and left two voicemails, which she hadn’t returned. Was she okay? Was she avoiding him? Or...

Did she regret last night?

The possibility tied his gut up in knots.

He didn’t know when it’d happened that he started measuring time in Angela increments: thirty seconds until he’d see her; two hours until he could call her; three hours until Maya went to bed and they could make love again. The only time that passed quickly was the time he actually spent with her, and wasn’t that a bitch?

He waited, knocking again.

By the time she flung the door open and let them in, he was ready to look for a battering ram. Maybe he should ask for a key. He’d never done anything so possessive before, but pretty much every aspect of his relationship with Angela was a first.

Her bright gaze went right to him and she gave him a guarded smile that felt like a gift of gold bullion. Forgetting all about her stern lecture regarding how they should behave in front of Maya, he started to reach for her.

But Maya cried, “Hi, Aunt Ang-la!” and rushed forward, forcing Angela to stoop and hug her first.

Frustrated, Justus turned and shut the door.

“Hi, sweetie!” Angela took Maya’s little pink backpack from her, put it on the floor by the door, and kissed her on the cheek. “Did you have a good sleepover with Grandpa and Miss Lena?”

Maya unzipped her coat, jerked it off, and shoved it at Angela, chattering a mile a minute. “Yeah! Last night I got to have popcorn and I watched—”

Justus stepped forward. Impatience made him gruff. “
Maya
.”

Maya started, her eyes widening with surprise.

“Don’t leave your bag in the middle of the floor like that. You know Aunt Angela doesn’t like a mess.”

As one, Angela and Maya, wearing identical quizzical expressions, looked at Maya’s backpack against the door, where it couldn’t possibly offend anyone, even Angela, then at each other.

Justus clapped his hands. “Take it to your room. Let’s go. March.”

Grumbling, Maya snatched up the bag and slunk down the hall toward her room. The second she disappeared around the corner, Justus grabbed Angela, who let out a startled peep, and pulled her in tight. Like last night, he was rougher than he meant to be, but she didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, she sighed and pressed her face to his neck.

He inhaled deeply, soaking her in. Lilies, fresh shampoo, and Angela.

This, right here, was heaven for him.

For the first time today he felt like he could actually breathe.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too.”

“Yeah? I called you today.” Despite all his best efforts, he sounded as casual as a doctor delivering some grave diagnosis. “Did you get my messages?”

She hesitated. “Yeah, sorry. I was...really busy, and I, ah, just wanted to finish up and—”

“It’s okay,” he lied.

His gut told him she was lying, too, and the terrible certainty of it knocked him on his ass.

So she hadn’t wanted to call him back. Just as he’d feared, it was regret, wasn’t it? She was sorry for last night. He loosened his grip enough to see her face and stared into it, desperate for some hopeful sign.

And there it was. That vivid flush across her cheeks. The bright light in her eyes.

He nearly choked on the dizzying power of his relief.

Lowering his head, he kissed—devoured?—her with the enthusiasm of a child with his first bowl of ice cream. She opened for him, blooming like a daylily in the sun, and that was all he needed to put his insecurities on the back burner. He was here with her now. She still wanted him. What else could matter?

Breaking away, he kissed her forehead, eyes, and cheeks, letting his hands roam under her sweater to her warm, sweet-smelling skin.

“Missed you.” Forgetting himself, he kneaded her breasts through the heavy satin of her bra, then dropped his hands to her butt and pressed her, hard, against his insistent erection. “Missed you, missed you, missed you.”

“
Justus
.”

Angela had a way of saying his voice—half agonized whisper, half sob—that drove him insane. He backed her up against the wall and took her mouth hungrily, with no real idea what they could possibly do with Maya down the hall. When Angela’s hips began to undulate against him, he wondered, in his hormone-fueled daze, whether Maya would notice if they disappeared into Angela’s bedroom for a few minutes—