Trouble (14 page)

But Dara had discovered something better than her study group: Mike. His unlikely career as Dara's personal legal tutor began one morning, when she drove to the office early to study before she began her work. The office was quiet and dark, and she made coffee and settled in with her study manuals.

“Aaaigh!” she shouted after fifteen minutes of frustration.

“What the hell?” Mike appeared from nowhere, poked his head in her office and looked around, startling her.

“Hey!” she cried. “Don't sneak up on me!”

“Don't scare me to death.” Realizing she was okay, he raised one sardonic eyebrow at her. “Problem?”

She swallowed her frustration. The last thing she needed was a resurgence of his criticism about how she was lazy and destined to flunk out of school

“No,” she said stiffly. “Nothing I can't handle.”

He came in and leaned over her desk to see what she was doing. “Ah. Civ Pro. Very tricky. Can I help?”

His face was bland now and, if she didn't know any better, sincere. But still, he'd probably laugh at her questions, which would only make her feel dumber than she already did. Anyway, she'd figure it all out by herself if she gave it a few more minutes.

“No, thanks.”

“Oh.” He slid his hands in his slacks pockets and nodded. “You know … I hate to think of you struggling when I could help.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. How like him to brag about his own skills while making her feel stupid. She wasn't
struggling
.

“I can manage,” she said sourly.

“Suit yourself,” he said, hanging his head as he left.

But after another day of reading about Rule Fifteen and all its nuances, she'd have paid Satan himself for a one-on-one study session. With feet of lead, she walked to Mike's office. He was on the phone so she lingered in the hallway wondering how much crow he'd make her eat.

“What's up?” he asked when he hung up, his expression neutral.

“I was wondering if, uh,” she floundered. “If you had some time—”

“Need a little help with civil procedure?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling with relief. “But if it's a bad time, I can—”

“Pull up a chair,” he said. “Pick my brain.”

And she did, for nearly an hour. If he had other pressing business, he didn't mention it. Even better, he didn't seem to think her questions were dumb at all.

“You worry too much,” Mike finally said, laughing. “You know this stuff cold.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Dara,” he said, serious now, “I'd bet my last dollar you're going to get all As on your finals.”

She grinned idiotically. “Thanks.”

His smile turned wry. “Anything for you, Dara.”

“So how's con law going?” Mike asked Dara one night when he poked his head in the softly lit conference room. “Got it all figured out?”

They had a routine now: after everyone else went home, he'd find her and they'd talk. He'd pretend he'd stumbled upon her accidentally, and she'd act surprised to see him.

“Almost.” She smiled up at him. “Thanks to all your help.”

His heart gave a hard thump whenever she smiled at him like that; there was just no getting used to it. “Am I going to have to carry you the whole semester?”

“Would you?”

They both laughed, and he dropped into the chair across from her.

“Tell me something,” she asked, studying him with her intent gaze. “When do you eat and sleep? You're always here in the office. Don't you have a life? I mean … I'm sure you do, but it's like my parents having sex: I know it happens, but there's never any evidence of it.”

“I manage,” he said, chuckling. “I usually leave here by eight thirty or so, and I eat when I get home.”

“Eat what? Microwave popcorn?”

“Whatever I cook up.”

Her jaw dropped. “You cook?”

“There's no end to my talents, Dara. You'll realize that one day.”

“There's no beginning to your modesty.”

More laughter on both sides.

“What about you?” he wondered. “You've been keeping some late hours here yourself.”

Actually, Dara was in the office almost as much as he was. Looking a gift horse in the mouth was never a good idea, but he needed to know why. Was the coffee better here? Was her chair more comfortable here? Could it have anything to do with him? Yeah, probably. Where else could she find a free legal tutor available on demand?

“Oh, I don't know.” Looking down, she made a big production out of straightening her papers. “I like it here. It's quiet.”

She was lying, his gut told him. Well, maybe not
lying
, exactly, but she wasn't telling the whole truth. He might regret it later, especially if she decided to stop spending so much time here, but for now he had to know.

“Why don't you study with Sean?”

“Oh, I do,” she said, “but sometimes we have to get on him about talking too much. And sometimes I like to study by myself.”

“Hmm.”

So she was still spending time with Sean, then. Suddenly the idea of kicking something—the nearest wall, maybe—seemed very appealing.

“So what do you do for fun when you're not here or at school?” he asked, after a pause. He'd made it a point never to ask her anything too personal, but it was after-hours, the mood was mellow and hobbies were a safe area.

“I bake.”

“It doesn't look like you eat too much of what you make.”

“I eat it all. But I also exercise.”

Of course she exercised; the girl's body was damn near perfect. Slim but wonderfully curvy, with great muscle tone in her arms and legs. He'd kill to see her abs. Well, he'd kill to see a couple other selected areas first, and then he'd kill to see her abs. He'd bet they were toned but still rounded and feminine. One of his recurring fantasies was of burying his face—his tongue—in her belly button while he slid his fingers down to her …

“Yeah?” he asked, snapping himself out of it before he broke into a sweat.

“Yeah. I practice yoga every day.”

“Yoga?”
The image made his heart race even faster. Suddenly, his mind seethed with endless possibilities, each more lurid than the one before:

Dara in those hip-hugging pants that could be peeled away like the skin of a grape;

Dara bending and stretching, spreading her legs wide into some fantastic position, her breasts thrust together and upward with each movement;

Dara breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her …

“What do you do with yourself when you're not here?” she asked.

Wait, what? Did she say something?

Blinking, he rewound her question.

“Well, I, uh … I play in a basketball league. With Sean. I read a lot. And I like to travel. I went to Paris over the summer. It was amazing.”

“No kidding! So is it true it's the most romantic city on earth? I've never been.”

“I wouldn't know. I went by myself.”

“By yourself!” she cried. “Why didn't you go with one of your friends or a girlfriend?”

“Paris isn't exactly a place you go to with the fellas. And I didn't have anyone I wanted to take with me”

She looked baffled, as though he'd told her he'd walked across the Atlantic to get there. “Why aren't you—never mind. None of my business.”

“Married yet?” he supplied.

“Let me guess. You're not the marrying type?” she teased. “You like to play the field? You're finding yourself?”

His guard went up, as it inevitably did whenever he and marriage were mentioned in the same sentence. And yet, with Dara, he was surprised to discover he didn't want to shut the topic down entirely.

“I'm not the marrying type right now. I need to work on building the firm.” He hesitated. “So when the right woman comes along, I'll be able to give her everything she deserves.”

Whoa
, he thought, giving himself a mental smack upside the head. Where had that last bit come from? It wasn't part of the standard speech.

“Well, in the meantime I'm sure you have your choice of women.”

His choice of women
.

His. Choice. Of. Women.

He stared her in the face, suddenly pissed she'd raised the issue and more pissed that she didn't get it and he couldn't tell her. Not if he wanted to be a good brother and a sexual harassment lawsuit-free boss.

“I'm sure I don't have my choice of women,” he said flatly.

She plowed on, undeterred. “And what would you want in a wife if that mythical day ever came?”

“Someone who's smart and funny, but sweet.” Warming to the topic, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Someone who's independent and strong. With attitude.”

“And beautiful.”

He shrugged. “Beautiful wouldn't hurt. But looks aren't everything.”

She nodded. Hesitated. Continued with the personal questions, kicking his excitement rate up into the red zone.

“So are you dating anyone right now?”

“No.” His heart was a drumbeat that overpowered his thrumming pulse. If he had a billion dollars, he'd happily give it up to get inside that head. “What's it matter to you?”

Just like that, she froze—a blushing deer caught in the headlights, poised to flee.

“I'm just … nosy,” she said, shrugging and dropping her gaze.

“Nosy?”

“I mean … Of course, it doesn't matter to me.”

The words hung in the air and then exploded over Mike's head, shattering the one emotion he hadn't meant to ever feel where Dara was concerned—
hope
. He slumped back in his chair, a sour taste filling his mouth. He was a dumb-ass. The way he wanted this woman ate away at his guts like battery acid, but all she was good for was an endless supply of mixed messages and sleepless nights.

And he could never have her anyway. His brother would never forgive him.

Time to go.

“Mike?”

He got up, jerking the chair aside. His own office—the place he loved as much as he loved his home—now pressed in on him like an underground tomb. He had to get away from here. He had to stay away from wherever she was.

Too bad he could never remember that.

She was toxic for him, this girl. She'd bring him to his knees if he wasn't careful.

If she hadn't already.

“It's late.” He knew he'd gone way off the rails, but he couldn't force himself to look at her again before he left the conference room. It hurt far too much. “Go home.”

“Dara,” Mike said the next morning, when they ran into each other in the hallway outside their offices. “I didn't hear you come in.”