Trouble (16 page)

“You two don't need me for this,” he said on his way out the door.

“Wait, man,” called Sean. “About your Black Lawyers Association awards banquet.”

Mike paused and tried to keep his face blank. “Right. I bought a table for the firm. I'm expecting you and Dara and the staff to come.”

“I know. But it's next weekend, and my boys from school will be in town.”

“But Sean,” Dara said, not bothering to hide her exasperation, “next weekend is when we take the practice exams and have the professors score them.”

Sean shrugged. “I can take some practice tests on my own time. It's no big deal.”

Dara shook her head in open disbelief.

Mike resisted the urge to shake Sean until his brain came loose. This was the story of Sean's life in a nutshell: he'd cut off his nose to spite his face every single time. He'd rather flunk out of law school than ask Mike for help or accept it when it was offered. He'd rather party than study.

And Mike was sick to death of him.

Sean turned to Mike. “Like I was saying: can Dara go to the dinner with you? She can sit at your table.”

“Oh, I don't think I'll go,” Dara said quickly, sounding strained. “I need to study. And I don't want to go by myself.”

“You study too much as it is, Dara. Mike could look out for you.”

Mike went utterly still.

“You probably shouldn't speak for him,” she said hastily, her face flushed. “What if he already has a date?”

“You don't mind, do you?” Sean asked Mike.

With that, all Mike's animosity toward Sean slipped away, leaving him feeling sick yet thrilled. Here, beautifully gift wrapped for him like a present on Christmas morning, was a legitimate and innocent reason for him to spend time with Dara away from the office.

Thank you, Jesus
.

But his feelings for Dara could never be innocent.

And only a rotten, scheming, lying bastard would agree to such a dangerous proposal.

“No.” Mike looked directly into Dara's stricken face for the first time since he came into her office. “I don't mind at all.”

Dara's eyes lowered, but, if possible, the flush in her face grew even brighter.

“Great,” she said, trying to smile. “I'm going to run to the bathroom.”

She hurried out, ducking her head as she brushed past Mike.

The second she was gone, Mike turned to Sean and asked the question he'd been dying to ask for months.

“So what's going on with you and Dara?”

“Nothing.” Sean smiled ruefully. “But not for lack of trying.”

“You still trying, Sean?”

“Got to, man.”

Sean held his gaze. Against all odds, Mike forgot about the white-hot flash of anger he'd just felt for Sean. Then things got even more unsettling. Staring into his brother's familiar brown eyes, Mike felt Sean's torment as clearly as if it were his own, because he also wanted Dara and also didn't have her. And he understood that even though Sean knew his feelings were unrequited, he still dreamt of Dara. Still held out hope.

“Can you blame me?” Sean asked.

Mike looked away. “Nope.”

“Hey. Before I forget to ask, what's up with Mama? I haven't talked to her in a while.”

In another wild mood swing, any empathy Mike had felt for Sean instantly vanished. He talked to Mama daily to see how she was handling the chemotherapy, so he knew she still hadn't told Sean she was sick. He'd assumed Sean at least called her every now and then, but you know what they say about making assumptions.

“Why don't you pick up your phone once a year and call her?” Mike demanded.

“I've been meaning to. I've been a little busy with school, if you hadn't noticed.”

Mike snorted. Sean? Busy? There were two words that didn't belong in the same sentence. Sean was so busy with school he had time to take the weekend off, skip his practice finals and hang with his buddies. The pathetic part was that Sean actually believed the crap he spouted.

“You've got time to call your mother,” Mike barked.

Sean flinched. Lobbing a final glare in Mike's direction, he walked out of Dara's office without another word.

Good riddance, jackass.

Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and, still buzzing with adrenaline, waited by the window for Dara to come back.

“Hey,” she said quietly, lingering on her own threshold. “Is Sean gone?”

“Yeah. Thanks for riding to my defense with him. I didn't expect that.”

Nodding, she crossed her arms so tightly it made her shoulders hunch and crept closer, eyeing him warily. “I'm just going to go home. But I'll take the club photos with me and go through them, so don't worry.”

“I'm not worried,” he assured her. “The case is the last thing on my mind right now.”

They watched each other, unmoving, while the moment stretched. She didn't reach for her coat, backpack or purse. He didn't go back to his office. Unsaid words seemed to crowd the air around them like a swarm of butterflies.

“I shouldn't have grabbed you,” he said finally, keeping his voice low. “It'll never happen again.”

He waited, but her expression—best described as dazed and turbulent laced with hints of abject misery—never changed.

“Dara? Say something.”

“I think that's for the best.” After a long pause, she managed a limp smile that never came within a mile of her eyes. “Don't you?”

Opening his mouth, he dredged up a single word so painful it was like vomiting nails:

“Absolutely,” he said.

“What's wrong with you, Michael?”

Mike stared at his mother, who was the only one in her living room with the right to complain about anything. Between her surgery and the chemotherapy, she was hollow-eyed and dull-skinned, yet she wanted to talk about his woes.

Unbelievable.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to perk up as he settled in the chair opposite the sofa where she sat.

Her lips thinned. “Don't make me come over there. Something's wrong with you.”

Mike snorted. Yes,
something
was.
Something
weighed on his mind every second of every day, more so than even his worries about his cancer-stricken mother.
Something
attracted, infuriated, dazzled, and frustrated him more than anything he'd ever encountered.
Something
had him in the grip of an obsession he couldn't seem to shake, and if he wasn't careful,
something
would drive him insane and then to an early grave.

He'd had Dara in his arms today, knew how hot and vibrant she was. How responsive. He'd almost kissed her, for God's sake. Was he just supposed to shake that off?

“It's nothing.”

Mama smiled. “So now there's an ‘it.' A second ago there was nothing.”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned his hands on his knees, looking down at the floor. He was exhausted— much too tired for this interrogation. He was tired of pretending the situation with Dara was manageable. He was tired of trying to keep his hands to himself. He was tired of thinking about Sean and Dara spending so much time together. He was tired of the ache in the pit of his belly whenever he thought of her.

God, he was tired.

He felt like Napoleon at Waterloo, Custer at Little Bighorn: utterly defeated.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked quietly.

Her smile evaporated. “Is she special?”

Mike hung his head again. He should have known she'd figure it out. “Yes.”

“Is she married?”

He heaved himself up, shuffled over to the window and brushed aside the heavy drapes. He stared out, seeing nothing. “She may as well be.”

“Come here, Michael,” she said, stretching out her arms and rubbing his cheek when he sat next to her. “You'll get through this, sweetheart.”

Scrunching up his features, he pressed his fingertips to the space between his brows and tried to block out Dara's face. Just to go three seconds without wallowing in her. But when he opened his eyes again, she was still there, still superimposing her smile, scent and laughter over everything else in his universe.

“I don't think I will, Mama,” he quietly admitted.

She put her other hand on his face and pulled him down to kiss his cheek, engulfing him in the scent of her lily of the valley face cream, which was not the fragrance Dara wore.

“You'll do the right thing, and you'll get through it. You always do.”

Mike stiffened.
The right thing
. Wasn't that just the story of his life?

He'd always thought he was a good man—moral and spiritual. He tried to do what he thought God wanted him to do. Well, God probably didn't want him sleeping with his brother's dream woman, which was why he'd stopped himself from kissing Dara earlier even though doing so probably took ten years off his life.

Maybe God was teaching him he was only human. He'd always been quick to judge other people, to decide what was right or wrong, black or white. He'd never believed in gray. But he was running out of self-control, and if he spent much more time with Dara—if the opportunity presented itself again—he wouldn't be able to stop himself from touching her.

Was God testing him? Pushing him beyond his limits and showing him everything he'd believed himself to be was wrong? Was that why Dara was there, tempting him every day when he needed to be focused on growing his firm and connecting with his brother? If it was a test, Mike was almost willing to concede defeat and stop the agony. He needed some peace.

“How are things with you and Sean?” Mama asked hopefully.

Mike thought about their mutual hostility earlier. How Sean would apparently rather flunk out of law school than deign to accept help from him. How Sean would probably try to kick his teeth in if he had any inklings about his feelings for Dara.

What was the acronym the military used?

FUBAR?

Fucked up beyond all repair?

Yeah. That.

“Me and Sean?” He stared his sick mother in the face and lied through his teeth. “Never better.”

Mama beamed at him. “I knew I could count on you.”

At home that night, while reviewing the photos from the club, Dara stumbled onto a couple that showed a man with a dark leather jacket and mustache, just like Johnson had said. There weren't any photos of him near the victim, much less arguing with the victim, but it was a good start. Pleased with her progress, she stood, stretched and grinned, thinking she'd show the shots to Mike first thing in the morning.

But …

The morning seemed a long way off. Maybe Mike was working on the case himself right now, from home. Wouldn't he want to know what she'd found?

Yeah. Better call him. Right now.

It was a work-related call that would cross no lines, she assured herself. It had nothing to do with what had almost happened between them in the closet today, or the gnawing loneliness that seemed determined to hollow her out whenever she wasn't with him. Those were issues she would manage because, as she'd agreed before she left the office, it was for the best if they never touched each other again. She was far too smart to fall into an affair with her boss, or to let her personal life interfere with school, or to give herself to a sophisticated older man who probably had to dispense numbers to the women who wanted him so they could line up around the block and wait their turn for what was sure to be a quick hookup with him.