Trouble (19 page)

Mike leaned back in his chair without bothering to answer.

His silent composure set Johnson off into a wave of panicked wheedling.

“You believe Desiree's bullshit? You know that ho is trying to get back at me bcause I dropped her ass! Why're you doing this to me?”

More silence from Mike.

“Look, man,” Johnson said, calming into the soul of reason and flashing a smile as sincere as a thirteen-dollar bill. “Let me talk to her. I'll bring her around. Tomorrow this whole thing'll blow over.”

“I don't know what you're suggesting,” Mike snarled, shooting to his feet with such force that his chair slammed into the bookshelves, making the bric-a-brac rattle dangerously. “But I'm an officer of the court, and I will not call a witness to testify if I think she'll lie. This conversation is over.”

Johnson stood too. Anger somehow added to his bulk, reminding Dara of a bull dropping his head and scraping his front hooves as he snorted.

“The judge won't let you quit on me before the trial!”

“When he hears why? Sure he will.”

With a roar that made the cords in his neck bulge, Johnson jabbed two fingers in Mike's face. “Who do you think you are, you little
bitch
? Do you know who I am?”

“Get out,” Mike said flatly.

Johnson held his gaze for a long moment, then turned to go, lobbing a final threat over his shoulder.

“I'm gonna kill you for this.”

He left, thundering back down the steps and slamming the front door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

Exhausted suddenly, Mike rested his palms on his desk as Dara rushed around to his side of the desk.

“Mike, I—”

He held up a hand to stop her. He just didn't have the energy for anything else right now.

“Aren't you late for class?”

“Yes, but—”

“Dara,” he said tiredly. “I just fired a client and won't get paid for thousands of dollars' worth of work I've already done. I don't know how I'm going to pay the bills. My life has been threatened. Johnson could be getting his gun right now. This could be my last ten minutes on earth. I'd rather not spend them arguing with you.”

“Don't joke! You know Johnson's a thug! Oh, my God! What if he tries to hurt you?” Her voice rose, lingering just this side of panic. Her eyes, meanwhile, were the size of golf balls. “Maybe you should get a restraining order. Maybe—”

Mike hung his head, his entire body clenched with frustration.

See?

Mixed message. Mixed message. Mixed message.

We can't do this, Mike
, she'd said, yet she unraveled at Johnson's threat to hurt him. She held him at arm's length, where she stared at him with hot eyes.

Go away, Mike. Come back, Mike
.

“Dara,” he said tightly, lifting his head again, “I swear to God, you're like my own personal plague of locusts. One of these days, you're going to drive me right out of my
fucking mind
.”

He punctuated the last two words by pounding his hands on his desk.

Blushing, she stared him in the face. “I really don't want anything to happen to you.”

The following Saturday, the night of the gala, Dara waited for Mike in the lobby outside the ballroom.

It was the story of her life these days. Her thoughts and desires revolved around him. Her breath reacted to him. Everything in her world now seemed to matter only as it related to him.

Tonight, for example, she'd dressed with exquisite care.

For him.

She'd chosen an off-the-shoulder black knit silk sheath, simple almost to the point of severity, except that it clung to her curves like a second skin. The slim skirt skimmed the floor, with slits on both sides that revealed glimpses of her bare legs and ankle-strap heels. Her hair was in a high, loose ponytail. Shimmering crystal chandelier earrings dangled from her ears.

Sex goddess was pretty much the look she'd gone for, and all because she craved his approval and needed to see that hot gleam of want in his amber eyes when he looked at her.

And yet she was too weak and scared to take a chance with him.

She told herself she was doing the smart thing by keeping her boss at arm's length, sure. It was an easy lie to tell. What was the alternative? Admit she was doing the cowardly thing because of her paralyzing fear of being hurt?

Yeah, no thanks. So much simpler and safer to be a hypocrite.

God, she made herself sick sometimes.

Weaving through the crowd, she stepped around a huge potted palm, and there he was, standing ten feet away with Jamal, his searching gaze covering the room in wide sweeps.

Seeing her, he stilled.

She straightened, waiting, her head emptying of all thoughts other than how amazingly sexy he looked in his plain black tuxedo—her own James Bond.

No, not hers. Never hers. No matter how much she wanted him.

After an arrested pause he strode toward her, leaving Jamal behind without a word.

Her feet hurried her forward, meeting him halfway until they both stopped. Stared.

Neither of them spoke.

His gaze, glittering and hungry, skated over her, taking its time with a silent inventory:

Hair, face, lips, shoulders, breasts, hips, legs, shoes, breasts again.

No part of her was too small or insignificant to escape his notice and warm approval. She felt deliciously feminine under his unabashed intensity—and helplessly out of control. His attention turned her body into an unknown entity, one with a heart that thundered erratically, straining lungs, breasts that swelled and ached to be rubbed and sucked and an insistent throbbing at the apex of her thighs.

She was terrified that if he touched her, she would ignite.

And, worse, she was terrified that he wouldn't touch her.

At last he looked her in the face again. Tried and failed to smile. Cleared his throat.

“Another black dress, I see,” he said hoarsely, the most lavish compliment she'd ever received.

“Yeah, well. You can never go wrong with a black dress, can you?”

“No.
You
certainly can't.”

Mike lost himself inside her smiling eyes for a second. Or maybe it was an eternity. They were soft and seductive tonight, filled with a woman's secrets. She was gloriously beautiful, aglow in a way that put all the other women to shame.

His interest dropped to her breasts again but, seriously, who in their right mind would blame him for that? He could see the upper third of them—maybe more—over the neckline of her dress. They looked so soft and smooth, such a warm, velvety brown that he wanted to bury his face between them, to rub his cheeks all over them.

And her hips, flaring away from that tiny little waist. Those were womanly hips, hips he wanted to hold, to anchor her while she rode him and …

She took a step closer, and her dress shifted. His attention moved abruptly to the mile-high slits in her dress.

Jesus.

Look at those
legs
—

A shadow fell across Mike's peripheral vision as someone new arrived.

“You're hurting me, Dara!” Jamal cried. “Look at you!”

Mike frowned at the interruption.

Dara laughed. “Do I look okay?”

Jamal took Dara's hands and held her at arm's length to study her more closely. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Scram, junior.” Propelled by the sight of some other male holding Dara's hands, Mike edged between them. “Go find someone your own age to play with.”

“Dara is way closer to my own age than she is to your old age,” Jamal said, chuckling.

Mike bristled at this unwelcome reminder of yet another reason why he should give Dara a wide berth.

“Sean asked me to keep young hounds like you away from Dara,” Mike snapped.

Jamal studied Mike's possessive and protective stance at Dara's side, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yeah, but who's going to keep
you
away?”

The dinner and speeches went on forever. Dara stared listlessly at her plate: chicken, mixed vegetables, rice. It might as well have been two shoes and a brick. She couldn't possibly eat. She was far too busy staring at Mike, who sat as a guest of honor up at the head table.

“Why don't you give Mike a break?” Jamal whispered in her ear, startling her.

“What?”

“Don't mess with me.” He speared a bite of chicken and shoved it in his mouth. “You're making him crazy. Ever since you came, he's been walking around like there's a big black thundercloud hanging over his head. He screwed up some dates with some depositions last week, I don't know if he's eating, and he practically lives at the office. All your fault.”

She hesitated, fidgeting with her earrings. “How is any of that my fault?”

“Don't play dumb with me,” he said impatiently. “I've seen the way he looks at you.”

She smoothed her hair uncomfortably, embarrassed to be discussing her personal life with a teenager, but not embarrassed enough to stop.

“There might be … an attraction,” she admitted. “That's all.”

“That ain't all,” he said darkly.

“Did Mike say something to you?”

“Of course not. I know people, Dara. You don't need a high-school diploma for that. I've seen you and Mike together. You want to be with him as much as he wants you. You just can't figure out how to get there from here.”

Dara, still in her dress, stood in front of her bathroom sink back in her apartment, staring at herself in the mirror. Her unrecognizable reflection was a wreck of overbright eyes, flushed cheeks and flaring nostrils, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh with relief or sob with despair. It would be nice to take a few deep breaths and calm herself down, except that the growing knot in her stomach had expanded up to her throat.

The beautiful gala was over. Mike hadn't spoken to her again.

That was as plain as a signal could get, she kept telling herself. All for the best. Nothing good had ever come to a woman foolish enough to hook up with her boss. Plus, he was Sean's brother, and Sean was one of her best friends. Not to mention the fact that Mike had never made a declaration of love, or anything close. Come to think of it, they barely got along half the time.