Trouble (46 page)

But Dara didn't need to know that.

Dara's heart thundered as she quietly let herself into the office and shut the door behind her. Everything had changed between them in that supply closet, and she couldn't deny it.

She was dying to see Mike.

She was terrified to see Mike.

He was already here. She smelled the faintest traces of his cool, clean scent by the receptionist's desk as she walked toward the stairs. And, God help her, her breasts tightened and swelled when she passed his office.

Oh, God. Oh, God, there he was!

Act normal, dummy!

“Good morning,” she called, and continued on her way, not bothering to stop.

There! That was normal, right?

But she'd noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that he wore another dark suit and sat behind his desk.

Had he always been this handsome, she wondered as she put her purse away. Well, yes, of course, he had. But how had she ignored that fact for so long? Because he'd irritated her? He wasn't so irritating now. It was, in fact, worse than that. She hadn't seen him for two days. She'd missed him.

Damn it.

She looked up from turning on her computer to see him at her door.

“Hi,” she said nervously, her heart rate imitating a bullet train.

He leaned against her door frame, as cool and unruffled as ever. “How was your weekend?”

It was an innocent enough question, except that his eyes were so intent—so unwavering—that Dara felt the heat of his attention run all through her.

He was glad to see her.

As glad as she was to see him.

“My weekend? It was good.” She couldn't look him directly in the eye for very long, nor could she stop her fidgety hands from compulsively straightening the neat piles of papers on her desk. “Well, boring. Uneventful.” She knocked over the cup that held her pens and, embarrassed, snatched it back up. Finally, she folded her hands on her desk and clutched them hard to stop herself from knocking anything else over. “How was yours?”

She looked up, only to discover him staring at her lips with such focus she could almost feel him running his thumb along her bottom lip, touching his tongue to her mouth.

He seemed to realize he was staring and hastily looked away. “Fine.” He shrugged and ran a hand over the top of his head. “I was here most of the time.”

He might have said something else, but Dara didn't hear it because she'd fixated on his hands. Why hadn't she ever noticed how long and strong his fingers were before? And his hair. Look how thick and wavy it was! Was it silky or coarse? She would gladly give everything she owned for the chance to run her fingers through it—

She snapped herself out of her reverie to find him watching her with glittering eyes.

“I am, uh, going to need you this week, Dara. I need you to look through the photos of the crowd at Johnson's club and see if you can find the mystery man he saw arguing with Morgan. Then maybe we can show the picture to some of the other witnesses and see if anyone knows who he is. Maybe hire an investigator to try to find him.”

She wet her lips. “Of course.”

“Good.” His gaze strayed to her mouth and stayed there for a long beat before flickering back to her eyes. “I knew I could count on you.”

The next day Mike called Dara into his office to ask her how she was coming on her review of the pictures. He was glad to have a legitimate excuse to talk to her. She was like heroin to him now; the more he saw her, the more he needed to see her.

“I'm about halfway through the stack,” she told him “It's very slow going. The pictures are grainy and dark. But I'll finish them this week.”

“Well, don't kill yourself with it. We've got plenty of other, more productive stuff to do. I think he's lying about this other guy anyway.”

She looked personally offended. “Why are you so cynical? I believed him. I think finding this guy could be the key to our whole defense.”

“Dara.” He leaned his elbows on his desk. “First of all, there probably is no other guy. Second, do you think if there is some other guy, he'll just confess to the murder the second we find him—assuming, of course, we can find him?”

Dara crossed her hands over her chest and set her jaw. Concession did not appear to be an option. “I think this is crucial. And I think there is a guy.”

Mike burst out laughing.

“Is something funny?” she snapped.

She was funny, all right. He'd have more luck trying to convince the moon not to come out tonight than he would trying to change Dara's mind.

“Yeah. Are you always this stubborn?”

Reluctant grin from Dara. “Only when I think I'm right. Which is about ninety-eight percent of the time.”

“Well, anyone who likes to argue as much as you do is a born lawyer. I can see why you're not writing novels or teaching creative writing.”

Shit
, he thought as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Where did that come from
?

A vague frown marred her face as she fidgeted with her pen.

Mike watched her closely, letting her squirm. Watching her squirm was immensely gratifying because it meant she
remembered
.

He had no idea what he hoped to accomplish by reminding her of the night they met. He wasn't trying to tease her; that much he knew. His feelings about her were much too troubling for that. Maybe it was just that he'd been desperate to know whether she remembered that night and the connection they'd had, as brief as it had been.

He skated on a frozen pond with her. Every day the popping and cracking sounds of the breaking ice got louder, but still, he skated right toward the center, as though some shameful part of him wanted disaster to strike.

Nothing good could come of his attraction to Dara, he kept reminding himself. Sean would never forgive him if he went after her.

But, God, he couldn't stop wanting her.

Mike reined himself in, hard. “You should get back to work,” he said brusquely.

“Let's get some lunch.”

What the—?

Mike's jaw dropped into a gape that probably made him look pretty damn stupid. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Another one of her irritating offers of friendship? Did she not realize he had as much business spending time with her as an alcoholic did going into a liquor store?

Could it be that she just wanted to spend more time with him?

“Lunch?” he echoed dully.

Her smile faded a little. “Yes.
Lunch
. A tasty midday meal. Maybe you've heard of it.”

He laughed, but his instinct for self-preservation, weak as it had become, kicked in.

“I, ah,” he said, sobering, “I have a lot of work to do. I better not.”

For just a second, he thought he could see a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes, but then she smiled brightly. “Okay.”

Slowly, as if she were a mastodon trying to make her way across the tar pit, she got to her feet and left, pausing once to glance back over her shoulder at him.

Mike stared after her, reminding himself he'd absolutely done the right thing by refusing her lunch invitation.

And that would be his cold comfort during the long hours before he saw her again.

After dinner [at the awards ceremony], Mike and several other prominent attorneys in the city were duly recognized for their work with the poor. Dara watched while Mike walked stiffly to the podium to receive his plaque. She almost laughed at the expression of extreme discomfort on his face. She knew he hated attention like this. Still, she was proud of him.

The second the presentations were over, he rocketed back to the firm's table, his gold-plated plaque in hand, like a laser-guided missile. He sat at the only empty place, on the other side of Amira and her date, watching Dara to the exclusion of everyone else.

She knew because she couldn't take her eyes off him.

She knew they were out in public, and she should be discreet. But she couldn't look away from him. She would trade, do or give anything if only she could kiss him tonight. His obvious hunger for her only made her want him more. He stared at her with eyes so hot and intense she almost felt feverish. Already she was wet and could feel her terrible aching need for him high up between her thighs. When she could no longer resist the urge to squirm and press her legs together, she excused herself and headed to the bathroom.

Mike watched her go, seething and aroused. He kept his napkin tucked into his lap and prayed the fire alarm wouldn't go off and force him to stand up and reveal the tight front of his pants. How had she done this to him? How could that one girl worm her way under his skin and into his blood and his dreams and his every waking thought? Why couldn't he think about something else besides Dara for one lousy second out of sixty? Why did he want—no, crave—her so much? To the point where his skin felt like it was on fire. To the point where the idea of having sex with someone else had become inconceivable. To the point where he almost felt like his life would never be complete unless he could possess her.

What was so special about Dara? Why couldn't he root out the source of his fascination with her? Sure, she was beautiful, but every woman he was with was beautiful. Why couldn't he get her out of his fucking blood?

“Mike?”

When would he have his life back? He didn't have time for this nonsense. He had a firm to run, cases to work, clients to bill. To accomplish his goals, he needed a clear, thinking brain free of clutter and distractions— something he couldn't maintain when Dara was anywhere in the vicinity.

Take the Johnson case. She'd talked him into it even though he'd known Johnson was trouble. He'd taken the case because he couldn't stand to tell her no. Then he'd worked hundreds of hours on it before he'd had to quit and return the retainer. And those were hundreds of hours he could have been working on paying cases.

“Mike?”

So now he was out twenty-five large and had no real idea how he would earn it back anytime soon. And the scary part was, he'd been more concerned with making sure Dara didn't feel guilty about the whole incident than he had been with figuring out how he'd pay bills next month. What was that about? And why …

“Mike!”

Mike jerked and looked around to find Jamal looking at him from across the table, a knowing little smirk on his face. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah. Congratulations. You deserve the award.”

Mike grinned. “Thanks, man. But you're still not getting that raise you asked about.”

Jamal shook his head sadly. “Didn't anyone tell you slavery was abolished about a hundred years ago?”

“It was closer to a hundred and fifty years ago, you ignoramus.” Mike sipped his ice water. “If you'd study a little harder, you'd know that.”

“If you didn't work me like a slave, I'd have time to study harder.”

“When you get your GED, we'll talk about a raise. But not before.”

“When I get my GED, I'm outta your little sweatshop operation.”