Trouble (47 page)

“If you think someone else'll hire your sorry butt, then good riddance.”

Jamal snorted.

Mike stood and dropped his napkin in his chair. “You ready? Let's go.”

Jamal frowned. “What about Dara? Aren't you gonna wait till she gets back and tell her good-bye?”

Mike didn't care for Jamal's disapproving tone. And he had no intentions of getting anywhere near that siren in the black dress again tonight. He considered himself lucky he'd made it this far into the evening unscathed.

“You tell her,” he said. “I'll meet you in the lobby.”

It was nine thirty [the morning after Dara's car accident with Jamal] before Mike got back to the office. He went directly to Dara's office, too far gone to worry about wearing his heart on his sleeve. She sat at her desk, with Laura leaning over her shoulder, both heads bent low over some document they were discussing. But the second he stepped into view, Dara looked up and smiled, a wide, glorious smile that made his chest ache with indefinable emotions.

“Good morning,” she said.

Laura looked up and saw him. “Hey, Mike.”

He stared at Dara, barely aware that anyone else was present. One of Dara's brows rose slightly in amusement. Clearing his throat sharply, he tried to come to his senses, an impossible task.

“Good morning. Laura.”

Laura looked back and forth between them, comprehension dawning on her face. Very quickly, she gathered her papers from Dara's desk and scurried out, grinning all the way. “I'll see you two later.”

Mike walked slowly into the office, watching Dara the whole time and feeling as though he'd been mesmerized. He'd always thought she radiated some sort of inner light or something, but today she seemed to glow, with flushed skin, bright eyes and that killer smile. Did anyone else see what he saw? Did
he
make her this happy? It seemed impossible, like holding the moon in his hands.

He sat on the edge of her desk and, reaching out to cup her cheek, kissed her gently on the lips.

“I missed you,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he said around the basketball-sized lump in his throat. “Not sure I can wait till tonight.”

“There's a lot of that going around,” she said, tipping her face up so he could kiss her again.

Mike woke up slowly, stretching and feeling a strange but exciting combination of utter relaxation and boundless energy. He knew why: he and Dara had been having the best non-sex of his life. Her flexible, eager little body, clever hands, and sweet mouth had, in fact, reduced him to a quivering mass of flesh on more than one occasion.

When was the last time he'd engaged in this much foreplay? He couldn't begin to remember. Generally, the women he dated were happy to jump in his bed at the end of the first date, which was, he supposed, the reason he dated them. Not that he wasn't anxious—desperate, actually—to make love with Dara. It was just that he absolutely did not want to rush her, nor did he want to hurt her. For now it was enough to revel in getting to know her, emotionally and physically.

Besides, he had the feeling she was going to blow his mind when they finally did make love. Worse, he feared that when they made love—when she became
his
—he would never let her go. Could never let her go.

Smiling, his eyes still closed, he reached across the rumpled pillows. She wasn't there. Disappointed, he opened his eyes and sat up. Bright sunlight streamed through the closed blinds. At the foot of the bed, dressed in exactly the kind of skimpy little black yoga outfit he'd fantasized about, sat Dara on a purple mat.

Except she wasn't really sitting. She was balancing on her tailbone, her mostly bare legs straight and about three feet apart, her toes pointed toward the ceiling, with her hands gripping her ankles. She looked like a huge V.

He gulped, his throat suddenly dry and tight.

Shit, man.
Shit
.

Never had he seen anything as erotic as Dara with her legs in the air. He had the sudden and nearly irresistible urge to leap out of bed and take her now, roughly. He watched, riveted, while, still holding onto her ankles and keeping her legs straight, she rolled onto her back, then back up into the original position.

Mike made a strangled sound.

Startled, Dara dropped her legs and twisted on the mat to face him.

“Good morning,” she chirped, smiling as brightly as the morning sun filtered through the window. “Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

He crept to the end of the bed, keeping the sheet at his waist to cover his violent arousal. “Wha—” He cleared his husky throat. “What are you doing?”

“Pilates work.”

“Pi … what?”

“Pilates,” she said, laughing. “Stretching. Toning. It's good for the abs.”

Pilates was good for a whole lot more than abs.

“I thought you did yoga,” he said weakly.

“I do.” She resumed her V position, causing his groin to ache. “You slept through yoga.”

She rocked back again, and he lost the last threads of his self-control. He lunged off the bed and came down on top of her. Dara squealed with surprised delight and wrapped her legs around his waist. He ground his erection against her, fitting himself to the place where he belonged. Dara scratched his back, pulling him closer.

“Tomorrow,” he said, burying his lips in her neck, “I'm setting the alarm clock.”

Mike strode down the crowded sidewalk at dusk [the day after he and Dara made love for the first time] and marveled at how different the beaten path looked when the sun was still up. Normally, he only saw the world in the black predawn and post-sunset hours, unless he had to run to court or remembered to take time during the day to look out the window. Twilight over the city, with the lights beginning to twinkle on the river and the setting sun a fiery pink against the graying sky, was a sight to see.

It was five o'clock, possibly the earliest he'd ever left the office. He'd stunned Jamal, Amira, and Laura into speechlessness when he'd announced he planned to go home early, and they could therefore also go home. And he did plan to go home—to Dara's.

The ridiculous bout of panic had ended during lunch with Mama, when she'd thankfully refrained from mentioning
love
and
marriage
again. Over his turkey club and iced tea, he'd had an epiphany that had calmed him right down and put things into perspective:

He didn't have to figure everything out today. He and Dara were in a great place. They were ecstatically happy. That was enough for right now.

There was no emergency, and Mama's desperate desire for a grandchild notwithstanding, there wasn't even a rush. He and Dara had plenty of time to explore their relationship. And if they fell in love—if they
were
in love— it would certainly not be the end of the known world. And—he gave a mental gulp—if he decided she was the woman he wanted to marry, well, he could think of worse fates than spending the rest of his life with the most fantastic, sexiest woman he'd ever met.

He turned the corner, picking up his step. He just had the one errand, and then he was anxious to get to Dara's and touch her again. Keeping his hands off her all day at the office—after last night's orgy of feeling and exploration—had been a special agony. He'd meant it when he'd told her he could wait to make love to her, but now that the waiting was over, he felt profound gratitude. He needed to touch her the way he needed sunshine on his face.

Veering around a woman pushing twins in a stroller, he caught sight of a Christmas display in the window of a clothing store. The holidays were almost here, and he had no idea how they would spend them, although he suspected they would not be at his mother's house, sharing turkey with Sean. Most likely, Dara would want to go home to her parents in Chicago.

He hated the thought of not seeing her for a couple weeks, and he'd had an inspiration: he would surprise Dara by taking her to Miami with him the week after Christmas. He'd signed up months ago to attend a conference for criminal defense attorneys. Why not buy an airline ticket for Dara as her Christmas present? They could have several days alone in the sun together.

The thought was his idea of heaven. He turned one last corner and hustled into his travel agent's office to pick up the tickets. He'd surprise her with the trip in a little while. He could hardly wait to see the glee on her face.

[After they broke up and he ended her internship], Mike sat in his SUV in the parking lot of Dara's apartment building, staring at the front door, willing her to appear. He needed to see her, even if it was only for a second, and even if it was from fifty or sixty feet away. His life seemed to depend on it.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Dara came out with her backpack.

His heart lurched hard.

She went down the steps, with her typical brisk, purposeful walk, and headed toward her new car. Her head was down, but she looked grim and determined. And tired. He stared, wishing he'd brought his binoculars so he could see her better. It didn't matter, though. He could tell she was ready to ace her finals. He didn't have a single doubt about it.

God, he was proud of her.

At the door to her car, she stopped. For no apparent reason, her head turned over her shoulder, and she looked directly at him, or, rather, directly at his SUV, though she couldn't know he was there; he was too far away.

He slumped down, agitated at the prospect of being caught stalking her, which would be humiliating, to say the least. Plus, he didn't want to distract her from her first day of finals.