Authors: Dawn Atkins
“Oh, I’m up to it.” Cole wouldn’t drip from so much as a paper cut around this Armani-clad shark.
“That makes one of us.” Trevor sounded surprisingly vulnerable and looked a little pale today, now that Cole focused on him. “I’ve got the Bowman buyout, the Valley Rentals sale and a flight attendant with a ticket to Bali and a body that makes men walk into walls.” He sighed. “Sucky timing.”
“My bad on the deadline.” Trevor had had the class not to bring that up since his blunder.
“What the hell. Doing the impossible racks up the partner points. I’ll get my Palm Pilot and we can book meetings.” He headed off without his customary swagger.
The pressure got to young turks, too. Because of his late start on law school, Cole at thirty-three was older than most of his partner-bound colleagues. He considered commiserating with the guy, but that would be self-indulgent. They’d both known the game when they signed on. You gave it all you had, sacrificed everything and it came back to you tenfold in stature, income and security.
Cole couldn’t wait to get there, fulfill his dream and his parents’ pride in him. He planned to fund something extravagant for their retirement—a condo in La Jolla or maybe Hawaii. If he could ever convince either of them that their students would survive when they left the classroom for some well-deserved rest, that is.
He, on the other hand, had to push hard. Rest wasn’t an option. There were other approaches, he supposed. Like Trisha’s. She’d bought him lunch the other day to ask for his help covering crucial meetings so she could accompany her husband on a business trip.
Cole had readily agreed, flattered by her trust in him.
You’ve got your head on straight,
she’d told him, a reference to his advanced age, he assumed. She was midtwenties, but seemed wiser than her years—feet flat on the ground and no nonsense. She didn’t even sound bitter about being passed up for the Littlefield plum.
I love the law, but my life is more than that.
He admired her for making the best of a bad situation.
Trisha was smart and fast, able to quickly cull critical details from a file. She was a better writer and more organized than he. If he ever opened his own practice, he’d want Trisha with him, if she were interested.
But that was way down the line.
First, he had to make partner. And that meant turning the Littlefield case around fast. Getting married would help his cause, too, he’d concluded after a recent golf game, where he’d teamed with Rob Tuttleman against two guys from the law firm where Tuttleman had failed to make partner.
Over celebratory brews—they’d won big—Tuttleman had waxed nostalgic. “I thought all it took was hard work and brilliance,” he’d said of his failure. “But the partners wanted stability, and, frankly, debt. A mortgage, country club dues, orthodontia. Maybe they were right, because I didn’t get serious about billables until I married Sandra. Maybe it was chicken and egg, but it worked. Word to the wise, Sullivan,” he’d said with a slow wink, tossing back the last of his third “’tini,” as he called them. “Word to the wise.”
So, a wife would be a good asset. But that wasn’t the main thing. He thought about Trisha’s face when she talked about her husband. She practically glowed with love. This brilliant lawyer, this self-sufficient woman
needed
her husband to be happy. And it was obvious he felt the same about her.
Cole wanted that. Hungered for it, if he were honest. He wanted someone who understood him, knew what he faced, what he wanted, could say what he had to hear to turn wrong things right.
Someone like Kylie.
Stop it. Even if she wasn’t moving to L.A., Kylie had no interest in settling down. She’d practically sneered
corporate wife.
She had no interest in compromise when it came to her career and he didn’t blame her.
Now Deborah Ramsdale was ready to settle down. And she’d be back in less than a month. He took her profile out of his briefcase and skimmed it.
Career has been top priority,
she’d written,
but plan to limit travel and adjust hours to accommodate a relationship and, eventually, a family.
Exactly what he wanted. He looked at her photo. She was attractive, though appearance wasn’t as important as personality. Her eyes held a glint of ambition, which he liked. Kylie had more than a glint. She had a beam, a klieg light, an Olympic torch of drive. She was going places as hard and fast as she could. She made love that way, too.
He had to stop lapsing into thoughts of her. Her busy body, shiny eyes and full-faced smile had shimmered just below the surface of his awareness ever since that night, like a reflection in a pond.
Forget Kylie. Back to Deborah, who had minors in philosophy and art history, which meant she’d do well in his social milieu. He looked forward to insightful discussions over Sunday bagels thick with cream cheese and buttery omelets—make that lite cream cheese and Eggbeaters, since she’d surely be a cholesterol watcher.
He liked that they shared careers. And BL&T would be glad to connect with such a prominent firm. With luck, he and Deborah would be engaged before the firm’s Christmas party. The partner decision would be announced just after the first of the year. It all clicked into place, like an exclusive country club that had invited him to join before he’d even considered applying.
He returned her profile to his briefcase, then opened his computer calendar for Trevor’s return. The Deborah date was a yellow square for last Friday. He’d met Kylie instead.
What a wonder she’d been as a lover, rocking on his shaft and crying out like no man had ever made her feel so good.
Shit.
An erection. In his serious office with its serious diplomas, sober law books and elegant paintings, he had a serious boner.
Trevor walked in. Of course. At least Cole’s desk hid his crotch. He scooted his chair farther in just to be sure.
“You all right?” Trevor asked.
“Sure. Just…thinking.” And aching.
They booked three meetings and were searching for a fourth when the secretary spoke through the intercom. “Cole…Kylie on line two.”
His heart and penis jumped like both wanted out. “Kylie? I’ll take it.”
He’d sounded like an idiot, obviously, because Trevor looked him over. “Kylie huh? Is she cute as a button?”
“Look for something Friday,” he said, ignoring the jab, and shifted the monitor so Trevor could check out his calendar.
Cole picked up the phone and turned his chair away. “How the hell are you?” he said, going for a conversational backslap to keep Trevor off the trail.
“Cole?” There was a pause, a sharp inhale, then a relieved exhale. “I get it. Someone’s there. I can call back.”
“No, no, not at all. Can you hang on?” He turned to see what Trevor had found.
“I’ll cancel racquetball and we can meet over lunch,” Trevor said, winking. Then he left, whistling, as if he’d just learned the secret to Cole’s demise. Or seen beneath his desk. Maybe both.
“I can call back.” Kylie’s voice was faint.
“No, no. It’s good to hear your voice.” He softened his tone to match the intimacy he felt. “I’m alone now.”
“Oh. Good.” There was breathy expectation in her tone, but she seemed to catch herself and her next words were businesslike. “Janie mentioned a reporter contacted you. I’m calling to be sure you’re comfortable if he should call again.”
This was a business call. Damn. “I had only good things to say. I doubt he’ll try me again.”
“Janie told me you had a good time.” Her intimate tone sent an arrow of lust straight through him.
“I had a
great
time.”
“Me, too. Very.” Silence. They inhaled and exhaled at the same time. And again. Two people didn’t breathe at each other over the phone unless they were thirteen and clueless. Or they’d had great sex and didn’t know what to do about it.
“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” she said—fast, as if the words had jumped from her throat.
He laughed, so relieved he wanted to shout. “Me, either. I’ve been daydreaming at the worst possible times.”
“I’ve been staring at this marketing plan for an hour without making a keystroke. So I just gave up and called.” Her voice had a sweet wobble. Of desire, relief and pleasure.
“No sense suffering alone.” How could his body be hard as a rock and soft as butter at the same time? His surroundings blurred and he was aware only of Kylie’s low voice in his ear, imagining her lips pressed against the mouthpiece on her end.
“I guess we both needed that night,” she said wistfully. Oh, hell, she was wrapping it up now.
“I guess so.”
I want more. I want you. Now.
The words pushed into his throat, but he swallowed them back down.
“Yeah.” Pause. “Well.” Another pause. “So, when is…Deborah…getting back?”
“Three weeks.”
“Oh.”
“Three weeks and three days actually.”
She breathed at him. He breathed back.
Plenty of time.
He pushed back the inappropriate thought, but it jumped right up again.
“I should let you get back to work.” She sighed.
She was right. He’d be taking tons of work home tonight and he didn’t dare stay late or Radar would express his opinion somewhere. “Hell, I work too much,” he blurted.
“Me, too,” she said quickly. “I took an advance job for my boss-to-be, can you believe it?”
“I volunteered for a tight deadline on a big case.”
“Why do we do this to ourselves?”
“Because people count on us and we come through. Simple.”
“Exactly. It’s worse because my local accounts are heating up and I really love working on them. I feel like I’ve started to build something. I had to turn down two new clients yesterday.”
“Because you’re leaving it probably makes what you have seem all the more precious.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Though I can see that I could definitely build if I wanted to. Maybe I’m making too much of it.”
“It’s perfectly normal to have doubts,” he said, happy to reassure her. “And when you’re ready to build your business again, there will be new opportunities.”
“Exactly. Maybe the fact that I’m moving on makes me seem more successful to others. All I know is that I’m working my butt off to the bitter end.”
“You have to maintain high standards.”
“God, it’s nice to talk to someone who understands. My sister accuses me of not having a life.”
“Your sister and your secretary, right?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re both on my case all the time.”
“Your work is your life right now.”
“Exactly. Thank you.”
“For me, too. Which makes it a problem that I’m taking care of my neighbor’s dog while she’s out of town. Whenever I get home too late, he lets me know with a little doggie deposit.”
“Oh, ick. Poop or pee?”
“Poop. Cleans up quick, no residue.”
“At least that. I couldn’t take the guilt of owning a pet. Looking into those woeful eyes every morning when I left and getting that desperate welcome when I returned. My only guilt now is not getting enough exercise.”
“Not enough
exercise?
” He deliberately loaded the word, meaning sex. How could he help it?
“Not even close,” she said in a way that told him she knew exactly what he’d meant. “It’s so good for you, too. Exercise releases the endorphins that are vital to concentration and productivity and feelings of well-being.” She spoke seductively, as if she were describing a sex act in intimate detail.
“Well-being. You bet.” His cock rose to hopeful attention.
“But we’re too busy to get some, right? Exercise, I mean.” She sighed in what sounded like hopeless frustration.
“Your marketing plan won’t write itself.”
“And your deadline’s ticking ever closer.”
They breathed at each other for a few seconds, the heat building across the miles and wires.
“Maybe we could take care of it…over the phone,” Kylie said finally, huskily, sounding surprised at herself.
“You think?” His prick did a little happy dance.
“We’d be saving travel time.”
“You’re good,” he said. He looked up. The secretary whose desk faced the glass panel at the side of his door was gone to the doctor, but it was only four and the place was full of people. Maybe if they were quick about it. This was Kylie, for God’s sake, whose very name gave him an erection. They’d be quick. “Hang on.” He lunged to his door and locked it, returning to the phone that held the hottest woman he’d ever known. “I’m back.”
“I’ve never done this before,” she said breathlessly.
“Me, either. But I like the sound of it.” Just her voice in his ear would be enough to send him over the top, he was embarrassed to realize.
“Where do we start? Maybe with what we’re wearing? I have on a green suit and a white silk blouse.”
“Silk is good. I like white. Bright green suit?” He closed his eyes, focused on her voice, pictured her body, full breasts pushing out of the bright green—